A few years ago I woke up unable to speak.

I held so much tension in my jaws that it physically hurt to open my mouth.

As I learned to heal with my jaws I discovered the wisdom of my body in that moment. Unknowingly, I had muzzled myself – I had kept so much unspoken, unexpressed under the guise of being in service to others that I had silenced myself. Hindering my own expression became a physical pain in my body that I could no longer ignore.

As I learned to relax my eyes, my jaws, my shoulders, my breathing, I discovered permission. And in that permission, I encountered a question: How do you want to use your voice?

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Ever since I was young, I had a strong sense that I did not want to reduce my deepest beliefs into explanations and language for the sake of others’ understanding. I wanted the movement of my life to speak for me. The way I showed up in relationships to be the expression of what I believe in. The way I walk to reveal the path I am on.

Somewhere along the way, after experiencing various forms of exclusion and othering, this deep value got confused with silencing my voice. Silencing my needs, my presence, my (be)longing in service of the needs, presence, and longing of others.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to exclude myself. And this separation took me on a solitary path – not in isolation from others, but in a fearful and limited understanding of community, a limited understanding of the very movements of life.

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In the last few years I have been discovering the timbre of my voice – the part of my voice that cannot be developed, the part of my voice that is the natural essence of the voice itself, the unchangeable quality that cannot be silenced.

In this discovery process I have found its range, learned its texture, and felt how it moves when it is free. As I integrate more and more of my fragments, I not only feel a relaxation and peace in how I hold myself. I can suddenly hear what my voice wants to say.

As I receive its message for me, I find a healing, a coming back together, a remembering of what was once fragmented out of fear.

But what I am learning now is that this voice cannot come through, cannot be fully grasped or released on its own. It takes community, co-creation, a deeper shared purpose for it to be revealed in its wholeness. It requires soil that has the very nutrients the voice needs to mature into its next expression, the way the components of a mother’s milk are unique to the nourishment needs of her baby.