Letters to My Daughter: Voice

Dear D, 

Last night when I came to your room for bedtime stories, I found you standing tall with your hand on your hip telling Papa that you WERE big enough for the hand-me-down clothes he had recently stowed in your closet. Listening to your conversation, seeing the focus and resolve in your eyes, I found my heart swelling with gratitude for your sense of voice.

I remember the worry I felt when I first brought you home from the hospital: What if I don’t hear you in the night? What if you need something and can’t let me know? I imagine that you, like all of us, carry memories of not being able to express your needs, or not having them met when you did express them. But I learned something about you within our first few days together—you had a voice and you were not afraid to use it.

Witnessing you use your voice is a gift. You say, “That’s not what I said, Mama,” and reiterate your point; and in that moment I find a small boost of courage to try again when I’m not heard. You say, even with crocodile tears brimming in your eyes, “I didn’t want beans; I wanted SOUP,” and I find myself nudged toward identifying and articulating my own desires. You reach out for a hug, nestling your head amongst my winter layers, and later the same day I find myself able to reach out for human connection when I need it.

Not long ago, as we were singing together at the piano, you held the melody while I sang a different part, and we harmonized for the first time. Hearing your voice ring out so loud and clear thrilled me. I remember getting in the car afterward and hearing The Wailin’ Jennys on the radio: “This is the sound of one voice; one spirit, one voice; the sound of one who makes a choice; this is the sound of one voice.” As the song continued, the next verse brought tears to my eyes. “This is the sound of voices two; the sound of me singing with you; helping each other to make it through; this is the sound of voices two.”

At a time in my life when I had lost my voice, I heard Susan Cunningham say this: “Just as no one has your face or your story, no one has your voice.” As I witness your unique voice emerging, I sense my own voice deepening. Singing with you, chatting with you, intermingling our developing voices as we journey through each day—this is the sound of life. 

A blessing: 

Just as you claimed your voice so naturally when you entered the world, may you find strength to reclaim your voice when life silences you.

Echoing the words of poet Upile Chisala, may you learn to untangle the tongue, to face the truth that’s been living in your throat.

And whenever a new voice is being birthed in you, may you have a cloud of witnesses—people who see you, sisters who will join you in what Valarie Kaur calls deep solidarity: “love as sweet labor: fierce, imperfect, life-giving.”

Just as you held the mic with such care the other night so my voice could be heard while I played the piano, may you always have people in your life who hear you and help your voice carry.

May your voice join the chorus of humanity “singing together in harmony, surrendering to the mystery.”

Author: Jody Washburn

Art: Autumn Uhrig @afaithu