Day 15: Haley Sings to the Mountaintops

Tonight one of my guilty pleasures was watching Shania Twain recover her voice in her show, “Why Not? with Shania Twain” on OWN.  It reminded me of my own transition, from when I felt on top of the world, to feeling I had lost everything. I felt so humiliated, so scared, the last thing I wanted to do was admit it to a close personal friend (let alone the world). I didn’t know how to rebuild who I thought I was (my ego) with who I was now (my home). I couldn’t reconcile my dreams with what I had become. It felt like an impossible compromise.  I was paralyzed.

Until I found my voice: Uncertain, strong, uncompromising; softly at first it rose, in the middle of the night. Out of the treetops it seemed to sing; quietly it whispered in my sleep, or wildly it cried in vain. But it rose just the same…

I wrote it all down. Every last detail, feeling, thought. I never shared with anyone, always alone. My private sanctuary from the world. Then it changed: only a few were allowed to hear, my private cries or my wild hidden voice that would spring out onto the page, sometimes delightful and poetic, sometimes irreverent and funny. It gave others pleasure to hear my voice or read my words and many encouraged me. This was a whole new world to me. My private sanctuary was crumbling.

Now, as I listen to those who write back to me, I am dumbfounded. I can hardly believe that anyone is listening, or that my words carry a piece of their heart as well. That our collective “song” rings true.

Sometimes I am an eagle, soaring high. I don’t care what other people think. I look down on the landscape and feel the wind in the trees, and I float easily over all, effortlessly. Something carries me. And the song just comes with it, effortlessly. Other times I am the sparrow, easily broken by ambiguous or harsh testimony.  I am human.

Haley is my song, the script I am working on at the moment.  I hope it comes as easily as my mountaintop expressions, spontaneously sung to the wind. But sometimes it doesn’t.  It needs a little more care than that. A little more structure. I am not used to the accountability of sharing. I am learning.

Shania will recover her voice – there’s no question. It’s scripted that way. But our story remains.

Some are broken by life; others will find their voice again. Whatever your broken-winged voice can’t say…  please, sing it anyway.