What I'm Self-Conscious About
BY KCY
Growing up, I had the smallest voice. The highest voice. I could never lower its pitch, disguise it to make it sound throaty, or low, or just normal. My high voice was fine when I was four, but by the time I turned seven, it was a problem.
My first encounter with the difficulty of having a small, high voice was during our school play in third grade. It was a play about the holidays in the year. I played the fourth of July. I remember as if it was yesterday walking onto the stage. My first line was “Hey, what’s this? What’s all the commotion?” I remember my line because after I said it, there was a whole bunch of laughter. Laughter, not because the line was particularly funny, but laughter because of my voice. I even heard kids say that. Needless to say, I never acted in a school play again, for fear that I would be laughed off the stage.
They weren’t the only mean kids who would made fun of and laughed at my voice.
In sixth grade, there was a boy who used to torture me about it. Today, you would call him a bully. Back then, you would just call him a troublemaker. Every time I would talk, he would imitate my high pitch voice. So childish, yet so hurtful, and I’ll never forget his name even though I only shared one class with him in the sixth grade and never saw him again after we graduated from middle school.
As I went to high school and then to college, I prayed my voice would change. That somehow, I was a late bloomer and much like boys’ voices deepen with puberty, mine would, too. But it never happened. No matter how many times I wished it when I blew out the candles on my birthday cake.
Today, as an adult, I try to forget about my high voice, but it’s not easy. I’m always self-conscious about it. I can’t help feeling that it’s the reason a lot of people don’t take me seriously. It’s the reason I haven’t gotten those promotions at work, I haven’t been offered leaderships positions. It’s the reason friends and enemies don’t take me seriously when I speak about something I’m actually quite knowledgeable about, and if I stand up for myself, why people dismiss me. The smallness seems to diminish any authority I have. I’ve had children laugh and imitate my voice still as an adult. How do you think that makes me feel?
My son is just under two years old, and he has that baby voice. I know he’s a baby, but I can’t help worrying he’s inherited my voice, my small and high voice. I know I’m probably being a little silly because he’s male, but I’m fearful he will carry this burden.
Maybe I’m making a bigger deal about it than it actually is, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way when someone tells you you sound like a ten-year-old, and you aren’t ten years old. The truth is…it hurts. It hurts a lot.
We all have insecurities, and perhaps, that’s all it is: an insecurity. Perhaps the reality is that I’m the only one who notices how high it is. But I know that’s not true, because, sadly, we all have implicit biases. Deep voices represent authority, leadership, intelligence. High and small voices imply weakness, childishness, inexperience. It’s too bad people in the world see us this way, because, we’re more than that. Much more than that.