The microphone with no instructions

I spend most of the days alone now.

And 87% of me loves this.

I talk to my dog, Gracie. I narrate a stuck spot out loud to my empty living room. I video message my close friends to catch up. I walk the neighborhood and wave to familiar faces. But, unless I set up coffee with a friend, I can go a surprisingly long time without talking.

Until, my lovely husband comes home and I talk his ear off during our afternoon walk. Such a lucky guy.

I've been mostly okay with the silence. It's soothing. It's healing.

Until I find myself staring at my wall in my home studio space today.

I take out new sheets of paper and write out my current focus areas for The Gentle Way.

• Tending our text list that's running now
• Writing free & paid essays on a variety of themes supporting our inner world
• A super fun physical product that's in development
• The Neurodivergent Family Room is accepting clients!
• A deeper container concept that I haven't really seen before & wondering if we could pull it off early next year

"Jenny, your voice isn't really on that list."

"You know, the thing that you spent 20+ years sharing with people."

I argue back with the voice in my head. "But my voice shows up in all kinds of ways. Listening to frustrated parents and offering a few questions to consider. Writing out a tricky emotion that's got me spinning out lately. Writing daily text messages to a very cool group of people."

That's my voice.

But I could tell this isn't going to wrap up easily. Because some part of me is whispering a true thing before I'm ready to hear it. I've learned that I might as well not fight her for too long. I'm always glad when I listen in.

Fine. Even when I feel reluctant.

I take a breath and listen to what feels most true:

My actual-out-loud-talking-voice is part of my work. And I've been muting her a bit.

I have a lot of sympathy for why that might be.

I spent 20+ years using my voice inside a very specific role. I learned a professional voice so well that it became automatic. Especially as a high-masking neurodivergent leader.

My voice had a job.

It was my job to be clear, grounded, compassionate, wise, theologically coherent, emotionally attuned, reassuring without being dismissive, compelling enough to hold a room, careful about what I said, and always aware of how people might receive it.

I was speaking for something bigger than myself. I represented a tradition, a community, the Bible, and progressive theology. People handed me a microphone...a lot. And I usually knew what to say.

I learned how to be as authentic as I could inside that role, but it was still a role that gave me expectations and behaviors. As it should. It's a professional role in our society and requires deep trust and care.

But now?

I'm learning how to speak from a place where the container is much more open. It feels like someone dropped a microphone on my front door step without any rules or parameters and whispered, "Use this whenever you want. Good luck."

What?!?

Now I'm left holding this damn microphone and I don't know if I have anything to say.

Which causes some tears to spring to my eyes.

I don't know what my voice sounds like outside of conversations with clients, my dog, a few friends, and my family. And maybe I'm ready to see what my new voice sounds like when it's echoing around my body.

There's a body element to connecting with ourselves in a new chapter of life, isn't there? One can imagine a new way to live and relate and connect. But until we take that first terribly awkward step that feels like we will die, we can't actually feel what we feel like in our body.

So I'm going to start recording voice notes to myself. Not because they'll have any profound insight. Not because I need more files on my phone. Not because anyone will ever hear them.

Just because I wonder what my voice will feel like when it belongs to me.

I want to see what she'll say when she's excited and curious. When she's sad and tired. When she's confused but so very hopeful.

I've muted her for so very long.

We'll see what she does with that microphone. Even if it's just a whisper, I'll take it.

With great love,
Jenny

This Week