I am learning to like the sound of my own voice. Correction – I’m learning to not feel bad when I already do like the sound of my words rolling off my tongue, the way ideas push through my teeth and curl from my lips. You see, there are things I need to say that nobody can articulate quite the way I can. I have ideas inside of me that are mine to hold – but I’ve never been one to keep things to myself. But just as I open my mouth I close it again, I choke on the sounds coming out of me. I modify; I change. Because I’m not allowed to like the sound of my voice, right?
A study done was in 2010 at Stanford University (1) with 66 participants, half male, half female, to track apology patterns over 12 days. While during this period the men apologized a total of 158 times, the women reported 217 apologies. What’s interesting, though, is that women and men apologized the same amount for their perceived offenses. Essentially, this means that women didn’t just apologize more often than men, they think that they have more reasons to be sorry than men. They put themselves on trial and find themselves guilty more often than men. Somehow, that seems worse.
I apologize for everything. If I talk too much, I apologize for overtaking the conversation. If I talk too little, I apologize for not being engaged enough. If I have a strong opinion, I apologize for the possibility for offending someone. If I have no opinion, I apologize for never having thought of the topic before. When people tell me to stop apologizing, I apologize for bothering them with it. If I don’t have anything else to fill the silence, I apologize because I don’t know what else to say. I apologize for existing, because I don’t know how else to be.
Taken at its core, an apology is freeing. It allows for a deeper understanding and reconciliation. It allows for honest conversation and open dialogue. It is a bridge and a beacon of hope. But apologizing has quickly become a source of shame rather than freedom, an act of obligation instead of reconciliation. We take great pains to let others know that they should be sorry, and force ourselves to apologize because we are sure that we deserve to be shamed. I apologize because even if I didn’t do something wrong this time, I’m sure I have before.
But I like the words I have to say and the way I have to say them. I like the times that I can string together the perfect assortment of words and know that they are the core of my truth. I like that there are times that words escape me, that there is no good way to recreate my internal monologue. I even like that I have an uncanny knack for realizing that 0% of the words I just uttered made sense, exactly one second after they exit my mouth. I like the sound of my own voice, and I don’t want to be sorry for that.
There is a unique voice that is simply my own, just as there is one that is only yours. It has never been before, and never will be again. And that’s a good thing. In case you needed permission, this is yours: speak. Speak loudly and obnoxiously or quietly and calmly, but speak. I’m saying this to myself as much as you, because I’m still learning this too. But there’s no reason to stay quiet when your truth burns bright. Let the sound of your words roll off your tongue, cherish the way ideas push through your teeth and curl from your lips. You see, there are things you need to say that nobody can articulate quite the way you can. You have ideas inside of you that are yours to hold – don’t just keep them to yourself.
(1) Schumann K., Ross M. (2010). Why women apologize more than men: Gender differences in thresholds for offensive behavior. Psychological Science, 21, 1649-1655.
