“Everyone has a story about their voice, whether it’s “I love to sing but I’m tone deaf,” or “I’ve had years of training and I can only sing opera.” You may have been told you can’t sing, most likely in a moment when you were really enjoying yourself, or trying really hard. Or maybe you were told you have a good voice, and you learned to hone the qualities that are pleasing to others, carefully weeding out sounds that are unique, strange, or uncomfortable.

Most of us are afraid to use our authentic voices, we don’t even know what that might mean. So we stay silent. Or we push. We sing in one specific constructed way because we think that’s the only way to sound “good.” Whether you were taught to believe that you are a good or bad singer, it’s a judgment that can be built up into an identity, a system you can use against yourself and others.

But there are other possibilities. The voice, and the sensitivities derived from practicing and using it, can be used as a gage or an energizer in a space. It can be a source of pure expression, a way to connect, and a way to observe the space you’re taking up. When we’re stuck in our oppression we often feel voiceless, the throat closes up, we can’t find a way to say what we need to say, words come out as a whisper. When we are acting out of privilege or entitlement we don’t realize, energetically, what kind of impact we are having on the space we occupy, whose voices we are drowning out. The authentic voice can be used as a tool for social justice, a way to feel ourselves and hone our attunement to each other, to connect outside of social or institutional hierarchies.”