“It’s just us today, sweetheart,” I say as my daughter, Mia, hops into the passenger seat, her expression a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
“Hey, Mom. Can we swing by that coffee shop?” she asks.
I grin and agree. The grocery shopping can wait. With her 13th birthday approaching, I feel an increasing urgency to cherish our time together. A trip for Frappuccinos it is.
As she scrolls through SiriusXM, searching for Hits 1, she lands on the 80s station. I barely catch the catchy opening notes when she quickly changes the channel.
“Wait! Go back!” I exclaim.
It’s Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” I crank the volume, and the upbeat rhythm pulses through the steering wheel. My entire body starts to groove, and I can’t resist belting out the lyrics like a true rock star.
This wasn’t always my reality.
I lost my voice years ago in the backseat of a mustard-yellow station wagon. At 11, I was on the cusp of awkward adolescence, unaware of the shyness that would soon engulf me. As I enthusiastically sang along to Eddie Rabbitt’s “I Love a Rainy Night,” my mother interrupted, “Can you please be quiet?”
Now, as a parent navigating a car filled with energetic kids, I understand the need for silence to prevent accidents. But at that moment, I interpreted her request as a critique of my voice. This led to a decision to avoid singing in public, and my natural shyness, intensified by the hormonal changes of puberty, made this choice feel justified.
In junior high, I was coerced into joining the chorus due to a shortage of altos. I stood at the back, lip-syncing. During high school parties, when someone would play “Roxanne,” I’d either stuff my mouth with snacks or sit quietly off to the side. College was slightly different, as I might have joined in, but likely under the influence of alcohol, where it was hard to ruin a Violent Femmes song. Even during my pregnancy, when parenting guides emphasized the benefits of singing to the baby, I held back.
I wish I could pinpoint a singular moment of transformation, but the truth is, there were numerous experiences. Some were heartfelt, like the time my fiancé and I harmonized to “Killer Queen,” stitching our love tighter. Others were unexpected, such as discovering my voice could soothe my restless firstborn and ease my new-mother worries. And some were hard-earned, like the courage I found to perform on stage with an incredible group of moms from Mia’s school last year.
Now, in the car, I feel the thrill building within me as I engage in what my friends and I affectionately call The Car Dance. As I approach the chorus, I glance at Mia. She’s watching me with a mix of amusement and a hint of embarrassment, a classic teenage expression.
“Come on! I know you know the words!” I cheerfully shout.
She rolls her eyes at first but then surprises me with a wide grin and joins in, her arms waving and her golden hair flying. There’s a radiant spark in her when she sings, and I hope she never loses it.
As we rock out together, I’m reminded of the joy of reclaiming one’s voice. It’s a journey that resonates deeply, and if you’re interested in exploring the world of self-empowerment, check out this post about at-home insemination kits. For those looking to enhance their knowledge further, this article on IUI offers valuable insights.
In summary, my journey of losing and regaining my voice reflects the importance of self-expression and connection. Singing has become a powerful part of my life once again, and I hope to inspire others to find their own voices.
Keyphrase: rediscovering one’s voice
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