When I was 17, I first started voice training so that I didn’t have a super masculine voice when I transitioned. Before I started, I had a voice deeper than a lot of other boys and men. I had always been mortified by it, and the closer I got to realizing that I needed to transition, the more helpless, sad and disgusted I felt. I figured from the bat that it would never work (cause I’m totally optimistic like that), but decided to try anyway, because fuck it.
It finally got to the point where I just simply could not stand my voice anymore. It was one of the most hated parts of me, right up there with my height and a penis. When I spoke… It was my words, but it wasn’t my voice. It was as if I were the dummy, and a ghost ventriloquist was speaking for me. It was disturbing and sad at best, and worthy of suicidal feelings at worst. So…
I just stopped talking.
I wouldn’t do it. No matter how important it was, I would not say shit around anyone. I didn’t want them to hear my ventriloquist. So I wrote. I wrote what I needed to say, and that was that. Of course, most people wouldn’t talk to me, called me dramatic, rolled their eyes, and just kind of left me in the dust. There was one person though…
See, I was in the youth homeless shelter at the time. My case worker is quite easily one of the best and most helpful influences in my life. She got me to get my GED, she got me to feel like I was worthy enough to transition. She helped me through everything thick and thin. She was always there, no matter how trivial or overwhelming the problem seemed to me, and she just listened. She knew how much I hated my voice and when I stopped talking
She wrote with me.
She would reply to things by writing. She took the time out of her day for that entire month. She encouraged me to do what I needed to do, but also warned me about getting stuck in the trap of despair I was setting myself up for. She showed the good in the bad, and understood when I showed the bad in the good.
After that month, I finally started talking again, and it was helpful I think, just to get away from it for a while (wouldn’t it be nice to have height you could vary and a detachable penis so you could get away from it for a while too?) I spent four or five years training my voice to get to the point I am at now. I take pride in what I’ve accomplished. I still linger in the idea that my voice is too low, but I never have issues over the phone, and when someone who does not know I’m trans thinks I am, my voice is often what throws them off and figure they’re wrong.
I needed that break in speaking, but I’m so glad that I didn’t continue it as a long term thing. I would have never been able to have the voice I have now.
It was fucking hard. It hurt. Retraining my vocal cords was so incredibly painful. When I first started, I could talk for about 2 or 3 minutes before my throat started hurting. Now it’s the exact opposite. When I pull out my parlor trick (which is not very often, probably 3 times in ten years) it hurts so quickly.
I’ve worked incredibly hard to get to the point that I am at today with me. My self esteem still blows, and I don’t have a good self view, but no one ever misgenders me anymore. I’ve had lots of guys hit on me and flirt with me for better or for worse (why can’t women do this? Please? lol) I’ve done good for myself, and I have to admit it to myself rather than constantly drag me down.
My voice was the single hardest thing to change, as far as where I am at in transition today. It took a long time, but I fucking did it, an I don’t wish to be silent anymore.
My ventriloquist is gone.
Thank you for reading sunshines, have a beautiful day!