The Sound of My Own Voice

My mind lies to me in the sound of my own voice.

But that’s not entirely true, is it? Because when I listen to a recording of myself talking, the disconnect between the tones and pitch I hear when I speak and those that others around me hear is shocking and uncomfortable, truly painful to withstand at times. No wonder my laughter sounds fake to me from time to time. I don't think it's the sound of my own voice that my brain uses to tell lies, but rather the sound of the way I imagine the world to be. Because I alone am privy to the voice distorted by a detour through my skull.

As I ponder this (in a voice that may or may not be my own), my thoughts wander to wonder about my ASL professor. She was born without the ability to hear even a distorted version of her own voice. I wonder how her brain manipulates her into believing the lies it tells. And what does the letter “v” sound like when she casts herself as the sole villain in an interaction where nobody was right? Is her experience of consonants and vowels the same as the lyrical dance they play in the minds of her two Deaf children? Have these facts I’ve heard my whole life limited my ability to imagine truths beyond my own horizon? Who decided what the letter “v” sounds like, anyway? And, yes, it would be a sweet relief to be rid of my own accusing voice; but would it be better to have my brain lie to me in the sight of my own hand?

And then there’s the blind man who jogged past me with the help of a companion trotting next to him. Does the voice in his head have less fuel to run on since it can’t read into the expressions on the faces surrounding him? Maybe it’s easier to accept a compliment if you aren’t trying to determine how genuine the smile is. I wonder if he knows every person he passed beamed with admiration. Would that have made him feel seen, or would he have felt in that moment like his blindness was contagious? And what, exactly, does a sunset sound like? I think when I put on my glasses I see more clearly and hear less accurately.

Perhaps I could do with being a bit more blind and deaf in my everyday life. How much more accurately would I see myself if my only mirror was the way my friends describe me? What wisdom gets trapped in the filters installed between my ears and my brain? Maybe there’s a reason those healed in Bible stories go on to become the greatest advocates for the miraculous ways God worked in their lives. Perhaps it wasn’t the healing that sanctified their candidacy as unlikely prophets, but lives lived free of distorted lies until they encountered the Truth.