Finding My Voice by Losing it: when silence becomes a teacher

The symptoms began on a cold night and carried into the next day. I assumed it would take only a couple of days to recover. Having lived with asthma and dysphonia from inhaled steroids, a bit of hoarseness didn’t seem unusual. Then—suddenly—I woke up with no voice at all.
My first thought was disbelief. How was I supposed to provide care or hold visits without the ability to speak? I reframed the moment gently to myself: Perhaps the universe is teaching me to listen. I continued to support my patients through texting and email, even as my fatigue deepened.
For years, I have expressed gratitude for my body and for the many ways it allows me to care for others. Yet I realized I had never thanked my throat or my voice—the very tools that allow me to communicate, educate, and comfort my patients. During meditation, my body made this omission clear. I also became aware of a lingering sense of shame around my voice, often raspy from chronic asthma. Losing it entirely brought forward a familiar feeling of helplessness—one that has echoed at different points in my life.
Rather than suppressing that memory or fear, I allowed myself to sit with it. In doing so, I reminded myself of something essential: I have choice and agency. I am no longer helpless. I am empowered. I have made courageous decisions, including opening my own direct primary care practice in August of 2023.
Over the next five days, my body rested as I leaned into the lesson. I chose to honor my voice and listen inward. I realized that I deeply love my work—and I love my body and mind as well. It is through my voice, raspy though it may be, that I educate, reassure, and advocate for my patients time and again.
I allowed gratitude to guide my healing and let my voice teach me. I love the way I sound, the laughter that rises from my vocal cords, the gentle words I offer, the songs I sing to myself, and the attentive listening I provide in return. When illness asks us to pause, it can also invite us into gratitude.
An unexpected gift of those five days with laryngitis was the outpouring of kindness from my patients. They met me with understanding, respect, patience, and even humor. My voice has returned—now appreciated, honored, and loved, as it continues to send love out into the world. I am grateful for the privilege of this voice and use it to speak truth and amplify those who are not always heard. And that is a lasting blessing indeed.





