Embrace your soft-spoken nature and stop apologizing for the unique strength and gentle tone that define your voice.
There are certain things in life that we shouldn’t have to apologize for, things that are simply part of who we are. Being a night owl, being an introvert, and being soft-spoken are three things I refuse to apologize for.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been told to “speak up.” It’s as if my soft voice is a defect, a sign of weakness or a lack of confidence. But the truth is, my soft voice is just part of who I am. It’s not a choice, it’s not a flaw, it’s simply how I’m wired physically.
I’ve always had a soft voice, a voice that some might describe as “thin” or “weak.” I prefer “soft-spoken.” I’ve had people ask me to speak louder because they couldn’t hear me, and I’ve had people yell at me to speak louder, as if I’m deliberately trying to defy them.
It’s not that I’m trying to be quiet. My voice is simply not loud. I’ve had relationships with people who had hearing loss, and it was a struggle. An ex-partner, who developed hearing loss in his late 30s, would constantly ask me to repeat myself, often accusing me of whispering. It was frustrating, but I understood his limitations. I wish he’d understood mine. For me to hold a 20-minute conversation at the decibel level he demanded, I would suffer a strained voice for the next few days and sometimes lose my voice entirely for a day or two.
My voice has also been affected by health issues. In my twenties and thirties, I had numerous ear, nose, and throat infections due to allergies, and they have often resulted in laryngitis. One year, severe tracheitis—allergy induced—left me unable to speak above a whisper for months. It took a long time for my voice to recover, and it’s never been the same.
For this reason, I rarely teach live workshops. I prefer to use audio AI to supplement my voice, and I’m always mindful of the strain on my vocal cords. If I do teach a live class, I’m usually voiceless by the end of two hours. I could never emulate Taylor Swift singing on stage for three straight hours, let alone doing that 100 times, even with a microphone in my hand.
I’m not saying that my soft voice is a disability, but it’s definitely a challenge. I need to be mindful of my limitations, especially when speaking in front of large groups. I always ask about the size of the room and whether there will be a microphone. Always. If the answer is “An auditorium of 700, and no, you’ll just have to project,” then I’ll bow out. I have done smaller venues where I walked around more, but that just meant that the people in the front of the room couldn’t hear me when those in the back could!
Despite my soft voice, I’ve always loved to sing. After my tracheitis, I started making videos of myself singing old folk songs, sharing them discreetly on social media. My mom missed me and liked to listen, so these videos were there for her. My older daughter was homesick, away at college, and they were there for her, too, if she needed them. One day, a stranger found my videos and told me I should pursue voice lessons because my voice was “beautiful but needs training.” It felt like an insult. I’ve had years of voice lessons throughout high school and college where I majored in music for a while, but my voice was never strong enough to sustain the kind of projection they taught me. More voice coaching will not strengthen a damaged voice.
So, to all my fellow soft-spoken souls out there, whether by choice or by physical design: let’s stop apologizing for our voices. Let’s embrace our quiet strength, our gentle tones, and our unique ways of communicating. We may not be the loudest voices in the room, but we have a lot to offer. Let’s stop hiding our voices and let our words be heard.
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