silenced

an experience that happened 17 years ago that helped me find the voice i have today

This is the first time that I have ever talked publicly about this incident.

I was never purposefully not sharing this experience, there was just never an internal push to share. Yesterday I finally received that nudge in the form of someone telling me that I should continue my advocacy work but that I should do it in a gentler way...

Anne today.

Gentle. Hmmm. Let's look up the formal definition of gentle shall we?

gentle adj.: as in soothing

not harsh or stern especially in nature or effect

use gentle detergent on that delicate silk blouse

her gentle ways

Synonyms: mellow, soft, benign, quiet, nonabrasive

Antonyms: powerful, intense, exquisite, strong, fierce

Yea so... based on this definition I think my interpretation of this person's comment was accurate. Basically, "Shut the hell up and be a nice pretty lady." Which, of course, only makes me want to be more of any one of the antonyms listed above.

my story

I had my daughter, Anne, when I was 22. Anne was very unplanned and having an unplanned pregnancy was definitely out of character for me (best "mistake" I've ever made). At that time I was very active in the Catholic church. I was a youth group leader, I taught Sunday School, and I was a cantor. My church happened to be the central hub for the whole tristate area which meant that all the big masses I would cantor would be led by either the bishop or even the archbishop. This meant that our huge cathedral would be packed and it also meant the mass would be televised. Perhaps you can see where this is going...

When I became pregnant out of wedlock this was obviously an issue for the church.

There was much discussion about what to do with my "situation." To be clear, the situation was me publicly representing the church while pregnant. The issue was never, "How can we support this young college student who is clearly going to be going through some shit."

The issue was -do we let her continue to sing?

I don't know what the conversations that took place behind closed doors but I will never forget what the final decision was. I was told that there was much consideration and debate. I was also told, as if this was a compliment meant to console me, that they considered the fact that my "looks are good for tv" and my "voice is so pretty."

The bottom line was that,

I would be allowed to sing until I started to show.

I was blindsided by this response. I thought it was going to be black or white. I could sing or I couldn't. I naively did not anticipate the outrageously hypocritical response that I had received instead. That moment started a fire in me that I wouldn't realize was burning until a few years later. Speaking of fiery spirits, I would be remiss if I did not mention the music director at the time, Judy, who has since passed. She was livid on my behalf. I remember her pounding her fists on the grand piano and pointing her finger up at the alter exclaiming, "They should let you sing. It's not right!" That solidarity meant the world to me.

Months went by. I sat silently in the pews during mass when I would normally be cantering. I remember not singing much because I felt like I couldn't. I had been formally silenced. It's also very difficult to sing when you are sitting there with a huge belly and no wedding ring, feeling so ashamed and so judged. That summer I got married in that church. By default. Out of obligation. I sang more masses after I had Anne. I continued to go to church until Anne was two or so.

That feeling of shame did not go away after I got married. I never felt comfortable in church again.

Eventually, I realized that I didn't want Anne growing up in an environment that treated people that way. That treated women that way. This was 2008 when the church started padding their homilies with right wing rhetoric. I have never been someone that believed being a member of the LGBTQ+ community was a sin. I have also always been pro-choice. (I guess I was what some would call a cafeteria catholic). These two issues became front and center in the church in a political way and that was the last straw. We were done.

This certainly has not been the only time in my life when I have been silenced, literally and figuratively, but it was one of the most public and most scaring ways. Despite the fact that this took years to heal from and no doubt had an emotional impact on my psychological vocal health, I am so grateful for that seed of activism that was planted on that day that I was told I to be quiet, to hide. I'm grateful because I know my daughter will never find herself in that situation because I have taught her to be (refers to list of "gentle" antonyms) exquisitely strong and fierce.