The more passionate I am about something, the louder I am.
This past summer, an aunt and uncle, decided that it was time to speak frankly to me about this. They set about trying to “correct” or “coach” me into better awareness of my volume. The only thing it accomplished was an increase in self-consciousness and pure, unadulterated, shame. Yes, shame. I was mortified. I AM mortified.
So I melted down. I was in tears, truly in psychic pain. For weeks afterwards, I spent too much time trying to figure out why people, my family especially, couldn’t accept me as I am.
I should add that this aunt and uncle didn’t mean to cause me pain. They simply were trying to call my attention to a trait that can be, and is, an inhibitor to personal and professional success. I have a hard enough time creating lasting connections with people without adding my lack of volume control to things.
It used to be my laugh that really bothered me. I spent years teaching myself to laugh more like a lady. Then it was pointed out to me that my laugh is my grandfather’s laugh. He died when I was 11. I immediately stopped editing my laugh. That is not to say that I’m not conscious of the setting when I laugh. I’m just exponentially more comfortable letting it fly.
My speaking volume is much harder for me to control. I don’t hear myself as loudly as I apparently come across. Sometimes, I am aware of cues that tell me I’m getting louder and I can, without any internal dialogue, make a auto-adjustment. But when that correction comes in the form of “Shhh!” or “Lower your voice!” I instantly shut down.
I am loud.
Deal with it.