The Instrument I Lost and the Voice I Found
Downloads from today’s meditation were so obvious that I don’t know why I hadn’t been aware sooner. The throat chakra is how we either speak too much or keep ourselves silent. This is a chakra I have always had a hard time keeping balanced, but I know that with every healing journey, it improves. Being the woman who wants to know the source of all blockages, I was made aware of this one during meditation.
As a child, I was seen and not heard, and because of that I wanted to speak to others, as I was never truly listened to at home. I was heard, but not listened to. Because of this, I speak fast, hoping to express everything my mind and heart want to say before someone stops listening. And with ADHD, I tend to bunny trail. After conversations, I would get into my head about how they could have gone better and what I should or should not have said. This was something I lived with my whole life, until recently, when I learned the power of the pause — and to think about my audience, valuing their time and energy, knowing that with my Aries fire, I can be a lot of energy.
That is why journaling and writing have become passions for me, as they allow me to release my thoughts and feelings without my exuberant energy becoming overwhelming. This wasn’t always the case with writing, though. My journals were read and used against me growing up and even into my adult life. It wasn’t until I left the Mormon church that I finally became the same inside and out and stopped caring what people thought of me. I am who I am. I no longer have to mask my words, thoughts, or expressions.
But what was the root of stifling my thoughts and feelings as a child? Other than word-vomiting on anyone willing to listen, how did I cope when I was home, kept away from friends, social activities, and even sports?
My mother loved that I played the violin, and I was very talented with the instrument — so much so that I won a Minnesota solo ensemble contest in high school. When I played my senior solo, Vivaldi’s Spring, completely memorized, the concertmaster of the Duluth Superior Symphony Orchestra asked me that night to be her understudy at the University of Wisconsin–Superior. I also performed on stage with Mark O’Conner, a famous fiddler, and met Sarah Chang in San Francisco. Playing the violin became part of who I was — who I made myself become — and through fiddle and Celtic music, I made my violin sing. I also began playing electric violin as they had just become available.
So how did I reach that level of talent? I started after giving up on piano and seeing my sister play, deciding it looked fun and asking, why not try? The moment I received my violin, it felt like an appendage to my body. It came so naturally to me. This caused tension between my sister and me, as she had to work hard and still struggled to get the results she wanted. She didn’t make it into the Music Performance Program but instead studied music education at UWS. The tension followed us even into college, since we were in the same music department at the same university.
Growing up, whenever I felt hurt, sadness, anger, or neglect, I would retreat to my bedroom, take my violin — which I named Wendie — from her case, and play. I poured all my energy into my violin rather than using my throat chakra to speak, because I knew that no matter what I said, I would not be truly listened to. I would be shut down or stifled, my thoughts, feelings, and ideas deemed wrong by those at home. My mother often told me that music is of the heart and that I should put all the feelings I didn’t need to express into my playing — which I did. But it also taught me not to use my voice in a useful way. I was never taught how to express feelings or thoughts appropriately, only to stuff them down and release them through my violin.
When I married my first husband, everything changed. He was a selfish, self-centered man who often put me in my place. He did not like me playing the violin because it was something he could not do, and he needed to be front and center singing in church while I remained secondary. Needless to say, I stopped finding orchestras to play in, changed my college major, and moved. I also stopped playing Wendie in my apartment because it was something he did not want to hear. The tool I used to express my thoughts and emotions was taken away from me, and I was left to keep everything inside, which caused me to gain weight and become unhealthy and trapped.
Three years later, when I finally broke free from that marriage, I tried to pick up my violin again. But the thoughts that once lived in my head had traveled to my heart as grief, and I lost the drive and energy to make her sing. Over the years I tried again and again, but because it wasn’t what it once was, I would stop. I no longer had my mother telling me to put my emotions into her. Instead, I had her telling me that if she didn’t take my violin for safekeeping, my second husband would take her and sell her, claiming he didn’t like me playing either. This beautiful instrument that I once loved and felt was part of me became a weapon she used. I sold the electric violin and amp I had and gave my mother Wendie, convinced my second husband would sell her because my mother insisted he would.
Before giving Wendie to her, I wanted to try playing one last time. But over time I had sustained damage to my spine. One of my spinal cord injuries is in my neck and radiates into my left shoulder and arm. I had once been told by physical therapists that they would no longer see me because they feared further injuring my spine. I tried to convince them to let me play one last time, but they strongly advised against it, warning it could worsen my injury and affect my nervous system. Being stubborn, I didn’t listen. I tried anyway.
That was a mistake. I could not make her sing the way I once had. It was painful to play, and my nervous system would not allow my body to create what my heart was expressing — my throat chakra trying to speak through strings and vibration. Because of that, I turned on myself, believing I was no longer worthy of the beauty I once created, adding more grief to my heart and leaving myself without a way to express through my throat chakra.
Years later, my parents moved across the country to Utah to be with the Mormons, without telling anyone where they were going or even that they were moving. To this day, I don’t know whether Wendie is still with my mother or if she sold her. However, I came across her genealogy book — the one she filled with prompted questions — before burning it, and inside she had written that she had always wanted to learn violin since childhood and still wanted to, but felt she was now too old.
The truth had finally been uncovered. She had been living through my playing. That is why I was grounded from everything except the violin. That is why she took Wendie and lied about a man taking her and selling her when, in truth, she was green with jealousy. She would rather listen to my violin than to my voice. It was a source of control and manipulation for her. She bragged to her friends about my playing, which put her in the spotlight. I was the one who left her side to hide in my room and practice. Once I no longer played, she stopped speaking proudly about me but continued to do so about my sister, who still plays today, as far as I know.
When I thought about going to Scotland, I imagined visiting a violin shop in Glasgow and perhaps purchasing another violin, allowing her to sing again in the Highlands. But if I am truly honest with myself and listen to my body, there are many signs telling me not to. The pain I have been experiencing on the left side of my neck and shoulder has been my body’s first way of keeping the score and telling me no. I made the decision about possibly getting another violin six months ago, and that’s when the pain began. I also notice I hold my left shoulder up as if I were cold and shivering, though it is really a memory of holding my violin for hours. The pain is the grief my heart is trying to express through my throat chakra — grief I kept within for so many years. When I hear the singing of a violin today, it bring tears to my eyes and my heart aches, as I do miss playing. However, I can embrace that part of my unbecoming, and to see the beauty that time in my life created with what is now becoming. My voice is my instrument.
The days of playing my violin in fiddle and Celtic style are behind me. It was a way to express the words that could not be spoken. My focus in this chapter of life is to use my voice to heal not only myself but also to guide others on their journeys. I am not perfect. I am not fully healed. No one is. Even energy workers carry grief and imbalance. It is how we respond, how we reach out, how we choose to use our voice — learning the power of words, how impactful they can be, and thinking about consequences before speaking or acting. This is how we find balance within the throat chakra.
Once the heart is balanced, the throat can open and become balanced as well. There is no need to mask or hide behind an instrument, because your voice is an instrument. The choice is how you use your beautiful, unique instrument and how it will impact you and others, remembering that love is the universal language and we each hold our own truth. Stifling another only creates imbalance.
To have balance in my life, I no longer need my violin. My body is telling me this. Now I see, I listen, and I turn to Mother Nature, recognizing that the beauty is within me. I am able to use my throat chakra to express my thoughts and emotions without caring what the world thinks. I am who I am. I have purpose. I am divine. And I love who I am today.
For that, I am grateful.
