Feel My Voice
What happens when a voice that learned to hide is finally felt—by someone who can hear it?
Feel the voice of the person reading these words—aloud or to yourself.
My wife and I are away this weekend—resting a bit and watching a movie together before we head off to see our granddaughter in a play her school is putting on.
A line from the movie we’re watching, Feel My Voice, hits me hard: “You were born to sing, Eletta.”
This incredible Italian film focuses on the journey of a remarkable teenage girl—the only person in her family who can hear and speak words out loud.
I lived in a family like that—even though we all had perfect hearing and could speak words that could be heard. Still, I felt different… as if I were the only one who could hear and see what was going on.
Like Eletta, I felt like I had to be the interpreter for my family—a role I never signed up for—so nothing bad would happen… and I wouldn’t feel alone.
I just wanted to be myself… to be heard. But no one was listening.
In fact, my parents would be upset when I found my voice—as if I had hurt them. They feared that if I found it, they wouldn't have anyone to interpret the language of emotions they never learned. It felt like I owed them this.
At times, I felt like I could teach my family how to hear. That didn’t really work. Instead, I came to feel that everything was my fault—if what they heard was different from what they wanted to hear. I learned to hide my feelings.
Finally… I realized that I couldn’t fix them—but I could understand—and be compassionate toward the parts of myself that believed it was their job to carry that responsibility.
I discovered it was never mine to carry—it was really my family’s job to interpret the world. Even if it wasn’t perfect, they needed to do that for themselves.
As I say this, I hear the words of Eletta’s best friend—someone who truly sees her and feels her voice:
“It's your life… Don't let anyone tell you how to live.”
As Eletta takes in these words—and the presence of those who truly see her—she begins to feel her own beautiful voice inside. She knows that she needs to sing and be heard.
And even though her family still can't hear her sing, they begin to use their other senses—to feel her voice. And in doing so, they come to understand that they need to let her go, so she can follow her own light inside—and let her voice be heard by the world.
There‘s one scene in the movie that still lingers—no sound, only the body language and the eyes of the characters. You feel what’s happening… in your heart. Less is more.
Imagine what that might be like in your life. You turn off all your devices. There is no volume—just looking into each other’s eyes and feeling into each other’s voices and hearts, while staying connected to your own.
And as you do so, listen to the little ones—inside and out. You are the person you were always meant to be… human again.
A few hours later, my wife and I are watching our precious 11-year-old granddaughter, Bess, sing “Human Again,” as Chip the teacup in Beauty and the Beast—a school production that spoke to my heart. Simply extraordinary… especially with Bess—her voice, ready to be heard.
How’s that for synchronicity?
Now that we’re back home in Vermont, I feel like I’ve been on an incredible journey. It’s all part of the light of invisibility… a journey that brings us home to the heart—within and between us.
Thank you for being on this journey with me.
It’s just love…that’s all. It’s in the stars. There are so many of them in our lives—even within ourselves.
Lean into the light… and feel my voice.
Can you feel your own voice now?
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: This piece reflects my own journey and is also a composite, drawn from encounters over time—both inside and outside of therapy. If parts of it feel familiar, it may be because our lives so often echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
About the author: Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated-experiential model grounded in our capacity for adaptive change to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.