Tone and Melody

My mom would always tell me to watch my tone—“You’ll know someday, it’s not just what you say, but how you say it.”

I didn’t know what to say at the time, so I said nothing—trying to hide what I felt instead.

Now I know that being a therapist (or a patient) is like learning a different language—where it’s not only about being clear in our words but tracking how others receive them—and learning from one another.

And there’s a lot that happens between the lines where silence can pull us further apart—or bring us closer together.

It can be as simple as speaking in the first person and in the present—which changes everything. Then, the patient can experience that the wounded part is safe in their heart now—no longer stuck in the past.

Taking on the burden of never saying the wrong thing isn’t very helpful to either of us. Although we may say something that triggers someone’s anger, we aren’t responsible for what they feel inside—or what they believe about themselves.

It’s just another opportunity for healing—and I welcome the wounded child in the room. This often shifts the tone and melody—because by not trying to control or blame ourselves or the patient—we can better understand each other and work together.

What arises is a reflection of the pain inside—which could be our own. I tell myself and others not to run from it or cover it up—and not to harmonize with or please the other person if you’re not being true to yourself.

That’s colluding with the child inside—either your own or the patient‘s. All you have to do is listen to what it means, and you’ll know where to go next.

That’s where we need to focus our work—because that’s what helps us see the hope that always sits beside the pain. It’s not a matter of changing our tone. The meaning of the change tells the story of what was never said—the melody that the patient deserved to hear.

As you hear my words, listen to the song in your heart. It may be hard—you may want to stop reading or even tell me to fuck off.

Either way, just tell me. Don't worry about your tone right now. Just get it out, and we’ll hold your words together—in the melody. 

That’s our work—not an excuse for arrogance. It may feel like that’s all we have to do, but it's only the beginning. There are many doors to open—but opening a few may be the key to others that may start opening on their own.

Slow it down and check inside. Trust the process, and you’ll trust yourself—patience is your friend.

Notice what you want to say to the little one who is now safe in your heart—knowing what they deserve to hear but weren’t told enough. Let them know what you know about yourself now—but didn't back then—with all of your heart. 

Sing it out with courage and strength. Let your ears ring with the music of your heart. Love your words—and how you are saying them. Trust how they are landing and guiding you.

Don’t hide from the light. Live in it—and let it shine with your imperfect humanness that you were born to be. Imagine the one who doesn’t speak, but whom we always know is there—your Core Self, a divine presence. 

The waves and current are changing again—just like the tone. The lone seagull gratefully rests on the post. Appreciating the change, they follow the flow of the water—the melody—the constant that takes us home.

In the moment, I imagine looking at my mom and saying, “Being a storyteller and therapist are my life—but it’s even more important not to lose your heart. I’m home now, and I’m falling in love again—with myself.” 

She’s speechless—which was rarely the case. Her eyes tell me that she’s taking in my tone and melody, not just my words—and seeing her truth. I know that she'll feel my love, and I'll feel hers, when we love ourselves first.

In humble silence, we both smile and gaze into each other’s eyes as the image fades—drifting off to sleep with love and forgiveness.

The song plays on with its own special tone and melody—lingering in our hearts, now and forever true.

Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories 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.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.