The Mom Whisperer: How I Realized I Was a Yeller

1

A few weeks back, I came down with a classic respiratory bug. A handful of times per season, this superbug camps out in my body and always overstays its welcome. The typical course is seven days of a sore throat, followed by a sinus system revolt, topped off with an incessant cough that loiters for weeks. But for this seasonโ€™s special edition, I also experienced about four days of laryngitis. It wasnโ€™t just typical hoarseness and not just the proverbial โ€œfrog in my throat.โ€ I would open my mouth, but could not produce sound. It was surreal. Occasionally I could eke out an awkward prepubescent squeak, but usually, nothing more than a faint whisper would emerge. While this symptom is not atypical, I was entirely unprepared for how challenging it would be to parent without a voice.

Until my vocal cords went on medical leave, I never realized just how much I relied on raising my voice and (ok, I admit it) yelling to manage my boys. I never thought of myself as a yeller. While I am human and lose my cool with my kids more often than I care to admit, I do make a conscious effort to attach โ€œpleasesโ€ to all of my daily commands, followed by โ€œthank youโ€™s.” I try to take deep meditative breaths before reacting to brotherly quarrels and shenanigans. However, I found that even when I am using a pleasant tone of voice while ordering my boys to โ€œput their shoes onโ€ and repeating โ€œpleaseโ€ fifteen times, I am still doing so at a volume level that can only be characterized by โ€œyelling.โ€

During my first day without a voice, I encountered multiple failed attempts at shouting after my boys as they sprinted through the house. Every time I wanted to give directions, I found myself silenced. Each time I needed them to load up for school, I opened my mouth to shout across the house and quickly remembered that I had lost this supermom power. As I sat mute with my box of Kleenex and listened to the bathroom wrestling match unfold, I started to wonder if the ability to yell was a โ€œsuperโ€ power after all. While I was frustrated that I had temporarily lost my primary tool for managing the household, I was also stunned by the epiphany that I was a max-volume mama. So rather than screaming from the bottom of the stairs that it was ten minutes past bedtime and pajamas had better be on, I was forced to climb the stairs and enter the bathroom wrestling ring. There was a toothbrush in the toilet, globs of green toothpaste on the mirror, and my six-year-old was in tears. Once again, I opened my mouth to express frustration but instead had to scramble for other methods. I diffused the situation with a lot of eye contact, a gentle but firm touch to separate my mini Hulk Hogans, and softly whispered admonishments and directives. To my astonishment, my little guyโ€™s tears dried up, and big brother didnโ€™t yell back with his typical sass. They both seemed to be transfixed by the calm that I exuded.

As my voiceless days persisted, I noticed that this calm continued. While it took more mindfulness and physical effort, I was pleased by the way my boys responded when I whisper-talked to them and got their attention with a gentle touch and eye contact rather than shouting. They had to listen carefully when I needed to speak and had more empathy for me and the fact that I was not feeling my best. And since I couldnโ€™t continually run my trap, I was forced to slow down and truly listen to them. The less I talked in our conversations, the more they shared. While I was certainly happy when my voice returned, those sick days taught me a valuable lesson about my parenting style. Now I canโ€™t say that our household is a hushed sanctuary, though I am trying to channel โ€œlaryngitis mamaโ€ whenever things get crazy.

1 COMMENT

  1. I’m totally a polite yeller, too . . . I always say please! ๐Ÿ™‚ But, yes, my volume says one thing, my words, another. I used to teach kindergarten, and about twice a year would get laryngitis in sync with seasonal allergies. The kids were always so well behaved and the days so much calmer when I couldn’t speak, which in and of itself, spoke volumes.

Comments are closed.