Women Talking In the Rain

Their voices made me what I am

Hi! Before I get into this, I want to thank everyone who just found me via the publication of my essay, “Thunderbitches and the Whores of Folk” in Oldster Magazine. I hope you’ll read it, because this piece relates to that one. In any case, I humbly ask you to tap the little heart (above on your laptop or below on your phone), and share this essay with anyone you like. Thanks so much, and feel free to leave comments. I love hearing from you and I will respond.

My upbringing was hella noisy. I was born to a family of professional musicians who put food on the table by performing complicated classical music with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. A typical day in our household included the sound of my parents' separate instrument practice, and often that of their students who came for lessons right in our living room. My choir friends would also come over so we could practice our parts for upcoming concerts. Our family stereo was dominated by classical music and jazz, and when I was able to tune in to the Top 40 station I would sing so loud that neighbors would sometimes join in. Against all of it, the different kinds of music and voices, was the sound of the rain. 

There are so many different kinds of Vancouver rain that they constitute their own musical cannon: staccato tapping on your bedroom window, thunderous crashing on the roof of your car, and the sloshing of your footsteps through torrential currents are just a few of its greatest hits. The sound was almost ever-present, but it was just another sonic wavelength I learned to tune out so I could focus on whatever needed my full attention.

Yet early on, when I was a very young girl, I noticed something that became an obsession and charted the course of my whole life: the rain made women speak up. 

Under umbrellas, in sidewalk cafes, beneath awnings and covered porches, women pushed their voices out into the air. When they parked their cars and dashed for shelter, they would even yell, much louder than anything I’d heard before. Their voices rang out strong, fearless, and free, and it was thrilling.

So much of the female communication I was used to hearing sounded hushed, like bells ringing behind a heavy door. A lot of what women said, the words they chose, didn’t match what was actually going on with them. They often seemed to speak in code, as if shielding their deepest feelings from scrutiny and ridicule, even from each other. Especially if they felt vulnerable or in pain, the contrast in their voices was jarring. At those moments they sounded like birds trying to chirp the sun up at midnight, tinny and hopeful and exhausted. Even their joy sounded muted, their whoops of encouragement during our music concerts and sports games and so much softer than the men around them. 

Strictly speaking, the sound of the human voice is produced in the larynx, a tiny organ that houses your vocal cords, at the base of your throat just behind where your collar bones meet. But the larynx cannot make sound on its own. It requires a current of breath, controlled air pressure that moves up through the trachea to vibrate the vocal cords. From that action of breath support comes the voice. It doesn’t take much air to engage in regular conversation. But to scream, or holler, or even just speak loudly, you have to move a lot of breath. 

To make themselves heard above the sound of the rain the women took deeper, much more powerful breaths. The breath gave them energy and courage, and they became more authentic, more truthful when they spoke. In the rain they would laugh louder, and curse more. They would punch and kick the air with their voices, opening their mouths and baring their teeth like wolves, to make more room for their words. 

Tuning in to women’s voices in the rain showed me that the world was much bigger than I had previously believed. If you know how to listen, you can hear extraordinary things when women are talking, especially to each other. Whatever gets said is important, but the sound beneath the words is where the true magic lies. Women’s conversation often sits on top of a vast underground aqueduct, where powerful emotions, opinions and longings flow like secret rivers. As a child I rooted for the women around me. I looked forward to rainy days so I could hear what was actually going on beneath the surface.

I also started to pay more attention to the women on Top 40 radio. Annie Lennox always popped out full and free. Tina Turner could actually roar, and it sounded like sonic fire. Janet Jackson often seemed to be singing through a keyhole, but with ferocious joy. Beneath the candy coating Madonna had steel inside her voice, and it cut you when you least expected. Cyndi Lauper sang from her heart, and that warmth vibrated in everything she did. Each of them had unique and captivating vocals that I could tune in to and learn from. Their songs were my power anthems, and I sang them to myself whenever I felt scared or alone, or when the rain got too loud.

Hearing women use their full voices to sing and speak openly about what was on their minds shook me to my core. It confirmed what I’d always suspected: that we are infinitely more powerful than we appear, and that we can access our power through our voices. I’ve built my entire career around this principle. As a trained singer, performing in musical theater and in rock bands, I discovered techniques to harness breath support and strengthen the vocal anatomy, for greater strength and stamina. As a public speaker, giving talks about pro-choice issues and the importance of medically accurate sex education, I learned to speak in a concise but passionate way that compells the listener. As a coach I’ve taught singing and public speaking for over 20 years, and in the past decade I created an original method called “Power Voice for Career Women” that I’ve taught to thousands of women across multiple sectors and industries.

Every time I meet a new woman and listen to her speak, I feel the same sense of excitement and wonder that I did in childhood. I know how massive women’s power actually is, and it’s right here, all around us. But we shouldn’t have to strain through the rain to detect it. So I work hard, rain or shine. Everything gets better when women are loud, and I want the whole world to hear.

You can learn more about my job as a Power Voice coach for women HERE.

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