I was seven when I first got my braces on. It wasn’t till I was fourteen it was all removed – braces, elastics and rapid palatal expander for seven long, long years. You can identify when by looking at old pictures of me, for few were graced with a full smile.

It made talking more difficult. I already had a speech impediment, where I sound vaguely British. While amusing for bit jokes and improv, it also made me stand out. Speech-language pathologists was already part of my life when I received my braces. Frustrated, I accepted that I had to rebuild the progress of my words once again.

Speech therapy was a godsend as I transitioned into middle school. I would be whisked away from the mad rooms of public school, guided through eerily quiet hallways into a small room. It was quiet, save for a few other students. Finally, I could relax and focus. Within those twenty minutes or so, I was able to build up some muscle – find my own voice and opinions, sharpen my teeth for occasional comebacks.

Except, I had bigger plans than dealing with hormones and other teenagers. I was determined to get up from the side corners and end up exactly where I wanted to be – upfront and dead center on stage. I wouldn’t let something as small as a wire keep me away.

Forged by Fiery Temper and Diving Head First

Some may wonder, why would someone who mumbles and freeze up join drama clubs, let alone become a theater major? Wouldn’t that be a good reason NOT to follow those dreams? What a wild risk!

And that is exactly why I followed those paths. I wanted to do the difficult things. It would be worth the try, for it made it easier to project NO. I strengthened my ability to articulate my words and thoughts for classes and presentations, because I had the opportunity to articulate my thoughts in a separate space.

The key to acting fundamentals were laced into the patterns of speech therapy: constant repetition; how to pronounce things consistently; check my work by referring to a director or peer; even to exercise the separate muscles in the face and mouth. It’s a grind of memorization and self-discipline, to use even outside of rehearsal. Sometimes it’s about finding an empty room to repeat the lines for twenty minutes straight. I had to be able to sit alone with them everyday until they become a personal prayer.

Sometimes it was about sneaking into a corner to read straight from the script. Admittedly, it was probably looked weird, seeing me muttering off to the side. However, if doing something weird made me better at something, then it is well worth the stares. After all, performance was a place to become stronger, to face fears by looking at a crowd head on with a spitfire attitude.

It was strength building for when the braces were removed. And inevitably, they were.

When the Wires Came Off

There was freedom, but not necessarily wisdom. Months after my braces were off, there was popcorn, and chewing gum. So much chewing gum I’m sure I gave myself TMJ. It was a celebration because the teeth were freed and I was finally better understood. Granted I still sounded off, like I was still working from old scripts. In retrospect, I acknowledge that I approached my passions in a similar way — just as I trained, ready to repeat established patterns for success.

There were adjustments for college: the drive to learn what other theater professions involved; developing management and directing styles in a cooperative setting; studying how to present a cohesive research project. I learned to balance studying of the material with studying my peers. Every other student was an opportunity to me to study and learn, bend in a different way to see what worked and didn’t. It was about stretching and expanding to meet needs and new choreography across the stage. It was experimentation in motion.

But then it was time for a solo project, and…

What the hell was I even doing? Besides completely freezing, that is.

Left by myself, it was difficult to admit I was frightened. Who am I without a wild cast of personalities? How do I sound without the grind of wires and articulation? What is my voice without copying characters or other writing styles?

At last I had to ask myself: Who was I and what do I have to say?

My teeth were freed, words articulated… and rising from the phantoms, was a long forgotten fear that I had never conquered.

Defining the Self, Unfiltered

Notice how I keep speaking of growth, pushing forward, to try to achieve something or get a goal… Where is the space for life to happen? Where, in the grand scheme of things, did I leave space to simply be the unfiltered me?

If who we truly are is the stuff we do in-between goals and the rest of life, then I must have left breadcrumbs somewhere. I left some clues in journals, choirs and violins. Others in the decades old memories I still retain. My truth lies scattered in fragments of relationships that grown in different schools. How can I piece together the different masks and roles into a cohesive whole?

I think back to a cloudy lunch period at my high school at the end of freshman year, shortly after the braces were removed. I somehow convinced my physics teacher to wait after class and hear me out. Surely with the basic principles of gravity and magnetic polarity, we could, in theory, be able to make Quidditch a real game within our lifetime. Mr. Robin surely had plenty of thoughts and opinions why and how that could not happen. Yet he allowed me to ramble on, trying to piece together what we had learned over the year to develop and create ideas to bring some crazy idea to life. Or maybe Mr. Robin was happy to be distracted to have me engaged, even if it did sound fantastical.

This small memory is also one of realization – that a mouth unburdened was also one capable of significant reflection and curiosity. That perhaps, when unfiltered, my true self is someone who tries to make the impossible just a bit more accessible. Since I had to carefully watch and measure my words for so long, they had become a tool for prying open others’ minds while being respectful as possible. Opinions were gifts to peer into different worlds and lives, much like the books I voraciously read when I was tired of talk. When the world we live in is just as colorful as the page and stage, if not more so, then why don’t we explore that more?

Hooked Up to the Mic

I’ve been sitting in silence, wondering how I’ve gotten here. When really, this was probably the plan the entire time.

Theater is passionate but brutal. The charismatic and headstrong head off to their respective fields, fierce advocates for industry workers, knee-deep in casting and building others’ careers. The personable and persistent types brave the educational system, reaching out to children who need the perspective of an adult who knows how to balance responsibility and play. The introverted and creative types swing between directing and writing, curiously masters of their own minds and bring the best out of others. Of course, mix and match these as you please. But these are the three personalities I see the most.

If I had thawed in college, it would have been to that third category – directing and writing. At that time though, I simply did not have the confidence — if I hadn’t the confidence of my own voice, how could I communicate a vision?

Instead, I see that I did the next best thing when frozen at the mic. I passed it over to the next person. If I froze up doing warm ups with peers, I zap it over to one of the constant energizers. If middle-schoolers wanted to observe a rehearsal, I help them find a quiet spot or suggest a fun acting exercise. If my scene partner was working over a stutter or needed to work a scene last minute, I gave them as much time as I could give. Theater provided me joy and a community – why would I ever deny that to someone else?

That is why I have remained silent and happily sidelined for so long. There are too many wonderful characters that I want to see on stage, too many talented folks that I am mesmerized by the magic and willpower they radiate. Where do I see myself anymore?

I’m caught in a vision, attempting to make the impossible possible, grinding down anxieties with my own willpower. Till I am again shedding out of restraints that I’ve aligned myself, into a more holistic version of me that took a few cicada years to grow into. It’s tiring to be staring into the same screen, same space or wall for years. Sounds like the perfect time to be casting magic and inspiration into others once again. This time, with a fine tuned mouth and vision readied to build a community and home to welcome back old and new friends.

Why would I let a little thing like feeling wired keep me away from living life? That didn’t stop me before.