Ibrahim Soliman      

   Professor Zayas 

   English 210

    09/06/2024                                                                                                                

                                                                   My Voice

         “ I can’t move my body!” is what I wanted to say when I broke my wrist at the park, but that is not what came out of my mouth. I was not able to make a sound to express my pain or ask for help. Speaking is something people take for granted, but I know I never will. I was unable to utter a word until I was eight. Even then, my vocabulary was limited in every language I knew. While I tried to be as clear as possible, no one could understand me. I listened to children my age chatting with one another, laughing and smiling. Their whole faces would turn red because of little silly jokes that I could not join in with my own quips. I didn’t have the opportunity to enjoy humor as a kid. Most of the time, I would feel out of place. My mother would cry of sadness, tears dripping from her eyes, worrying that her baby boy wouldn’t be able to lead a normal life. My father would put his arm around her to comfort her, saying, “Everything is going to be alright; let’s just give it time.” Naturally, as a young child, I had little understanding of how my silence affected my parents. I felt like I was the only one suffering because I couldn’t convey how I was feeling. My voice box felt as though it was blocked by a thick wall, as if my ability to speak had been chained up from birth. The only thing I had to offer was my smile. I visited my grandmother’s home during my winter break. She was a very kind old woman who spoke very few words. My mother and my grandmother were sitting on the floor making desserts. I was very excited to be at my grandmother’s home with all of my cousins so I was running around a lot. I ran all around her house until I bumped into a chair and hurt my head. The blood poured from my wound, staining my clothes and pooling around me on the cold, hard ground. Each moment felt like an eternity as I lay there, helpless and in excruciating pain. The world around me blurred as tears streamed down my cheeks, the fear of the unknown overwhelming me. In that moment, as I lay broken and bleeding, I felt utterly alone and vulnerable because I was unable to vocalize my pain or ask for help. All I wished for was to scream my moms name and ask for help but all I was able to do was cry until she heard me and took me to the hospital. This moment repeated itself multiple times throughout my childhood. There were moments where I felt pain or got my feelings hurt but was not able to communicate this since I was non-verbal. I felt trapped throughout my whole childhood and was not able to feel free until the speech therapy I was receiving came into play. I started communicating my feelings and thoughts regularly because it was the only thing I wished for as a kid. My mother woke me up one day, got me dressed, and held my hand. We walked outside and waited for the bus. Even though it was still early in the morning, the clouds started to part. The sun began to appear. The bus finally arrived, and we went inside and sat patiently. My mother tried talking to me, but I sat there silently. We got off the bus and entered a big building. The inside of the building was completely white. It felt like I was in a laboratory and about to be experimented on. A doctor greeted us and took us into a room. I was introduced to a woman wearing a white lab coat, and she looked at me with a big smile on her face. She shook my small, chubby hand and began to play games with me. At first, I thought she was annoying because she wanted me to repeat the same word over and over again. I began to see her every single week, right after school. It would be me and her in the room, and she would make me say different words each session that I had with her. It was very irritating because she was very persistent. It caused me to snap in one of our meetings. I remember that I felt upset and started to scream at her, “OLD OLD OLD OLD!!! Ok, I said it, leave me alone.” I was expecting her to be upset or angry, but it was the complete opposite. She was instead,very happy and crying tears of joy. She would hold both of my arms and say,” You have finally talked.” For the past 7 years, I have finally spoken my first word. Through intense behavior and speech therapy, I gained the proper speech skills. The moment I started speaking confidently, I made sure to express myself without fear in group settings. I take part in public speaking positions, such as communicating my thoughts and feelings to the best of my ability. With speech and behavior therapy, I gained many skills and was able to express myself. First, it started with hand movements, then it developed into words and phrases. Now my family and friends consider me to be the funniest person in their lives. I made my childhood dream of making others smile and being in on the laughter that comes with a joke come true. My voice and words impact people more than I can ever imagine. It puts a smile on my mother’s face, sometimes a frown on my sister’s face, and a grin on my best friend’s face. A person’s voice can educate people, save a life, and impact generations. I plan to treat people who have speech disorders by working as a speech pathologist in the future.