Finding My Voice Again

This story was submitted by a community member who chose to remain anonymous. They wanted to share their experience to help others who might be facing similar challenges.

I’ve been a high school English teacher for fifteen years. My classroom was always filled with discussion, debate, and the kind of animated conversations that happen when students get excited about literature. I prided myself on being able to project my voice across a crowded classroom, to read aloud with expression and passion, and to engage every student through the power of spoken word.

Then, almost overnight, that all changed.

When the Symptoms Started

It began with what I thought was just a persistent case of laryngitis. My voice would crack during first period, recover by lunch, then become strained again by the end of the day. I figured I was just pushing too hard, maybe coming down with something. I drank more tea, tried throat lozenges, and even took a few days off to rest my voice.

But it didn’t get better. In fact, it got worse.

Within a month, my voice had become unpredictable in a way that terrified me. Sometimes words would come out in a strained whisper. Other times, they’d catch and break in the middle of a sentence. Reading aloud—something I’d always loved—became an exercise in anxiety. Would my voice hold up through an entire passage? Would my students be able to understand me?

The worst part was the loss of control. As a teacher, your voice is your primary tool. When you can’t rely on it, you feel powerless.

The Diagnosis

After months of seeing various doctors and specialists, I finally received a diagnosis: spasmodic dysphonia. The neurologist explained that it was a neurological condition causing involuntary spasms of my vocal cords during speech. There was no cure, but there were treatments that might help.

I remember sitting in my car after that appointment, crying not just from grief but from relief. Finally, I had an answer. What I was experiencing had a name, and I wasn’t imagining it or causing it through poor voice habits.

But I also remember feeling terrified about what this meant for my career. How could I continue teaching when my primary tool for communication was unreliable?

The Dark Period

The months following my diagnosis were some of the most challenging of my life. I went on medical leave from teaching because I simply couldn’t manage a classroom when my voice might give out at any moment. I felt like I was grieving not just my voice, but my identity as a teacher.

I isolated myself from friends and family. Social situations became overwhelming because I never knew how my voice would sound or whether people would understand me. I declined invitations, avoided phone calls, and communicated primarily through text and email.

Depression crept in quietly. I felt like I had lost myself, and I couldn’t see a path forward.

The Beginning of Adaptation

My turning point came during my first appointment with a speech-language pathologist who specialized in voice disorders. She was the first healthcare professional who really understood the emotional impact of what I was going through, not just the medical aspects.

“Your voice has changed,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be an effective teacher. We just need to find new strategies.”

She introduced me to voice therapy techniques that helped me manage the symptoms: breathing exercises, vocal warm-ups, and strategies for reducing muscle tension. More importantly, she helped me start thinking about accommodation rather than limitation.

We explored assistive technology options: voice amplifiers for the classroom, text-to-speech software for when my voice was particularly strained, and ways to restructure my teaching methods to rely less heavily on constant vocal output.

Returning to the Classroom

After six months of voice therapy and working with my school’s disability services coordinator, I returned to teaching part-time. I was nervous about how students and colleagues would react to the changes in my voice, but I was also excited to be back in the environment I loved.

I started each class by briefly explaining that I had a voice condition and that they might notice differences in how I sounded. I told them that if they couldn’t understand something I said, they should feel comfortable asking me to repeat it or to write it down.

The response was overwhelmingly positive. My students were curious but respectful. Some even told me that my openness about my condition made them feel more comfortable discussing their own challenges and accommodations.

New Teaching Strategies

Having spasmodic dysphonia forced me to become a more creative and flexible teacher:

Discussion-based learning: Instead of lecturing for entire class periods, I restructured my classes to include more student-led discussions, small group work, and collaborative activities.

Visual aids: I began using more written prompts, diagrams, and multimedia resources to supplement my verbal instruction.

Technology integration: I embraced tools like recorded audio instructions for assignments, shared digital documents, and online discussion platforms.

Strategic voice use: I learned to save my voice for the most important instructional moments and to use non-verbal communication more effectively.

Student partnerships: I trained student leaders to help facilitate discussions and assist with classroom management when my voice was particularly strained.

The Unexpected Benefits

While I would never call my voice disorder a blessing, it has led to some unexpected positive changes in my teaching:

Better listening: When speaking requires more effort, you become a better listener. I now hear nuances in my students’ comments and questions that I might have missed before.

Increased empathy: Having a disability has made me much more aware of and responsive to the diverse needs of my students.

Innovation: Being forced to find new ways to teach has made me more creative and has improved my overall instructional methods.

Authenticity: Being open about my challenges has created deeper connections with students who see me as more human and approachable.

Advocacy skills: Learning to advocate for my own needs has made me a better advocate for my students.

Managing Daily Challenges

Living with spasmodic dysphonia requires ongoing management and adaptation:

Treatment: I receive regular Botox injections, which help reduce the vocal spasms for several months at a time. The effects aren’t perfect, but they make a significant difference.

Voice therapy: I continue working with my speech-language pathologist to maintain the techniques that help me communicate more effectively.

Energy management: I’ve learned to pace myself throughout the day and to recognize when I need to rest my voice.

Support system: My family, friends, and colleagues understand my condition and provide both practical and emotional support.

Professional accommodations: My school provides accommodations like reduced class sizes during difficult periods and access to assistive technology.

Advice for Others

If you’re facing similar challenges with a voice disorder, especially if you work in a communication-intensive field, here’s what I want you to know:

You are not your voice disorder. Your skills, knowledge, and passion haven’t changed. You may need to find new ways to express them, but they’re still there.

Accommodation is not defeat. Using assistive technology, asking for help, or modifying your approach isn’t giving up—it’s being smart and strategic.

People are more understanding than you think. Most people want to help and support you; they just need to understand what you need.

Professional help is essential. Working with specialists who understand voice disorders can make a huge difference in both your symptoms and your confidence.

Community matters. Connecting with others who have similar experiences can provide both practical advice and emotional support.

Five Years Later

It’s been five years since my diagnosis, and I’m still teaching. My voice still isn’t “normal,” and I still have difficult days when the symptoms are more pronounced. But I’ve learned to work with my voice rather than against it.

My students continue to learn and grow, and I continue to find fulfillment in teaching. My methods have evolved, but my passion for education remains as strong as ever.

Some of my colleagues have told me that watching my journey has inspired them to be more innovative in their own teaching and more compassionate toward students with disabilities. If that’s true, then perhaps some good has come from this challenge.

To Anyone Just Beginning This Journey

If you’re newly diagnosed with a voice disorder or struggling to adapt to changes in your voice, please don’t give up. The adjustment period is difficult, and it’s normal to grieve the changes you’re experiencing.

But also know that adaptation is possible. You may need to find new ways to do things you love, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop doing them altogether.

Your voice—whatever form it takes—still has value. Your thoughts, experiences, and contributions to the world matter just as much as they ever did.

And remember: you are not alone. There are communities of people who understand what you’re going through, and there are professionals who can help you find your path forward.

Keep advocating for yourself, keep adapting, and keep sharing your unique voice with the world.

If you have a story about adapting to life with a voice disorder, we’d love to hear from you. Visit our Community Voices page to share your experience and connect with others on similar journeys.