I find silence in a woman unnatural. It is almost always synonymous with one trauma or another. I don’t easily trust silence in women; it unnerves me in a way that this post is too short for. I am finally understanding why.
My mother is loud! She has the second loudest laughter of anyone I know (loudest has to be my sister). Mum talks non-stop, and even at her work, everyone knows she is coming from metres away- you hear her well before you see her. Everything is in volumes with her, her joy, her excitement, her curiosity, her sadness on days when she is sad, even her silence on days when she chooses silence is alarmingly loud. My mother has a sister, equally as loud, equally as talkative (you have no idea how short the product life cycle of gossip is in my family). My mother has a daughter; louder, just as talkative, just as opinionated. Then my mother has me, her last daughter, who grew up watching all these glorious, loud women.
I call it loudness because I don’t know what other word I would use. It’s not so much that they speak in decibels (Mabel this one is for you) although make no mistake, they do talk loudly, but it’s the loudness of their being. How unapologetic they are, how funny, how confrontational, fiercely loyal, overwhelmingly loving, emotional, sarcastic, roll-their-eyes-into-last-year and opinionated they are. Please tell me when Merriam-Webster find a name for that.
The women in my family are so loud, you never have to wonder what they are thinking. Whether it’s a judgmental look on their face or a disapproving smirk, there is very little room to misinterpret what is being said or unsaid. More often than not, it is said very directly.As I evolve, I hope no one ever has to wonder what I am thinking either. I like to think I am an open book. I am incapable of mystery, incapable of keeping a thought to myself. There is a level of expressiveness you get from being surrounded by people who consistently express themselves. I am grateful for that. I believe it makes my relationships with people not necessarily easier but just a lot more transparent.
Loud women teach you to stand up for something. If I had a dollar for every time my mother pulled a “I am going down to that school to find out what’s happening” or “I will take a news crew to that place “, I’d be a pretty wealthy gurlie. And the interesting thing is usually when my mother morphs into public warrior mode, it has nothing to do with her. She just sees an injustice happening to someone and immediately wants to step in. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t but it’s always such a marvel to watch. Her readiness to stand up for something outside of herself, something that has absolutely nothing to do with her, is something we could all learn from.
Loudness invites accountability. I remember a few years ago. A (male) co-worker said something wildly inappropriate to me. I responded by loudly saying his words back to him. His immediate reaction was to shush me. Then I asked him, if it really was that embarrassing to say out loud, why did he think it was okay to say to me? I have found that loudness is such a great response to disrespect. Because disrespect and different forms of harassment thrive in silence, I have learnt to be very loud in them. The next time someone is making you uncomfortable, get loud!
There’s a picture I have seen a couple times. It says something like “My mother clapped so loudly for me that I never realised who wasn’t clapping”. That was my experience in a lot of ways. Sometime in primary school, she was the MC at our prize giving day. After I got my prizes (some of us peaked at age 7 please), the first thing she would do when she got back on stage was remind everyone I was hers. Not much has changed. My mother is so loud in her support that it never gave me room to doubt myself. Somehow she managed to be louder than the voices in my head. Whenever the impostor has tried to creep into my head, my very loud, very chatty mother has probably worn her out to a point where she eventually leaves me alone.
Where loudness resides, there is no room for repression. My mother, and my sister, like her, do not cover their mouths when they laugh. They laugh with their whole bodies, at times failing to breathe. That is one of my favourite things about them. They are not repressed in that manner, and from that I learnt not to repress. If it is funny, I am hooting and hollering. If I am hurt, I am crying. If I am angry, a tantrum is coming. I don’t believe in repression. Especially the repression of women in any way- we have way too much going on to be suppressing uhleko guys? Ngeke khehla! .
In a world where women have to sacrifice their voices for acceptance, for opportunity, for love, for palatability, I am happy I have always been around loud, outspoken women. These are the women who teach you to laugh, to speak, to say no, to say yes, to blaze your own trails. Away from anyone’s expectations of you. And it’s not just the women in my family. It’s women who were my teachers, my friends, my colleagues, women I didn’t necessarily like but had to respect because despite differences, they were such forces, forces that refused to shrink.
Let’s appropriate for a second. Here’s to loud women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.
I will leave you with this poem by Olivia Gatwood about the loud, chaotic women on Long Island:
