Hey everyone, I know I haven’t posted anything new for some time. I’ve been doing a lot of inner work to understand myself better and try to heal from trauma. Here’s what I’ve learnt so far.
I’ve come to believe that much of my difficulties with speaking stem from early childhood trauma. Ever since both my grandparents have died, I felt a strong urge to dig deeper into my past.
I was diagnosed with selective mutism at the age of four, and my selective mutism has always been unusual in its pattern: I was completely mute around my grandparents until the day they died, while I spoke in a whisper to everyone else.
I know “situational mutism” is the preferred term now, and at first, I liked it better than “selective mutism” because people often misinterpreted “selective” to mean I was deliberately choosing not to speak. However, “situational” doesn’t capture my experience either. It implies I spoke normally in some contexts, when in reality, I whispered to everyone except my grandparents, to whom I didn’t speak at all. There was no situation where I used a full voice.
This makes my experience feel somewhat outside the typical clinical understanding, which has often left me feeling misunderstood. When I read up on selective mutism or saw therapists, I found it hard to relate and the typical treatment strategies didn’t work for me.
As a child, my grandparents (who lived with us) took care of me while my parents were at work. During those hours, I witnessed my grandfather being abusive towards my grandmother. Growing up with him gave me a deep fear and distrust of men for most of my life. My grandmother, in turn, seemed emotionally distant and cold, which I suspect may have been her response to the abuse.
Despite being raised by them in my early childhood, I’ve always had a distant relationship with my grandparents; something that always mystified my mother, who was unaware of the abuse happening while she was at work.
I felt I had to be silent to make myself “invisible” and not draw any attention to myself. A particularly telling memory recently resurfaced: there was a day—or maybe several—where I refused to open my eyes the entire time I was with my grandparents. Even when my grandfather took me out to buy toys, I kept my eyes closed throughout the trip. It was like I wanted so badly to disappear when I was with them. I now see this was a desperate attempt to protect myself in an environment where I felt unsafe.
I used to love singing at a very young age. My mom always claims I began to sing long before I could talk; not sure if she meant it literally or just quoting an ABBA song! After becoming selectively mute, I desperately wanted a role model; someone who could guide me, make me feel less alone, and remind me that I wasn’t less than human. I think this explains why so many of my special interests have centred around male celebrities, particularly singers. I was unconsciously searching for a safe male figure who could inspire me to find my voice again.
It wasn’t until last year that I finally found that role model in Zack de la Rocha (frontman of Rage Against the Machine). Learning that he described himself as a “virtual mute” when he was young and seeing him so soft-spoken in interviews was profoundly validating. For the first time, I didn’t feel so alone in my experience.
It’s heartbreaking that I spent so much of my life feeling I had to silence and shrink myself for protection, which led to feeling that I was less than human and didn’t deserve to take up space in the world.
But now that both my grandparents are gone and I have better perspective on my past, I can finally begin to move on. My selective mutism wasn’t just an anxiety disorder; it was a protective response to trauma, my mind’s way of keeping me safe when I felt deeply unsafe.
Understanding this doesn’t fix everything overnight, but it gives me a path forward that feels true to my experience. It allows me to have compassion for that young child who did what she needed to survive.
See also: How my selective mutism is connected to childhood trauma (part 2)