May I Make a Suggestion? Listen to Your Own Voice

There were two things that straightened me up as a child: my mother’s “you-better-not” look… and the deep, commanding voice of a Black man.

That voice doesn’t have to be angry or loud—it just has to hit the air in a certain way. Something about the frequency snaps us into alignment. Fast.

My dad’s voice is a distant memory now. He passed when I was sixteen, an 11th grader at Garfield High School. I don’t hear his voice anymore—not in the way you can recall a song or a conversation. But I feel it. Specifically, I feel the last thing he said to me:

“I’m disappointed in you.”

We didn’t know each other well by then. He had been very involved when I was younger, but as I grew older, I spent more time with friends, and we drifted apart. It wasn’t just him pulling away, I did, too. I think we both felt a little rejected by the other. And still, that sentence hit. Because no matter the distance, what child doesn’t want to be adored by their father?

I stood as his only next of kin just months later in a Louisiana cemetery.

Even now, I can’t quite hear his voice, but my body remembers that moment. It’s subtle, like butterflies in my stomach or a sudden rush of heat. A memory wrapped in frequency.

Science tells us that sound waves activate the hippocampus and the amygdala, the regions of the brain that store long-term memory and process emotion. That’s why certain songs can make us cry or run to the dance floor (20-something-me). That’s why we can feel the past, even when we don’t remember it in sounds.

When my dad said those words, he wasn’t just giving an opinion. He was leaving a resonance. And I wonder now—when I recall that memory, what is my body releasing? What hormone? What reaction? What internal script?

That moment reminds me how powerful it is to be intentional with the voice I use on myself. I’ve learned not to label it 'positive self-talk,' because that implies there's something to compare it to—a negative counterpart. What I aim for isn’t comparison. It’s clarity. It’s alignment with what’s true. Because truth doesn’t compete. It just resonates.

“I am courageous.” “I am free.” “I am becoming.”

I’ve been saying these things out loud, not as affirmations to convince myself, but as frequencies to align with.

I live with a 17-year-old boy who’s used to my voice in this way. I’ll walk past him and say:

“You know you can have whatever you want, right?”

And he’ll nod, calm as ever: “Yep.”

He’s not being flippant. He’s saturated in that message. He’s heard it from me all of his life. And when I say it to him, I’m also saying it to myself:

“You too, Jo. You can have whatever you want.”

Sound waves. Spoken belief. Shared truth.

This week, I walked the halls of Garfield High School as an instructor. The same school where I once felt misunderstood. Where I felt unseen. Where my father lived across the street but never opened the door. And now, I’m opening every door I can.

I stood before forty young girls and asked them to do something sacred: to write down their wildest dreams, and then go somewhere quiet and speak them aloud.

Some whispered. Some closed their eyes. Some laughed nervously. But all of them released sound into the world.

All of them became the speaker and the listener. All of them aligned (maybe for the first time) with the truth of their own desires.

That’s sound work. That’s wellness. That’s healing. That’s the beginning of legacy.

We don’t just hear with our ears. We hear with our bodies. With our memories. With our futures.

And when you align your voice with your truth, you’re not just talking: you’re tuning.

So May i Make a Suggestion? Speak to yourself. Out loud. Every day.

Don’t just think the good thoughts—say them. Call yourself by name. Tell yourself the truth. Give your brain the signal and your body the sound.

Because speaking aloud requires intention. It slows down the racing mind. It grounds the runaway thought. And it leaves a trail of resonance your spirit can follow back to center.

Your voice is not just communication—it’s calibration. Speak. And listen. You’re tuning your life in real time.