[Ohio-Talk] In the May 2020 Braille Monitor, "Owning Your Voice"

[Suzanne Turner]

Owning Your Voice


by Nina Marranca

>From the Editor: Nina Marranca is a bright, witty Federationist whose
writing is both entertaining and educational. I particularly like the case
she makes for not remaining ignorant but embracing the things she needs to
learn. Nina is currently working on her bachelor's degree in psychology and
criminal justice at Medaille College and is simultaneously getting training
at the Louisiana Center for the Blind. Her goal is to get her PhD in
clinical psychology. 
This speech was delivered at the National Association of Blind Students
Leadership Seminar which occurred just before the 2020 Washington Seminar.
Here is what she said:

Good morning everyone. For those of you who don't already know me, I'm Nina
Marranca. I'm from New York but am currently in training at the Louisiana
Center for the Blind. I'm studying psychology and criminal justice. My goal
is to make a career in the field of trauma-informed mental health and to
conduct clinical-minded research. But beyond those boring details, I'm an
extrovert, if you haven't figured that one out already. Coffee is of equal
importance to oxygen in my book, and when I'm not being loud, which
considering I come from a large Italian family tends to be rare, you can
find me reading or binge-watching murder shows. I've been involved with the
NFB for almost a year-and-a-half. I am very excited to speak with you all
today.

These remarks required a bit of reflection from me on the last year and life
in general. About a year ago I heard a dynamic and beautiful person speak at
the 2019 NABS Winter Seminar. She is a close friend of mine and the same
person who asked me to speak with you all as a matter of fact. She told her
story with such confidence and conviction. Her words were beautifully
honest, fueled with determination and a sense of individuality. She talked
about growth, self-discovery, and learning to view obstacles as a source of
strength, rather than reasons to doubt our abilities. When I think of owning
your voice, her speech still jumps to the forefront of my mind. The energy
in that room had been powerful; her speech made me think I want to do that.
I want to stand up and own my words like that. I want to help others feel
like that.

At this time last year, it wasn't that I had never advocated before. Sure, I
had spoken up during the run-of-the-mill daily interactions in a coffee
shop, on the bus, in the grocery store. The jobs I hold while in school
require me to talk with students and families on a daily basis about a
variety of services and individual circumstances. I didn't have a problem
asking questions or attempting to correct misconceptions. In short, if you
would have asked me back then if I owned my voice, I would've responded
quickly with "Of course I do." I only see now that I was wrong.

What does it mean to own your voice? I asked a group of students that very
question the other day. I received answers about realizing the impact you
can have, about being cautious with tone and dynamics, and even about
copyrighting one's voice so that you could, literally, own said voice.
Here's the thing: none of those answers were wrong. After explaining that I
was using their answers as a starting place when preparing this speech,
someone turned to me and asked: "Well, what does it mean to you to own your
voice?" Surprisingly, I had to stop and think. I wanted to pinpoint the
first time I felt that I could truly use my voice for more than just yelling
about which of my brothers ate the remains of a pizza that I had counted on
for lunch. So I thought about it, and it took me back to a classroom, of all
places. But in this instance, I was not the student.
I had just finished reading a story in Braille to a bunch of first and
second graders. It was the first time I did school outreach. Since then I've
talked in countless classrooms, auditoriums, and cafeterias. Those
presentations are beyond enjoyable, especially when you factor in the open
and honest nature of kids. They ask questions that adults will flinch away
from, apologizing and admonishing instead of praising curiosity and
stimulating acceptance. I'll get back to the importance of questions in a
moment, but first, I'd like to tell you all about my first experience
speaking in a classroom.

The kids were seated in a circle on a carpet. There were maybe ten or twelve
of them. Before reading, we talked. Little fingertips skimmed Braille pages
and held my cane, while small voices asked questions that adults wonder but
would never let themselves ask. After I read the story, the little boy who
had been showing the pictures in the book to his classmates stood before me,
nervously guiding my hand because he wanted to show me the braces that
covered at least half of his body. "That's so cool!" I exclaimed. "You're
like iron man, you know? You're a real superhero. I think that's awesome!"
His small hand slapped mine in a high five, and I could hear the smile in
his voice as he laughed. His classmates watched on, in silent awe of my
revelation that this little boy may in fact wear gear that resembled a
real-life superhero instead of gear that made it no doubt difficult to run
and play like everyone else.

It wasn't until after that I found out this little boy had been struggling
with being picked on by his classmates, with learning to use his voice, with
learning to accept that he was different from the other kids. This little
dude's name is Keath, and to this day, that memory sticks with me. After
leaving that day, my heart was content. Put simply, I was happy and
exhilarated all at once. It was the first time I truly felt I owned my
voice, and all of the credit goes to a superhero-loving six-year-old. 

Since then I've spoken in countless classrooms, whether they are filled with
bubbly five-year-olds or students studying to become teachers. However, I
wouldn't be completely honest if I acted as if one experience made me
comfortable with owning my voice, in situations related to blindness and in
those that are not. Instead it has been a collection of small moments that
have transformed me from someone who found walking to the corner or asking
for assistance incredibly terrifying. It's been a long process for me, and I
am still learning. Just to name a few experiences in which I feel that I
have owned my voice offhand: advocating at last year's Washington Seminar,
hosting and producing a podcast with other students, being a part of a panel
discussion teaching families how to ensure equal college education for
students with disabilities, and preparing my research papers for submission
for publication. All of these things may seem different on the surface, but
all of them give me the feeling I had when I spoke to kids in a classroom
for the first time-a mix of contentment and exhilaration. Owning your voice
doesn't happen with one encounter; rather, it's about finding where you feel
content using your voice for good, for change, to stand up for what you
believe in. 

Today I feel confident when standing in the face of adversity because I know
that I have the power through my voice to speak up. I have the power to be a
leader but also admit when I do not know something. That is why questions
are so important. The majority of misconceptions stem from a lack of
knowledge. However, when learning to own your voice, I urge you to embrace
this lack of knowledge instead of being disquieted by it; it is a perfect
starting place for growth and education. I encourage you to help others ask
questions and to recognize the importance of asking them yourself. I have
found that this is a huge part of owning your voice and using it to the best
of your ability.

I would like to bring up another point about owning your voice that I
personally struggle with. This may seem like common sense, but it is worth
mentioning. Owning your voice does not mean that you will always be the
perfect advocate, or mentor, or student, whatever your goal is, all of the
time. This is something I personally struggle with because I'm a major
perfectionist, and sometimes I feel like I should be able to advocate for it
all, fix it all, react in the best possible way all of the time. 

Last summer several students and I were traveling back to an event using
Lyft. It had been a weekend filled with discussions on advocating, on
learning to use your voice the way you want to, whether that be through
leadership or something else. After first accusing us that we all were not
blind and lecturing us on proper passenger etiquette because you know, the
fact that every person had either a cane or a dog apparently didn't solidify
the whole blind thing for him, he stated: "You know, I think it's great that
you all are coming out. It's an inspiration." "So we're an inspiration
because we're living our lives?" I asked. "Yes, isn't that the point?," the
driver said before attempting to "educate" me about how the efforts of blind
people were heroic and inspirational because we clearly shouldn't be
traveling alone. I ended up snapping at the driver to stop speaking to us. I
was furious. You'd think most of my anger would be directed at the driver,
right? Oh, it was, and my friend found it helpful to announce upon arriving
at our destination "Yeah, I saw her inner Italian come out for the first
time." But I was actually mad at myself. How could I mentor these students
and teach them to use their voices for good if I can't even do that with a
Lyft driver? Doesn't that make me a hypocrite of the highest degree?

This bothered me for a bit until I helped lead a group discussion that got
pretty personal. A student whom I'd been working with that weekend, someone
who had barely spoken a word the first night, was the top contributor in
this conversation. She shared experiences, listened to others, and responded
beautifully. She was coming out of her shell, and to this day, I'm still
witnessing this transformation.

I realized something that day. No matter how you choose to own your voice,
because it is your choice, you will not always use it correctly or to the
best of your ability. There will be times when you think: why do I even
bother? But there will be many more moments when you think: I did the right
thing; my voice had an impact here. I live for those little victories. As
you learn to grow and to find where you feel both content and exhilarated
while using your voice, remember that owning your voice is a lifelong
process. It can be fraught with uncertainty and discomfort. But owning your
voice also means you will experience countless small victories, experiences
that fill your heart and teach you lessons that will bring you closer to the
person you want to be. I challenge you to never forget the impact of a
single conversation. I challenge you to push yourself out of your comfort
zone in any way you feel best fits you. I challenge you to find what you
love, because in my experience, passion grants us the ability to own our
voice in a way that knowledge at times may not. And finally, I challenge you
to revel in the small victories, to surround yourself with people who
encourage you to own your voice in all that you do, and to always, always
aspire for more.

I would like to leave you all with a quote from Maya Angelou that I feel
sums up the nature of the process of learning to own your voice. She says:
"We delight in the beauty of the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it
has gone through to achieve that beauty."