“I lost my voice and my best friend too,
On swift, fierce winds and wings of blue,
The cold rain fell where beams had shone,
So I wrapped up tight and safe. Alone.

But I missed my friend, I missed my voice,
And my heart still whispered of another choice
To break out of my binding, safe, and warm,
And see what the world looked like after the storm.”

—Elaine Vickers

In the aftermath of the accident, and the resulting trauma, I lost my voice. It did not happen over night. It came about slowly. Day by day. As life became more difficult, I began to feel shame. I could not turn our life as quickly as I thought I should have been able to. I used to believe that sometimes you just have to put your head down and get through things. Brace yourself against the blowing wind and the rain that beats upon your shoulders. Look on the bright side. I now believe there are things in life, that no matter how hard we may try, we can not simply get through. Instead we have to go through them. We have to allow ourselves to feel the pain trauma brings into our lives. We have to allow ourselves to feel the new emotions that travel throughout our bodies at will. We have to give ourselves the time to heal, both our bodies and our minds. We have to fight against the shame that threatens to silence us.

The sad thing, at least for me, and I believe for Chris as well, is that in the aftermath of the accident our voices began to fade. In the early days, I thought that all we had to do was get Chris healthy again. Once he was healthy, we both thought life would return to normal. We would get on with things. I had no idea how the accident would affect our relationships with others. That we would slowly begin to see many of our loved ones differently. That they would slowly begin to see us differently as well. We had no idea that many of Chris’ peers and colleagues would take a passive role. Industry leaders would not reach out their hands in support. We did not know jobs would be dangled before him, and then taken away. Many times. We did not know we would be judged so harshly. We did not know that most of the industry to which we had both sacrificed so much, would turn its back. In the hospital we had been told the industry was behind us. This, we would learn over time, was simply not true. We had no idea in the early days, just how difficult life would become, and how hard we would have to fight to stay on our feet and find our way back into ‘normal’ society.

For a very long time, without even realizing it, I began to internalize the ambivalence with which we were often met. When hands were not extended, I began to believe this was because we must not be important enough to be helped. When people took advantage of us, I started to believe it was because perhaps we were ‘weak’ people. When the industry promised support but gave nothing. When friends and family looked the other way. I started to believe it was because we were not worth the time and effort. When people started looking at us sideways, I began to believe it was our problem, not theirs. Slowly, ever so slowly, my voice started to disappear. I lived in a world of self-doubt. We lived in a world where it felt we had only each other. With the exception of a handful of people, it was just Chris and I. Battling through one of the toughest things we had both ever been through. Alone. Forgotten. Voiceless.

I think differently now. I look back at myself in those dark days, and wish I could cradle her in my arms, and whisper in her ear as I held her sobs for her. Tell her everything is going to be alright. We will get through it. One day we will be survivors. I would tell her though she feels weak, she is the strongest she has ever been. I wish I could have been her voice. I wish I could have spoken up for her. The phone calls I would have made. For Chris, I would have done the same. Because though I tried my best, I could not be everything he needed in those days. I am only one person. He needed more support than I could give. He needed his peers, his colleagues, and his industry behind him. He needed his family and his friends. As did I.

Looking back. To the time when the ripples threatened to drown us on a daily basis. When our life raft was precariously close to sinking. I view us with pride. We are not weak people. We are strong. We are not cowards. We are brave. We are not nothing. We are everything. We are not a cautionary tale. We are the tale. We have been through hell and still we stand. We have held one another’s hand, and the hands of our two small children, knowing that it is this family which holds us together. That has kept us going. That on days when hope was in short supply. When we were both disillusioned and exhausted beyond exhausted. We still had one another. Even when Chris and I felt we could not go on one more day together. Almost losing ourselves in the surrounding darkness. Still we clung to the idea of family. Still we do.

So today, on this International Women’s day, I ponder the idea of voice. How important it is to support one another, and how the loss of one’s voice is nothing short of tragic. I lost mine for a while, and it almost destroyed me. Chris, the same. We must try, when we see someone struggling in the aftermath of something devastating. To reach out a hand. Even the smallest show of support can be fundamental to one’s survival. Showing empathy is the greatest of gifts. Taking the time to listen to what those struggling have to say. Realizing we are not better or stronger just because trauma has not darkened our door. We must support them as they struggle against their inner demons and the fear that they will never feel strong again. In times like this, we owe them our support. We owe them our respect. Sometimes, we even owe them our own voices. This. This may keep them from losing theirs. As human beings, is it not our responsibility?