Disembodied Voices of Despair, Discouragement, and Depression
Shared during the evening events at the 25th anniversary celebration
by Raquel Esteves-Joyce
As a facilitator you try to make space for everyone’s voice to be heard but I have become keenly aware of other voices in the room that I want to silence and suppress. Such as the rumblings of the volcanic whispers that told Maria she didn’t belong and questioned her acceptance into such a fellowship. Instead of interrogating these voices she questioned herself, doubting what she had to share was of worth. So, as a strategy and a form of survival, Mike and I tried to make the other voices in the room louder than those of her inner doubt. We created opportunities for her to share her work and receive supportive feedback from peers. Oftentimes, we even led the chorus of her praise. We were always honest, never giving unmerited favor but rather seeing and hearing the good, the thoughtful and the beautiful in what she said and who she was.
Sometimes in this world of haste and stress we forget the power of vision and the art of recognition. We need to rethink how we look at things and then look again; an inquiry stance into life. In everyone’s work there is something valuable, something precious. For some, it is easily visible, and for others you need to excavate the critical voices that have buried seeds of potential in order to overcome and overshadow. As facilitators, we cannot unearth the threat; that is for the fellow to do. Instead, ours is the task to pursue the seed of promise. It is there. Search for it. Tend to it. Provide the resources it needs to grow. Then it will take back its strength from what once kept it hidden.
As facilitators, we cannot unearth the threat;
that is for the fellow to do.
Instead, ours is the task to pursue the seed of promise.
In hiding is where we found Damaris. She sat quietly, sharing once or twice but in her silence there was a barrage, a stampede, an implosion of words that overtook her and held her hostage to her fears and insecurities. I went in search of her armed with encouraging emails, calls, and accommodations beckoning her back but her sense of self-worth and identity were entwined with what she did, what she didn’t do and what others thought of her. It was ever shrinking because of the stifling voices that suffocated her sense of self and her hope. But one of the phone calls I made to her felt like a triumph; a breakthrough. She was returning and she seemed excited. I spoke of her capability, her strengths and her valuable contribution. I thought, I had hoped, she would hold onto those words, making them her own. But I hung up and those vicious voices must have gone into overtime and overdrive. They recorded over my words, deleting its message, repeating its own destructive one until Damaris disconnected herself from the fellowship. The victimizing voices left her feeling so inconsequential and invisible, she disappeared.
Fighting to appear on papers that will be read, understood and honored is where we find Gina. She felt her words were not academic enough, not funder-quality, not worthy of the paper she handed in. We met and we talked about how no one else could give voice to her ideas and insight; they were unique to her and worthy of being said and written in whatever dialect she chose. For this forum, “academish” needn’t be what was spoken because sometimes it doesn’t capture the story of the heart and hers was a heartfelt tale about students who didn’t see themselves for who they were and could be. Sound familiar?
Gina did eventually write her story in a way that was true to herself but I almost responded in a way that would’ve betrayed all we shared and all the work she had done. Yes, she could have gone further but my job wasn’t to tell her she hadn’t arrived, it was in helping her discover a new way of looking at things and having the privilege to walk with her part of that way.
When will I allow my voice to create
its own way out of this space?
This way, we are on right now, is sometimes paved with disembodied words of depression that lead to sinkholes we can fall in. We, as facilitators, try to create this safe, nurturing and supportive space for the fellows but often our spaces are locked rooms filled with the echoes of “you’re not good enough, smart enough, just not enough”. The words “failure, fear, rejection” reverberate so loudly in this room. We often live here, allowing our words of affirmation to slip under the door to help soothe others and press them on but, for a moment, I wonder: when will we revise our words so they can unlock the doors of our insecurities? When will we allow our voices to create their own way out of these spaces? When will we walk freely on the path we help guide others on?
On my way there, as a means to get there, I will write my words, speak my words, into myself and unto myself. I will work to deafen the voices of fallacy with chants of truth and beauty. I will begin to silence the words of solitude and unarm the words of destruction so that I will not only facilitate the fellowship, but be a part of it.
Raquel Esteves-Joyce was a middle school bilingual teacher in Philadelphia. A search for ways to improve her practice led her to a PhilWP course for teachers of ELLs and then to the Invitational Summer Institute of 2002. Raquel was the PhilWP scholar from 2004-2006, which provided her the opportunity to facilitate professional development with PhilWP, including work with Penn-partnership schools. Recently, Raquel held a position as the director of a non-profit where she worked overseeing children's programs, including an afterschool and summer program. Currently, Raquel is co-facilitating the National Afterschool Matters fellowship program for a second year and is completing doctoral studies at the University of Pennsylvania's Graduate School of Education.
Raquel wrote this piece as a reflection on facilitating with teachers and shared her reflection with those assembled at the evening gala for the PhilWP 25th anniversary celebration on October 22, 2011.