The Day I Learned to Hear My Own Hum A Symphony of Self-Discovery

The Day I Learned to Hear My Own Hum A Symphony of Self-Discovery

From Quiet Pain to an Anthem of Acknowledgment

For years, I lived on mute. Not by a long shot, of course. I could discuss, smile, dispute, heck, even belt out (in a terrible tone, but with energy). Once inside, a more insidious silence settled in. A silence produced out of constant self-hate, debilitating anxiety, and a deep underlying sense that I was just profoundly…wrong.

I became an expert at overcoming, at performance. At home, I was a hot mess and a sad-sack potato. At work, I was the self-assured, proactive powerhouse. In social situations, I was the jocular, encouraging best friend. At home, I was … mentally, uhm, tired. Tired. Burnt out. Drained. As you might imagine, this has been extremely dislocating. That facade I’d built with such meticulous care was a burden, and the strain of holding it up was starting to suffocate me.

My body image wasn’t terrible, it was my internal monologue that was the constant soundtrack of doubt and vicious criticism. So, “You’re not good enough. It’s not just because you’re going to fail. Otherwise, they’re going to find out you’re a fraud. This internal critic, whom I came to call “The Judge,” served as a tyrant to my mind. Each real or imagined faux pas, each misstep, each instance of imposter syndrome brought with it all of the usual angst and insecurity, magnified and recorded on a continuous loop.

By the end, I was desperate to stop The Judge from speaking. Therapy, meditation, affirmations, you name it, including retail therapy (which, let’s be real, just gave me a quick fix). Nothing was working. He was never gone, in the background waiting for his moment, waiting for a moment of vulnerability to pounce.

The pandemic hit, and everything changed. It wasn’t some kind of dramatic epiphany, with lightning bolts and earth-shattering revelations. It was a Tuesday. Just a completely normal, average, nonhistoric Tuesday.

I was just as sapped, sitting in the City Hall gridlock, tardy for an important meeting, powered by burnt coffee and boiling nerves. The Judge was having a field day. You know what, you’re the worst! You’re perpetually behind schedule! Just what he screamed in his head. You’re never going to get fired!” Otherwise, they’ll laugh at you!”

All at once, an avalanche of deep rage washed over me. Not with the traffic, not with my lateness, but with The Judge. Truth be told, I was exhausted. Sick, sick, sick of hearing his relentless assault on all things positive.

The unthinkable occurred. Instead of defaulting to his demands, instead of falling down a shame-filled rabbit hole, I simply… paid attention to him. Much as you would a new barking dog from across the street, I welcomed him to the neighborhood so that he wouldn’t re-landscape your yard.

So, Judge, fair enough,” I said to myself. You’re telling me that being late is bad, and that’s awful. I’m here to tell you that I’m doing everything I can. That’s right, it’s okay.

Even though it was a minor adjustment, just a slight shift in the way they were approaching it, it was a powerful, powerful change. At least at that moment, the power dynamic was reversed. The Judge was gone from that station and that life. He’d manifest himself back to the same corridors, doling out the same critiques as a phantom, if you will. His voice, though, was no longer the only one I wanted to hear.

It was, for the first time, the sound of my hum that I had just heard. A lovely, loud, peaceful, persistent, positive, radical, resilient hum that just overlapped with my very being and affirmed my worth. The music of unbrided queerness, The hum of self-acceptance. The light buzz of self-love.

Now, the rest of the day wasn’t wonderful unicorns and marshmallows. Even with all that, I was still late to the plenary. I got it all wrong in a couple of key instances. The Judge was not to be denied his dolorous doom saying. This time, I had a rejoinder. I got my big idea: think outside the box, make your luck.

In the beginning, all I cared about was making that hum. I was taught by the movement to hear it, to heed it, to lift it. It didn’t silence The Judge completely, but it undeniably took the wind out of his sails. His editorial style quickly evolved from dictator to curmudgeonly observer.

That’s when I began to practice mindful self-compassion. When The Judge would get rolling on his tirade, I would inhale deeply, touch my hand over my heart, and tell myself (internally or vocally), “This is a pain-teaching moment. First time participating in a virtual event It offers permission to suffer Suffering is a universal experience, an inescapable part of life. Please help me be gentle with me right now. Help me to be kind to myself, be gentle.

It seemed a little goofy at first. The more I got into it, the better it worked. It was akin to nurturing a bonsai tree. The more I poured compassion onto my soul, the more it blossomed.

I know my journey is just beginning. While I’m now a few years on from The Judge being constantly loud and in charge, I still have days where he is incredibly vocal and very persistent. Today, I have the infrastructure and the tools to heal. Now I have my hum with the background of engine noise. I have the memory of that Tuesday, of the day I learned to listen to it.

What that day taught me is that the loudest voice in my life should not be the voice of criticism but the voice of self-acceptance. That is the voice that tells me that I am worthy, I am capable, and I am enough—all by myself. Discovering that voice has opened up a new world inside of me, filling my mental and emotional space with music instead of silence.

My Song: The Hum by Angela Hooton

(Verse 1) (Acoustic guitar intro, verse instrumental) City streets are busy-ness buzzing low, Workin’ hard to make a dollar- another day, the pressure grows My mind’s a battlefield, a never-ending bout, Between the shadows and the flicker of doubt. The Judge is on the line, sounding fine, Doubting my every move, all the time, Soothingly, creating havoc, Whispering sweet nothings, to keep me static.

(Chorus) (Tempo quickens a bit, drums come in gently) Under all the clamor, shoosh, a sweeter sound, just a pulse beat, a heart beat, on firm ground. It’s the hum of I, the pulse of my street, Heart of our pasts, futures beneath our feet, It’s the hum of we, collective power unleashed, Melding creations of love, justice, and peace. This is the message it conveys: You’re enough; you’re not in the way, even when you’re here to stay. Photo by Jay Keck via Appalachian Voices

Tried to bury it, for years on end Telling myself, where I could pretend. Pursued the ideal, an unattainable goal, Trapped in their shadow, by all that they stole. The hum continued, tender, yet fierce, waiting for its time, like a flower to pierce.

Nothing could continue at all (Chorus) (Tempo accelerates a bit, drums come in quietly) Under all the clamor, under all the fuss, A subtler beat, a stronger thrust, A steady measure, on deeper bed, A growing chorus, that’s here instead. It’s the buzz of we, That’s the drum, That’s the heart, That’s the sound for everyone. It simply says, “You’re enough, you’re not alone, Even when it feels like, Everyone’s looking at you, Like you’re a clown.”Illustration by Matt Collins

(Bridge) (Music slows, introverted mood emerges) (Fingerpicked acoustic guitar) Perhaps the Judge will always go, I can decide what I know. I’ll turn my ear to the melody that’s been within me since the day I was born.

(Chorus) (Music swells, growing stronger, more anthemic) Under the clamor, another beat Though the streets keep crumbling, pulse not obsolete It’s the drone of I, a constant thrum, Telling all secrets, drum by drum. In large, colorful letters, it reads, You’re enough, just as you are. Even when you’re falling apart."

(Music fades out slowly, leaving only the acoustic guitar and a humming vocalization) Hum… hum… hum… hum… get ready … and you’re safe … and you’re good… … you’re all right … you’re all set … you’re fine … …Slide fade to black hum … (fade to quiet)

Sadly, I can’t embed an audio recording here, but I invite you to picture the song sung with a soothing, uplifting melody. Picture an indie, pop-influenced singer-songwriter style—everything from Ingrid Michaelson to Sara Bareilles. The song crescendos from an intimate fragility to a booming declaration of self-value.