What Happens When a Speaker- me- Loses Her Voice Among 150 of the World’s Best Speakers
I just spent the weekend at the CSP Summit in Scottsdale, Arizona, surrounded by 150 Certified Speaking Professionals, some of the best speakers in the world…. And I couldn’t speak. Not a whisper. Not a croak. Nothing. I arrived with a perfectly normal voice the night before the Summit. Woke up the first morning with acute laryngitis, and by breakfast had officially been rebranded as a Certified Silent Professional. Which, as you can imagine, is not a designation the National Speakers Association currently offers. Yet.
For a group of people whose professional identity revolves around ideas, delivery, nuance, timing, and the ability to land a point with precision, being silent turns out to be a fascinating social experiment. (And for my colleagues who know me well… especially for me!) For the entire time I had fully formed responses running through my head, insightful, well-timed, hilarious (IMHO) with absolutely no way to express them. It was like participating in an important Zoom meeting in my head with my mic on mute. I nodded. I smiled. I gestured. I typed notes into my laptop and according to some of my group members, communicated like a less intelligent Stephen Hawking. At one point, I seriously considered making cue cards using my television background resources.
During lunch on day 2, I sat next to a speaker I’d never met before. He didn’t know me, my work, or my background. And he talked. He talked about his business. What was working. What wasn’t. What he was wrestling with. And I listened. Fully. Intentionally. Without interruption, not by choice, but by medical necessity. When the conversation wound down, he paused, looked at me, and said: “I just love you.” Which was a surprise, especially since I didn’t say a word.
My dad used to say, “Keep your mouth shut and smile and people will wonder what you’re up to.” This weekend, I realized he wasn’t being funny. He was being strategic. I went to the CSP Summit expecting ideas, connection, and professional elevation. I didn’t expect laryngitis to be the teacher. But it reminded me that communication isn’t just about speaking, it’s about impact. And impact doesn’t always require sound. That said, I am very much looking forward to getting my voice back. Because at least for me, the world is slightly more entertaining when I can talk.