I was drawn by the sound of an unmediated voice, a voice that broke free, a wild or what Kristin Linklater, an expert on voice in the theater, has called “the natural voice”: the voice that carries rather than covers a person’s inner world.
Later she writes:
Witnessing girls beginning a process of revision that I am coming to remember, I dream I am wearing my glasses over my contact lenses. I am literally seeing double, although it does not seem like it in the dream. A woman, my therapist, says to me, “I cannot offer you myself,” and I am instantly filled with shame and remorse for wanting what seems so unreasonable, so extreme. Until, in my dream, I take off my glasses. My head spins around 180 degrees like an owl’s, and I feel an overwhelming sensation of vertigo, as if I have been struck by lightning or suffered a severe shock, as I say “No.” Because suddenly I know. This isn’t it. This endless wanting of what is being withheld. Without the second set of corrective lenses, my desire loses its overlay of shame. I want what I had wanted with my mother and my women teachers: I want her to be herself.
Carol Gilligan, The Birth of Pleasure