I’m losing my voice

In October 2024, I’m losing my voice. Like, properly losing it.

As part of my transition, I’ll be undergoing VFS (vocal feminisation surgery) which will change my voice forever. Post surgery, I will have one month of mandatory absolute silence. No speaking, coughing, whispering. Nothing.

Month two, I can say a 1-2 words a day, that is all. Doctor’s orders. It’s probably going to be a struggle, as I usually only shut up when I’m eating. And even then I constantly nod my head and say mmm as I stuff my gob.

Just like when I had FFS, I can make this surgery my entire personality for 2 months. Yay!

Lucie, why are you having vocal surgery?

Since having FFS, my confidence has flourished on so many levels. I go out feeling great in myself, and every time I look in the mirror, I recognise the person looking back at me.

But something surprised me. Every time I open my mouth, my voice doesn’t feel like mine any more.

I used to be a fairly outgoing person, striking up conversation with strangers, being jokey with new people. Admittedly I put on a bit of a ‘bloke’ front, just to rub along with guys. I don’t think it was ever convincing, but I’d chuck in the odd ‘mate’ or ‘pal’. Quality geezer stuff.

But as time has gone on, I avoid speaking more and more. Even being able to order a drink at the pub is a struggle. It’s usually a soft mumble whilst I try and keep Man Voice™️ suppressed.

It’s weird, because I’ve had enough confidence blips in my life that I should know how to get through it. I got over my fear of speaking on the phone through sheer repetition. Phone exposure therapy is a thing I swear. I even grew to love phonecalls.

But now I think ‘what weirdo actually chooses to speak on the phone?’. That weirdo was me once.

Somehow though, legally having my gender recognised has snowballed into a confidence crisis. Since changing my name and being legally a woman, I’ve slipped back into avoiding speaking as much as possible. My name is Lucie, but I don’t sound like Lucie. There’s a disconnect between the two.

Long story short, I don’t like my voice any more.

I know, it’s weird. I do comedy, both online and ‘in the meat’, I chat on podcasts, I sing, I’m a pantomime dame for goodness sake. I’m making a career out of being a gobby girl. I perform because I love it, but sadly vocal dysphoria is making life a little less enjoyable.

You know that feeling when you listen back to yourself on video, and then cringe? I get that, but I cringe so hard I feel like I’ve got moths in my stomach.

That’s the pain equivalent of butterflies, but instead of cute little flappy insects, they’re nasty little winged gremlins that lay eggs in your jumpers and make you feel physically sick.

Real world challenges

Losing my confidence has had real implications. I fell victim to an online ‘invoicing scam’ this year, where a hacker puts their own bank details onto an invoice, then pressures you into paying quickly.

Had I had the confidence to pick up the phone, I could have avoided the scam by speaking to the real seller. But I didn’t.

I did everything via email, which is where the hacker was in his or her comfort zone. JOKING, I mean in their comfort zone.

Fortunately I got my money back, but I did have to speak to the bank for ages, on the phone. So in the end I just had to do more bloody phone chat than if I’d called up in the first place.

Bathrooms are a girl’s best friend

Another thing: if I’m in the queue for the bathroom, I don’t speak to my friends. Basically it’s a fear of being outed, or seen as a threat going into the ladies’. Internalised tranphobia I know. Thanks TERFS. So far I haven’t needed to ask the next cubicle for spare loo roll, but I dread the day.

I don’t say thank you to the woman holding the door open for me. Mainly because I’m a rude little shit, and also the dysphoria thing. And when I finally escape the bathroom, I wait til I’m about a mile away before speaking again.

You know, on a night out, the women’s bathroom can be the most intimidating place in the entire club. One night, I’m having a wee, the walls of the cubicle start rocking, and I have to hold the door shut as someone’s trying to wrestle it off its hinges.

Then I hear shouting and laughing, snorts of ket, and people on a massive up literally climbing the walls of the toilets next to me. All whilst screaming ‘SPECIAL K! I LOVE SPECIAL K!’

At least in the blokes’ it’s an unwritten rule never to speak to another soul during the act of pissing. Or snorting. Or doing that thing where they pee and fart at the same time.

Trust me, trans women are more scared of women’s bathrooms than you are of them.

But you do comedy, you love speaking in front of people!

It seems like a paradox. Why am I able to do standup and comedy confidently in my own voice, but not speak in person, or in every day life?

Because I make my voice the joke, and I perform to people who know me. My bloke coded characters are hilarious, but every time I do a bloke voice, I slip into an old vocal register that I’m trying to train out of my system.

The thing is, I don’t know how to sing, or do comedy without reverting to my boy voice, and that’s seriously undermining my voice training. It’s just too easy to do boy voice for The Bit.

At the moment, it’s looking like a choice between my authentic voice and doing comedy, but that’s surely a false dilemma!

What’s this surgery?

I want to talk about the procedure in more detail, but basically, it’s a pioneering vocal surgery that’s going to leave me with a slightly higher, more easily trainable voice.

To pay for the surgery, I’m going to be launching a crowd funder, which will be accompanied by a comedy play which explores and celebrates my voice before it changes. It’s going to be full of your favourite characters, trans inclusive themes, drama, suspense and laughter. The working title is Football Crumpets. But more on that another time, I’ve got to keep some things a surprise!

Trust me when I tell you I’m SO flipping excited for this project, and the vocal surgery though. For one, I can make transition my whole identity with a renewed vigour. And second, I’ll be able to perform comedy, and be an outspoken trans advocate, but in my real, authentic voice.

Although actually, the first point isn’t really fair, being trans isn’t my entire personality. I’m a lesbian too you know.

Do you struggle with voice dysphoria? Have you had vocal training or a vocal surgery? I’d love to hear about your experience in the comments!