Finding My Voice Again
A Journey Through Bogart-Bacall Syndrome and Recovery
It happened so fast, it felt like I’d lost part of my identity overnight. One day, I was speaking, laughing, and singing—the next, I couldn’t produce a sound.
A bacterial infection had left me completely voiceless. At first, I assumed it was laryngitis or something temporary. But even after the infection cleared, my voice didn’t return. When I tried to speak, it came out as a low, strained rasp that felt foreign. Singing, my greatest joy, was out of the question.
Eventually, I was diagnosed with Bogart-Bacall Syndrome, a functional vocal disorder caused by strain on the vocal cords and overuse of the false vocal folds. The onset for many is gradual, but for me, it was sudden—a direct result of the infection and how my vocal cords compensated for the damage.
The Aftermath
In those first weeks, I felt trapped in silence. My voice wasn’t just a way to communicate; it was my personality, my confidence, my art. Without it, I felt invisible. I tried everything to force it back, but the more I strained, the worse it got. I had to accept that recovery wouldn’t come quickly or easily.
The Road to Recovery
My rehabilitation began with an ENT evaluation and speech therapy. The first step was vocal rest, giving my vocal folds the time and space to heal. Silence, though necessary, was excruciating.
When therapy started, I had to relearn the basics of speaking, breathing, and eventually, I’ll learn to sing again. It has been humbling. My therapist introduced exercises like humming, lip trills, and sliding scales to reconnect me with my natural voice. Breath support became another key focus, as I learned how to use my diaphragm to create sound without strain.
And then came the surfboard balance board. My therapist asked me to step on it, lean my weight backward, and stomp my feet before breathing. At first, I was skeptical—what did balancing on a board have to do with my voice?
But the movement shifted something in me. Stomping grounded me, leaning backward encouraged better posture, and the act of taking deep, deliberate breaths afterward felt like unlocking a door. For the first time, I felt my voice reconnecting with my body. That simple exercise was a turning point, reminding me that my voice wasn’t just in my throat—it was everywhere: my breath, my posture, my confidence.
Facing the Emotional Toll
The process hasn’t been just physical. Losing my voice felt like losing a part of who I was. Singing had always been my sanctuary, and now it felt out of reach. I mourned the voice I had, wondering if I’d ever sound like myself again.
One breakthrough came when my therapist told me, “Your voice isn’t gone—it’s waiting for you to meet it where it is now.” That shift in perspective helped me embrace the process, even on the hardest days.
Progress and Patience
I’m still in therapy, and I haven’t sung yet. But we’ll get there. For now, I’m focusing on small victories: speaking without strain, laughing without pain, breathing deeply and freely. Every session builds on the last, and though it’s slow, it’s steady.
When I do sing again, I know it will feel like rediscovering a part of myself. My voice may not sound the same as before, but it will be healthier, freer, and authentic.
Moving Forward
Rebuilding my voice has been a humbling and transformative journey. It’s taught me to honor my body’s limits, trust the process, and celebrate progress, no matter how small.
For anyone facing a voice disorder, know this: your voice is resilient. Healing takes time, patience, and persistence, but it’s possible.
I’m not there yet, but I know I will be. And when I sing again, it will be with a voice that reflects everything I’ve learned about strength, vulnerability, and growth.
If you’re navigating a voice disorder, seek professional guidance. Recovery is possible, one step—and one breath—at a time.
