The Girl Who Had Too Many Voices

What My Brother Noticed Before I Did

I spent my college years working at Chick-fil-A, and stayed on for several years after I graduated. I spent so much time there that people started calling me "the Chick-fil-A girl" — whatever that means. I think it's because every "thank you" I got was met with "my pleasure." Still is, years later.

For a year or so, my older brother worked at the restaurant with me. It's one of the best bonding experiences we've had — we still tell stories about that year. One of the running jokes is how I'd be mid-conversation with a team member, low-toned, direct, saying something serious. Then the phone would ring, and like magic, my voice would flip into a high, friendly, energetic "Thank you for calling Chick-fil-A, how may I serve you today?"

I was also raised in Tennessee. Years of public speaking training had mostly trained the drawl out of my voice, but a weekend home would always pull it right back out.

By my early twenties, I had a lot of voices. The back-home voice, the customer-service voice, the professional voice, the hanging-out-with-friends voice. I used them like masks, becoming whatever version of myself the room seemed to want.

At some point, I noticed the inconsistency. I had an uncanny ability to transform to match whoever I was around. So I resolved to show up the same way, everywhere. Not the parts of myself I thought people wanted to see — all of it. Easier said than done. I first had to figure out who that person actually was before I could be consistent about it.

Here's a quick way to check whether you're doing this too: think about the last three rooms you were in this week: a leadership meeting, a call with a vendor, dinner with your family. Would the people in each of those rooms describe your tone the same way? Your energy? Even your vocabulary? If the answer is no across the board, that's not necessarily dishonesty, but it is a sign you're still deciding who to be based on who's in the room, instead of deciding once and bringing that person everywhere.

A few months ago, my brother and I were catching up on the phone. He said something that hit me out of nowhere: "You don't have a customer service voice anymore. You have the same voice whether you're talking to me or anyone else."

Professional. Real. A little bit of Tennessee.

Would the people in your different rooms all describe you the same way?

Here’s a snapshot of my brother, Chris, and I. I actually found a picture where neither of us is making a face, and that’s a rare gem!