Two years ago today, I changed my voice.
Not in the poetic, “finding my voice” kind of way — though yeah, that happened too.
I mean literally. Physically. Out loud.
From age 13 to 43, I used a voice that didn’t feel like mine. I had puberphonia — a little-known condition where your voice never drops to its adult register.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have access to a deeper voice. I did. I just didn’t understand why I could make it happen, but only when I tried. It felt weird and unnatural — like I was faking something. So I kept using the voice that came out by default.
Meanwhile, my friends all got their “man voices.” I felt left out. A bit like an outcast.
I even remember one summer, in that space between seventh and eighth grade, thinking: Maybe I’ll just come back from visiting family and make the switch. People will think my voice dropped over the break. But I didn’t. I chickened out.
And the longer I kept using the high-pitched voice, the harder it felt to switch.
Still, I made it work — or thought I did. I even did stand-up comedy in my 20s. But there were always limitations. I couldn’t project well in loud spaces. My voice was often mistaken. I got called “ma’am” on the phone regularly. (My wife didn’t believe it at first — until she heard it happen.)
There’s something exhausting about constantly having to explain your voice. Or brace for questions about it. Or avoid situations where it might draw attention.
By the time I hit my 30s, I had two kids. And kids are honest. Sometimes their friends would bluntly ask, “Why do you sound like a woman?” And I’d be transported right back to high school — where I’d been asked if I was sick, if I’d lost my voice, if something was wrong with me.
The thing is, I didn’t know what was wrong.
Not until one day, in May of 2021, a speech therapist who had barely heard me speak asked my wife:
“Does your husband know he has puberphonia?”
That moment hit me like a ton of bricks. I finally had a word for it.
A real, actual explanation. And still — I was over 40.
How was I supposed to change my voice now?
It took me almost 2 years to accept my condition and commit to doing something about it. In January of 2023, I quietly declared it my “Year of Authenticity” (still working on this 2 years later, by the way).
It started with a feeling — one I couldn’t ignore. Our older son was approaching the same age I had been when my voice got stuck. That brought up a lot. And then, suddenly, his voice started changing. Fast. It deepened in a way mine never had. It shook something loose in me.
I began recording “walk and talk” videos, just talking through what I was experiencing as I walked. It felt amazing to use my louder, stronger, more confident voice.
I needed to stop avoiding. I needed to switch to my true voice.
That term — “true voice” — came from my therapist, and I like it.
It’s not just about pitch. It’s about alignment.
By June, I’d had enough. My wife was out of town for a week — and something about having space made it easier. I started using my true voice full-time.
And then…I told people.
My kids. My family. My friends. My company (800+ people). Even a neighbour.
I sent my wife a “before and after” video. I thought maybe she’d already picked up on it over the years — the moments when the deeper voice would sneak out mid-yawn, or if I had to raise it suddenly. But it still surprised her. It made her emotional.
She said, “Our son has your voice.”
Still one of the most emotional moments of my life.
Now, two years later, here’s what I know:
Most people didn’t need nearly as much explanation as I feared.
The voice I use now fits. Not because it’s deeper — but because it’s mine.
I regret waiting. But I also know I wasn’t ready.
That’s the thing about change. It has to come from you.
Not from pressure. Not from shame. From you, when the time is right.
To anyone else living with puberphonia — or with any invisible discomfort that keeps you from fully being yourself:
You’re not alone. You’re not broken. And it’s not too late.
Tell one person. Record yourself. Take one step toward the version of you that feels real — even if it feels scary. Especially if it feels scary.
Because sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do…
is let yourself finally be heard.
🔗 Bonus: Voice Timeline & Resources
If you're curious what this actually sounded like — or if you're going through something similar — here's the journey in clips.
Reddit Post (June 2023)
The raw, real version of this story. Written just as I was making the switch.
Coming Out Video
The clip I sent to friends and family when I first revealed my true voice.
8-Month Check-In
A reflection video I made after living in my new voice for 8 months.
Throwback: Age 27 Application Video: A peek at what my voice sounded like in my late 20s, before 16 extra years of degradation to the first video above.
If this story resonates with you, or you know someone who might need to hear it — please share. I’d love to hear your voice, too.
Wait a minute. I have so many things to say!! First, I didn't know you're Canadian. Wth? I feel offended that you never told me 🤣
Second, I'm glad you included all the videos because as I read through it all I was going to be miffed if there were no clips.
It's interesting that your 20-something voice in the job video sounded normal to me, but the second clip was significantly different but then the 3rd was even more different.
This was fascinating. I've never heard of this condition but now I feel schooled. Thanks for sharing, Nick!