I’ve been away from my musings blog. I was grieving this fall. I have been writing songs; I’m grateful for that release. Once again, singing saved me this fall. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s late in the summer and my dad continues to have health concerns as well. I’ve sought help at this time because it’s now more real to me that I’m not going to get from my parents what I’ve needed, what I hoped for; for them to see me and know me.
My parents are kind people, yet they weren’t helpful parents. I believe they are likely traumatized people who never received the help or emotional support needed, and therefore did not have the tools to raise me to be secure. When traumatic events arose in my childhood, I didn’t get adequate help to deal with them, or recover. As the old saying goes, “they did the best they could”.
Over the holidays I witnessed two boys talking with a movie ticket-taker about Star Wars. The boys were perfectly awkward and nerdy in the best and most confident ways. Then I heard the dad chat with the ticket taker and was stunned at how alike his boys were to him in personality. Just a brief witnessed encounter jolted me with worry and panic of how strong genetics can be and I suddenly knew that that is why I don’t have children.
I was afraid to pass on my fear and anxiety of the world; wouldn’t know how to help them cope. I’ve done a good job hiding my anxieties. Over the years I’ve learned to mask it. My aunt recently reminded me of a childhood experience that I’m pretty sure was the summer when I shut down and shut the world out. I was 9 years old when I created an invisible armor to hide and protect me from the world. She recalled noticing during a family vacation a nearly constant hum from me. I wasn’t humming any song, just phonating, vibrating. It was my way of self-soothing. I recognize now that shortly thereafter, singing became my way of expressing myself. And, under the guise of a church song or a character from a musical, or impersonating a favorite singer, it still gave me a sort of armored protection. It allowed me to be seen and heard and accepted, and still not truly known. And, a little of the real me got to vibrate and be freed on stage. The perfect hiding place, in front of all those people.
I grew up in a religious tradition that depended on prayer for answers, and for the faith that everything would be okay. I tried life that way. Nothing got easier or better. I wish it hadn’t taken me until I was almost 40 to find the benefits of therapy and the work of healing from trauma. I’m grateful I found it. There was work needed to be done to get out of that armor; faith alone couldn’t show me the way. Early in my voice teaching career, I had a pitch-challenged student tell me that he could sing the right notes if he believed hard enough. Just like with healing, we know that faith alone does not build a skill. We have to do the work!
It’s clear to me now that I don’t need to worry about passing on my genes when it comes to fear and anxiety. Clear that the work of my healing is what has helped me come out from hiding, and has trained me to do some of the healing work I do with singers. Our voices are the gateway to truth, to expression, to being ourselves. Some clients come to the studio wanting to sound like someone else, some come wanting to find their voice, some come wanting to be more confident in sharing their voices, some need to find their way back to their voice. Whether it’s a fear of being heard, fear of not being good enough, fear of not finding who they were/are, there is often fear at the root of the release. Most are seeking the confidence to not be afraid to sing in front of others. I understand that and am honored to help if they’re open to it. I can’t say that this is true for every person that wants to sing, but it’s been largely my experience. I like to think that I’ve created a space to work with the singers that need me.
It is such a visceral human response for expression - to sing! Unfortunately, our world has distorted this natural expression into competition. I believe singing is more important than contests; more important than art. For many of us, it is our saving grace and freedom of expression. I was scared of judgment most of the time I sang too. But since it seemed the only way to actually be myself, I was driven to do it anyway. Escaping my reality compelled me to get on the stage where it was quiet from the chaos and I would get some attention and praise for doing something special. For me, the stage was peaceful despite that nervous flutter.
We all desire to be truly seen and heard, and then also to be accepted and loved. The fear comes from the unknowing if we will still be accepted and loved after being seen and heard. To feel supported and comforted and to feel safe. Some of us didn’t get that as children and so the fear lives deeply within us. It’s risky to sing in front of others. What if we’re rejected instead of accepted? I rarely fear that now. I sing more joyfully and freely than ever these days. I attribute that to doing the healing work. I now know that I’m worthy and have great value as a human and am loved and valued by others, and singing a wrong note or having my voice crack on stage will not diminish who I am.
I believe engaging in the work of healing our traumas can free our voices. I’m happy to send you a list of book resources that have been helpful on my healing journey.
I’m glad to be back with you in 2020.
Do you have a healing by singing story to share?
julie
Dec 8, 1019 - sharing my story through songs