Last night I brought two of the three children with me to an audition for a solo in my upcoming concert. As I was leaving the house, I glanced in the mirror and saw a giant wet mark on the front of my shirt. Not sure if it was drool, milk or snot, I grabbed a scarf and hopped in the car to get there before I was late. On the ride over I tried to warm up and practice through the music, but my oldest insisted I stop so that he could hear his favorite Marian Hill song on the radio.
I had snacks to occupy the kids and thought that I would be able to take five minutes to sing through the music with focus and clarity, just like I had practiced at home. The baby "sang" along with me and my son skipped on and subsequently tripped down the alter.
This is about all the professionalism I can seem to muster right now.
On the ride home, Lucas insisted that I was the best and would definitely get the solo. I tried to explain that there are many factors that lead to a director's choice for voices- the style of the piece, the performance space, the composition of the choir, as well as the singer's vocal ability. He asked if I would be sad if I did not get the solo. I was honest and told him that I would of course be disappointed, but I needed to remember that it has been over 15 years since I have sung music like this at a high level.
I realize that I am finding my voice again. There was once a point when I lived and breathed singing, and quite frankly that was one of the most unhealthy periods of my life. It's almost like I was putting on a costume that was so beautifully and intricately designed. I desperately wanted to fit into that gown, but it just was not constructed for me. I tried to sing with a voice that wasn't mine. For those who care, I trained as mezzo soprano, a voice part that I have subsequently discovered was wholly wrong for me. Every time I sat in the practice room, I thought something was the matter with me because I just couldn't do it. I tried so hard. I listened to recordings, went to performances and completely immersed myself in anything that I thought would help me.
The issue was, my instrument was not that of a mezzo. The more I tried to sing like one, the more I hurt my voice and my self esteem. I thought I was a complete failure because I was asking my body to do something it couldn't.
When I left college, I left the performing that I had once loved. Every now and then I would do a show or sing with a group, but I always hated my instrument. I hated the time I had wasted.
There have been a lot of "wasted" times in my life. Times I gave up on myself and allowed depression and anxiety to rule me. But if it weren't for those moments, I'm not sure I would be able to appreciate the ones where I am truly living.
With this Lenten season upon us, I've decided to regain my voice as an individual fighting through depression and anxiety. I want to shed the fear of stigma and embrace who I am at my worst, so that I can focus on being my best.
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