Allowing My (Singing) Voice to Be Heard
When ever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would tell them I wanted to be a singer.
From elementary school, I found myself drawn to music and wanting to express myself through song. I started writing songs when I was just seven or eight years old, chronicling my hopes, dreams, fears, and disappointments into lyrics.
I had dreams of going on American Idol and planned for many years to stand in one of those atrocious lines to audition once I reached the minimum age of 16.
I would sing karaoke in my living room or basement for hours. I would put on concerts, I joined my church choir, and was constantly performing for anyone who would listen. I remember after belting out Mariah Carey on one such occasion, a relative praising me; “you’re well on your way,” which gave me such confidence, I still remember this moment as if it happened yesterday.
Over time, I lost my voice. Not literally. But it was because of traumatic experiences I had in my early adolescents that I stopped singing. I was bullied mercilessly by a girl in my choir class, which made me not want to participate. At this same time in my life, I was experiencing sexual trauma and abuse that was a cry for help. I felt so stuck, trapped, and strangled, that I took back control in my life through food, which led to an eating disorder.
All of this turned me away from music. Even though I continued weekly voice lessons and still sang in choirs, my heart just wasn’t in it. I officially ‘retired’ in music after I placed runner-up in the final spot in my high school’s show choir.
I still had dreams of being a musician. After watching the E! True Hollywood Story episode on Taylor Swift, I convinced my mother to purchase a cheap guitar for me, in an attempt to teach myself to play the way she did, perhaps giving myself the chance that life wasn’t giving me. Of course, Swift’s parents were wealthy and able to use their platitudes to get her in front of executives in Nashville, but I didn’t let that stop me.
What did stop me, however, was myself. After trying a few books and lessons on YouTube, I became discouraged and quickly abandoned the instrument.
I didn’t pick up another instrument for over a decade.
In late 2022, I felt the inkling to pick up music again. I stayed at a few sublets that had guitars, which I used to try to build knowledge. Each time I held the instrument though, I felt a huge mental block come up that felt like a brick wall. I was going through so much pain and transition at the time, that it felt as though I couldn’t make room to learn a new skill.
Earlier this year, I again wanted to dare to try. My fear of failure was no longer eclipsed by my desire to succeed. So, I bought a ukulele on Amazon and began to learn to play.
This time, I kept myself accountable. I watched videos daily, I practiced chords, played songs, and soon enough, found myself hooked. One note led into the next, playing one strumming pattern made me want to learn another, and so on. I started to brush up on music theory, remembering the ‘why’ behind the timing, beats, notes, and chords I was playing. I started to recall time signatures, treble clefs, staffs, and enharmonic. It was all coming back to me, both the technical knowledge of music, as well as the love and passion I had felt for so many years.
As the months have gone on, I’ve expanded into learning guitar. I already have dreams and plans of learning to play piano next year and perhaps picking up the drums again (I played for a couple of years in elementary school) once we’re not living in a rental. The beauty of music is that you never reach a ceiling; there is always more to learn, to explore, and ways to grow.
On day three of playing guitar, I was able to play Taylor Swift’s “Cardigan” in just fifteen minutes. I was stunned at how quickly it was coming to me and how naturally I was able to both play and sing simultaneously, which had taken about two months to get comfortable doing on ukulele.
When my mother came to visit a few months ago, she brought me that old guitar. It was so old that I ended up replacing it completely, after trying and failing to tune its dense strings. However, I did hold onto the pick that was stuck in its strings, which was from Taylor Swift’s Speak Now Tour in 2009.
I have no idea where this pick came from, as I’ve never attended one of her concerts. But each time I would use it to play, I felt as though my inner child was right there with me, plucking the strings. When I used that pick, I felt an inner sense of both peace and achievement that I don’t feel when I use another guitar pick. It’s quickly become the only pick I use.
As I learned my first song on guitar, a Taylor Swift song, played with my Taylor Swift pick, the synchronicity washed over me like a gentle, yet powerful, wave. I had come full circle. I was doing what I didn’t have the space, the capacity, or the confidence to do before, because I had been so lost, hurt, and traumatized. In those years, it was hard to focus on anything but numbing myself with distractions and chaos. This led to perpetual brain fog, that made it impossible for me to create music.
Now, I felt free. Safe. Loved. And it gave me the power to be vulnerable again. I could be myself, after countless years of trying to be somebody else.
As I’ve been playing music again, I’ve also been sharing my progress on Instagram. It’s a bit like an exposure exercise, because of how hard its felt to sing in front of others, to let anyone hear me. I have many shadows around being seen, heard, and understood, and I’ve always felt a nagging insecurity about my singing voice. When I posted my first recording, I must have done 20 takes and watched it back just as many times, before finally feeling the courage to click ‘share.’
It’s still hard, but feels easier and easier. I even asked my husband if I could sing and play guitar live for him, which feels even more raw to me. I’m learning how to allow myself to be heard and not allowing my insecurities to run the show. It’s painful to confront how they’ve taken so many years of my life, dampened so much potential.