Singing Through the Sadness
This split within me has become so pronounced that I can see two images clearly. One is of a tall, beautiful woman standing with her arms open to the sides, her chest is open, and light radiates outward, the sides of her chest morph into a flowing stream of colorful gauzy material like scarves or wings, her expression is serene and confident. The other personality is a small creature that is contained in a white box. There are no doors or windows, but one can look in from an ariel view. This creature is scared and anxiously looks from side to side, not knowing which way to go; sometimes this image changes to a person pacing back and forth in a tiny white room.
The first personality comes through when I have time to be alone and silent, doing the things that bring me joy and conversing with Psyche. I also feel this way when I perform at my best. I have prepared and am leaning into the meaning of the piece, I consciously breathe in the environment, inviting the space and the audience, and fellow musicians to sing with me. Lately I mentally ask my soul to sing, I will be the instrument. This purposeful and relational approach to music making keeps me in direct contact with my soul and I feel a connection with others. This personality also appears when I’m teaching or conducting. I’m vibrant, commanding, more in tune with my intuition. I receive so much life and vitality when I let this personality come through.
My second personality appears in social and family situations. I am sometimes quiet and awkward, searching for direction and something to say. I wait for others to give me the cue to speak, to turn on. I feel myself staring at people I want to engage with, but don’t know how. The image of the scared rabbit becomes very strong. Its heart starts pounding and it frantically hops back and forth, bumping into the walls of its cage. If I get no external feedback I withdraw even more, then find a task that will occupy me. If I’m at home it might be cleaning or baking, knitting, but often I don’t have the life energy to do these things so I constantly pick up my phone and scroll through social media, or check messages; hoping to find something that will spark life within me, but it rarely happens.
Masks are essential when I’m in this diminished, caged-in state. The mask I wear vaguely resembles the first personality, but it is faded and stiff. The cracks are beginning to show, chunks have even fallen off. Every time I put it on it becomes heavier and heavier. My true being draws away from this false costume and I am forced to pull whatever scrap of energy I can from deep within. But this personality, what I believe to be my Soul, wants nothing to do with this way of being. She feels betrayed but will come back when I take part in activities that feed her; reading, singing, dancing, drawing, walking in the woods, anything that has to do with beauty and connection. However, she is so depleted that I do not always feel her full power.
When I sing, I often don’t connect with her first. My mask is on so tight, I have forgotten it’s there. I sing with a focus on technicality and precision, but there is also this faint longing to be truly heard and seen. I know I am talented, hardworking, and a gifted musician. My voice is rich and colorful, it cuts well, but I often struggle to blend with a choir. I have had many occasions when I’m trying to be sensitive to the group and not overpower my section, while at the same time retain my vocal health and integrity. Yet, the conductor inevitably tells me to “back off”, “I’m getting a lot of Laura and not so much from everyone else.” I pull back my voice even more; just as I diminish my Soul. I push it down so much that by the end of rehearsal I’m barely phonating. I’m furious and sad, and end up crying in my car on my way home, thinking, “Why am I even singing with this group if they keep telling me to ‘back off’? I feel like I’m barely singing at all!”
It is a wound to my Ego, but I think there is a deeper wound there, a Soul wound. She gets to make her appearance so infrequently that when I allow her, and need her, to come forth, it’s too much. It’s a flood instead of a steady stream. Then when she is told to “hold back” she cries out, “No! I’ve been trapped in that tiny room for ages. Don’t make me go back in there!” But she does, and I am left to muscle through on my own. Then I wonder why the singing was so difficult, why my neck and shoulders ache, why my head is heavy and my thoughts foggy.
This slow process of awareness and reconciliation has shown me that when I let Soul express herself through me, I have the energy I need. I can sing softly without feeling wounded, my voice is not diminished. It is a conscious choice to be in relationship with Soul, not just when it is convenient for me or when the conditions are perfect.
Where are you splitting parts of yourself off? How is this effecting your life and artistry?