Crawling Out.

 

The turning point, when I realized what was eating me, was a recent experience singing in front of others.  And knowing I was being judged.

I was auditioning for a role in a locally produced musical.  In the scheme of things, not really a high-stakes situation.  Especially since I didn’t have my heart set on a particular role.  I signed up to audition for a principal role, knowing that I likely wouldn’t get it.  I also knew that the music was set in a key that I wasn’t going to be super comfortable with.  Since adolescence there’s been this thing about my voice that I’ve struggled with.  The break.  Lots of singers struggle with the break.  But for me, it was one of the things fuelling my anxiety about singing a solo in front of others.  And I wanted to work on it.

I took lessons. I practiced every day for months.  I could hear the improvement in my voice.  The last few practices prior to my audition, I knew I had it nailed.  And by nailed, I mean, I had done a good job of overcoming the challenges of my voice (not “I nailed it and would totally get the lead role in the musical and become famous forever”, just in case you were confused.)

And then came my turn to audition.  There were nine judges.  There were people there who might form opinions of me and my singing voice.  People who’s opinions I cared a lot about.  And then I felt my homeostatic regulators switch off.  I took a few deep breaths.  The first few bars were great.  But once I hit the first note in the the middle of my break, I knew it had all gone to shit.  The remaining two minutes of the song felt like eons.  I imagined everyone’s ears receiving the wavery, warbly aural information I was sending out, and translating it into judge-y thoughts.

Afterwards, several people told me what a nice voice I had.  How they didn’t know I was such a great singer.  Great job.  Instead of accepting that I had not done the “nailed it” job I knew I could, but had still done a good job since, you know, lots of people had said so, I decided to interpret those compliments as the useless platitudes of polite people.  And I felt like shit for two weeks afterwards.  Because of how my body had failed me again.

And the “again” is important.  Because this miniature crisis I’ve imagined for myself has happened not ONLY because of this recent audition, but because I’m often (almost always) getting pissed off at myself for being unable to overcome the physical and emotional limitations of my personhood (like, you know, getting nervous during nerve-wracking situations, or getting upset when things are upsetting).

I had a good experience last night.  I was invited to a jam night by a friend, at a stranger’s home full of people I’d never met before.  I was terrified.  Like…wet-my-pants terrified.  But I sang along with everyone else.  I picked out a few harmonies.  I let my voice get a little stronger.  People were pointing at me and smiling.  I was getting thumbs-ups.  By the end of the night, I felt like an effing rock star.

So, sometimes I feel like I’m addicted to my own success in the way that normal people are addicted to heroin.  Because last night felt great.  And when I’m not achieving that level of grrrr-eat, the awesome-feelings withdrawal period is long and unbearable and full of irrational tears.

I don’t have a solution to this.  But I’m talking to a counsellor who’s going to help me with some self-acceptance exercises, which is good because I’m having a hard time accepting “not-totally-freaking-awesome” me these days.

In the meantime, though, I think I want to work on managing my nerves.  Last night, alcohol helped.  Sadly, alcohol dependency is something I’m not super keen on adding to my psychological milieu.  So, instead I’m going to have to approach this after-school-special-face-your-fears-style and just keep on finding opportunities to perform.  Which means I’ve got a lot of uncomfortable situations ahead of me.  Hurts so good?