What does it take to find the sound within?
Ever since I could remember, I’ve had a fear of people and I’ve wanted to sing. At school I got bad marks for “lack of oral participation”, I blushed when classmates spoke to me and was called “shy” by everyone. At university I’d shake and tremble if I had to present anything, never asked the lecturer a question and was asked by students why I was always alone.
I was bullied for being quiet, mainly by classmates but also by teachers. I changed schools because of this, and did develop a small but solid circle of friends. As an adult, I’m much more functional, and am starting to understand what was going on with me, but the anxiety, catastrophising thoughts and safety behaviours still surface in certain situations. One of them is singing.
As a child, even though it was hard to speak when there was more than one person in the room, I dreamed of being a singer. But teachers, parents and friends either said or implied that I couldn’t and so — for a large part of my life — I believed it’s something I’m just not born with. So I got on with life, hoping that reincarnation was real and I would return to earth a talented singer. Until my early thirties when a friend convinced me that I could learn how to sing.
While I was wrestling with this deep-rooted fear that I would expose an unchangeable inability, my lifelong wish to want to sing won, and I decided to give it a try. At this point I had also started learning to play violin, which gave me some courage to attempt the seemingly impossible. So in our first lesson, my friend taught me how to breathe, and then asked me to sing back single notes played on the piano. I didn’t get them right, but she gave me guidance on what to do, and then showed me a simple exercise I could practise every day for 10 minutes. This was a game changer for me.
By playing random notes on a keyboard with my eyes closed and trying to pitch them, I improved over time. It was tedious at first, but eventually my ears started connecting to my voice, and the relevant mechanisms started to fall into place. When I hit a note perfectly, the feeling of being one, the resonance I felt in my body, became worth chasing.
She only gave me about three lessons, but I practised on my own, studied Melissa Cross’s singing advice in The Zen of Screaming, searched the internet, and read a book called Anyone Can Sing by Joan Wall and Ricky Weatherspoon. I now knew that I didn’t have to wait for another lifetime to sing. My friend had also mentioned an idea that was fascinating to me, that singing is truly what comes from within you, emotionally and physically.
It took some time before I connected this to social anxiety — which as I figured out later was what I was suffering from — but at the time I had very little knowledge of it. I was simply obsessed with the idea that I could learn how to sing. It felt like a miracle. I went to some singing events, and plucked up the courage to take a few more voice lessons, and even joined a choir.
Given that I used to be unable to speak in front of a small class, or sometimes even just one person, without being visibly nervous, I am massively proud I did this. I didn’t think it was possible. But looking back, I realise the voice lessons weren’t the ideal fit for a socially anxious beginner suffering from maladaptive perfectionism. The teacher was used to more experienced students, and therefore didn’t have the same sensitivity my singing-teacher friend had. It felt more like she just expected me to do things without going into the how.
When I briefly met Anka Draugelates — a musician who’d also done extensive work as a therapist — and later joined an experimental singing workshop led by Francisca Zee, I could sense how important encouragement, a safe space and a highly empathetic nature are. Anka’s warm, non-judgemental presence made me feel like I could do anything. And Francisca’s workshop was the first time I felt completely vulnerable and naked, vocalising in front of a group of people — without dying. When I heard that we were going to do this, vocally improvise alone for everyone to hear, I wanted to run. But because there was no easy way to leave unnoticed, I stayed and Francisca encouraged me to get up and sing, even though I was petrified.
As I stood there trembling, she hugged me tightly and whispered that I don’t have to worry because fear can sound really beautiful. Somehow I managed to make some sounds, and eventually got into a space where I felt like I was harmonising with the accompanying guitarist and ukulelist. It felt like magic — maybe it was because the sun had just made its way through the windows, but all I could see was white light. Once I stopped singing, she made me look around and acknowledge the welcoming, listening faces. I drove home on a high, knowing that this was a pivotal experience.
But life happened, and — even though I eventually had the courage to give karaoke a try or meet up with some new friends to sing — it took some time before I really re-visited this idea again, that voice could help you find your true self (as cliché as it sounds). Up until the pandemic hit, I was still in the choir and had joined a singing circle. Then I didn’t really sing for close to three years, and even though I still had the theoretical knowledge, I felt like I lost touch with it completely.
In 2022, I ended up studying for a year, and at college we received a brief to identify a problem in society and conceptualise a digital solution to it. “Find something you are really passionate about and don’t mind spending lots of time researching.” Although I felt like an imposter, being such an amateur, I decided that finding out whether singing could be a therapeutic activity for individuals with social anxiety was what was really burning inside of me.
I interviewed voice teachers, and was somewhat amazed to find that what they said echoed my intuition. Singing, or more specifically voice work — because there is a difference between learning a musical piece perfectly and exploring your voice — seemed to have benefits beyond simply gaining confidence through engaging in something you’re afraid of.
The most effective treatment for social anxiety, I had learned, was exposure therapy. This involves identifying and then gradually facing a fear step-by-step, such as public speaking for instance. Having grown up with the idea that singing is something you do on a stage, I had initially thought that the act of singing — which is super daunting even when just done in front of one person — would be like an exposure. A fear you face gradually.
But beyond becoming okay with taking risks, it also — when done in the right context — connects you with a deep sense of who you are, outside of our high-pressure preciseness and performance-oriented everyday lives. Of course singing is not a one-stop cure, but for someone suffering from intense fear of judgement because everything feels like a stage with a highly scrutinising audience that must never find out who you really are, this is life changing.
It’s something I truly felt when attending an introductory seminar at a German voice institute with a fascinating approach — connecting to yourself is a very subtle feeling that can only be reached when you’re in the right mindset, finely attuned to your senses. When it happens, and you feel the sound moving through your body freely, it feels amazing, and opens you up to new ideas and sensations.
This experience — as well as a friend’s suggestion to meet up for Friday singing sessions — made me realise that I was hiding behind wanting to know all the theory. What I really had to do was feel it. Like really feel it. What does it take to express a sound that truly comes from within me and not judge it? I still really struggle to get into this space, especially when others are listening. But I’ve figured out that the challenge is not to be perfect but to accept that I don’t have to be.
My Substack newsletter is going to be about navigating this challenge, writing about catastrophising thoughts around singing, how I’m trying to deal with them and what I’m feeling. Back in my hometown after living abroad for 14 years, some of the singing experiences I have engaged with here are singing karaoke sober at a bar, joining a French choir and — as mentioned — going to an introductory seminar at a German voice institute. I’ll be posting about some of these adventures soon.
This post was originally published on Substack, where I will be sharing further personal experiences around singing and social anxiety in future. You can follow my journey by subscribing here, for free.
