Throat
Why I can't sing, alone.
Since I can remember, I have not been able to sing, alone.
Whenever I try, my voice catches, I choke up, and, if I let myself, I just start crying.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a sad song, an empowering anthem, or a yogic chant - if I’m really feeling it, I can’t sing it.
This has frustrated and befuddled me for years. I sang choir in middle and high school and performed in musicals; in college, I was a proud member of an a cappella group and the school’s exclusive Musical Theater Club. I am rarely nervous in front of a crowd, and have never had trouble using my voice to entertain others.
But when I am alone, everything is different.
When I am alone, I am singing only for myself.
When I am alone, I notice acutely what I am feeling, the vibration of my own voice, distinct and separate from the energy of others…
Separate, but also, not at all.
The weird thing is, when I try to sing alone, I feel like I’m on the verge of expansion, the edge of connection. I feel like, if I could just get the notes out, I would feel seen and held and whole.
But so often, I cannot get the notes out.
Six years ago, I learned that I had vocal nodules. For months, my voice had grown more and more hoarse, and anytime I tried to “speak up,” my whole neck would hurt. This was especially inconvenient because, at the time, I was a full time yoga teacher whose livelihood required delivering several calming monologues each day to a room full of people.
Suddenly, not only could I not sing, I could barely talk; I couldn’t even do my job.
When I finally met with a speech pathologist, she gave me a list of vocal warmups and exercises to do, and sent me home with a handout outlining some helpful tips and tricks. These tips included things like: drink plenty of water; get plenty of sleep; take slow, deep breaths… I remember being embarrassed upon reading this list. How could a yoga teacher not remember to drink water, sleep, and breathe deeply? Surely, this list was meant for someone else.
But I decided to trust her, and to follow her obvious advice. I tried to sleep more, and to drink more water. I did my vocal warmups each day before I taught, and tried to speak more slowly and breathe more deeply.
I also started thinking about my relationship with my throat, and with my voice.
I realized that I had always felt self conscious about my voice. I thought it was too low, too loud, not feminine enough. When I reached early adulthood, I remember consciously changing my voice: its pitch, its volume, even my vocabulary. I added more maybes and I don’t knows, and started qualifying everything I said so that I didn’t sound “too confident.” I even stayed in a relationship years longer than I should have, because I couldn’t bring myself to clearly say, “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
As I thought about all of this, it occurred to me that when I sang alone, I could not hide from my voice: there was no one listening, and no audience to think about.
When I sang alone, I had no need to deflect, to defer, or to shade the truth. I had only to open my mouth, and to let the sound come out.
But somehow, even when I was alone, there was something blocking the sound.
So I kept following the speech pathologist’s advice, especially the part about resting and slowing down. And in the weeks and months and years that followed, I noticed something interesting:
When I feel something big - sadness, anger, joy, contentment - my chest and throat are the first to respond. I feel them constrict, and my breathing becomes stifled. At first, it feels impossible to speak up, and the more I think about it, the tighter my throat becomes. And if I keep my mouth closed, or speak in half-truths, my throat stays stuck for days - like I tried to swallow a vitamin without enough water.
But if I open my mouth, if I turn toward the emotion, my voice comes back. It might crack, I might choke up, and I might cry, but if I stay there, compassionately, my voice returns, strong, full, and resonant.
A few months ago, I started taking lessons in yogic chanting. For the first few weeks, I could barely make a sound. I would play the harmonium, feeling its vibrations, and immediately start crying. My teacher patiently offered that this was okay - that it was, in fact, a sign that I was connected. He suggested that I keep practicing, allowing myself to chant internally, silently, just to myself. For weeks, I did exactly that.
Sometimes, I would make it through a chant without crying. Other times, I would start out strong, only to be caught a few seconds later with a lump in my throat, silenced by big feelings. But as long as I stayed with it, as long as I kept turning toward it, my voice would always come back.
This is where I am now: Alternating between strong, deep vibrations, and silence. And every time the silence takes me, I try to remember that it won’t last forever - that it is, in fact, a sign that I am connected, a sign that sometimes, things don’t need to be voiced in order to be felt or understood.
It is still deeply frustrating. I still wish I could sing, speak, and vibrate with confidence whenever I wanted to.
But I’m learning that’s not how it works.
I’m learning that sometimes, I just have to open my mouth and trust whatever comes out, even if it’s silence.
To read more about the inspiration behind this piece, or to join me in this creative journey, you can read this post, or simply follow the prompt below:
Choose one part of your body, then write or create something inspired by that part. It can be a poem, an essay, a song - even a painting or a dance! Whatever the creation, let it be an exploration of your own body, and all the bodies you have been influenced by: parents, ancestors, friends, enemies, doctors, teachers, therapists, pets…
Our next prompt is: SPINE.
I’ll be taking next week off for the holidays, but will be back the first week of January. Take care until then. ♥️
Winter/ Spring Events w/ Abby
New Year’s Day Practice // Mon, Jan 1, 1-3pm
Yoga for Beginners // Thursdays, Jan 4-25, 6-7:30pm
Mexico Retreat // Feb 24-Mar 2 (Use code FORAFRIEND for 25% off before Jan 1!)
Community Kirtan // Fri, Mar 22, 7:30-9pm