September 29th, 2022

Welcome to all who love and support me, both near and far, to my new blog. A few months back I decided to take a hard look at my social media use and I realized the amount of content I was absorbing and the content itself was making me into a person I didn’t want to be. I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir (literally), but my mental health was taking a toll from the constant streaming of content, so decided to scale back my online presence.

So why the return?

I still want my family and friends to know what I’m doing. Plus, I am a performer and educator. Whether I like or not, I’ve always been a content creator, but this way I can reflect and contentiously put thoughts to paper (or screen as it so happens) without the mental white noise of doomscrolling or reactive posting.  So, once a month I’ll post a blog and let you all know how I’m doing and what I’m thinking.  Sometimes I’ll choose a topic to meditate on, or I’ll keep you posted on new opportunities that have come my way, or maybe I’ll get creative and come up with something completely different. Either way, it will be mine and I invite you to follow along as I navigate who I am as a musician and human in this world.

That’s kind of the theme of this post. Listening to your body. I’ve spent so much of my life telling my body what to do.  You can sleep when the task is competed.  You can eat when you have the time. You can sing better, louder, higher, so don’t stop until you do. Inevitably my body would revolt and then my mental health would deteriorate. I became very good at shutting down and shutting people out. Self-isolating was my method of coping and anyone who tried to give me comfort would just drive me further into myself. How could I possibly be worthy of love or forgiveness if I couldn’t be the best version of me in that moment? It isn’t a sustainable way to live.  You end up hurting yourself and others around you.

When I moved to IU to start my doctorate, I could feel myself doing it again. Work, school, church, practice, work, school, church, practice…never ending and never accepting anything less than perfection. Luckily, I had a mentor who made me stop and listen to my body. My voice was suffering. I couldn’t make music, I could barely sing. I could feel myself digging into my hole of self-isolation and the relationships around me were once again deteriorating.  I sought help and I went to counseling.

Therapy isn’t so taboo among mine and younger generations, but it still feels incredibly vulnerable to write about, let alone post for the world to see. It was a difficult road.  I had to come to terms with my anxiety, depression, and the toxic ways I was talking to myself and treating others. When you live long enough in the darkness, you start to believe you belong there. And it hasn’t been a straight path. There have been peaks and valleys. There have been days that I felt I was drowning and moments when I could finally fill my lungs with air. I have been prescribed medications, changed medications, had doses adjusted, gone through the struggle of running out of prescriptions and having the agonizing waiting period of renewal. I have meditated, journaled, and bingewatched many a comfort show. I’ve changed therapists a few times and each has given me new tools and fresh perspectives. I never take for granted the privilege I have to have access to such excellent care.

Just like any good conversation with an old friend or loved one, listening to your body means engagement and genuine connection. Now when I’m tired, I sleep. When I’m hungry, I eat. When my voice says, that’s enough for today, I listen and engage with my music a different way.  I’m better at checking in with myself and asking for help when I need it, especially when I feel myself start to turn inwards. Days of quiet and self-reflection are useful, but it takes a village. And I try to take better care of my village now or at least I hope I’m a better friend, daughter, and sister.

I could go on and on with examples of help sought and help found.  I’m sure that in the many years to come, God willing, I will have more. For now I am grateful for all of you who have taken the time to read my rambling and for those who have helped me along my way as I try to navigate this beautiful, messy, wonderful life. Until next month.