I’m losing my voice. What voice I have left is raspy, giving me a Lauren Bacall growl I don’t recognise. Throat is pinkly sore. I can feel the poison of the virus thriving in the damp darkness. I’m seriously fed up – talking is one of those things I’m good at.
On Saturday I took part in a voice workshop run by an inspirational teacher called Tina Bridgman. It was about freeing the singer inside us, loosening and relaxing the grip that many of us keep on the emotional range and breadth of our singing voices. We are moved by music and by songs, yet we shy away from using the power that we have to move and inspire others through singing. Why?
Well, from what I understood that day, it can be something as simple as someone telling you, as a child, not to sing, or that you couldn’t sing, or to mime instead. Off-hand advice not meant cruelly, but devastating to a fragile childhood ego. And once the lid comes down on a budding talent, it stays down.
So, let go. Join a choir, attend a workshop, see where it takes you. Have a go. I did, and yes, it made me cry. An upwelling of emotion that I didn’t even know was there broke down a barrier that I didn’t even know was there. I sang like I have never been able to sing before. On my own, in front of people.
Looks like I am finding my voice, after all.