If you can talk, you can sing!

I’m in the process of planning a new community singing group, with a focus on wellbeing. I’m well versed in the many health benefits of singing and when I work with groups, I aim to create an accessible, supportive environment in which people can explore and experience them. Some of the responses I tend to hear when I describe my work include “oh, I can’t sing!”, or “I love singing but I’m tone deaf”, or “I wish I could sing but I can’t!” I’m always reminded of Dweck’s growth mindset vs. fixed mindset model when I hear this – believing that we lack potential to grow in a specific area is a great example of a fixed mindset. We accept that playing an instrument like the guitar, piano or violin will require hundreds of hours of practice to master, even though some people seem to have more of a natural affinity for it than others. But because our voices are an inherent part of us, a part of our anatomy, we may be tempted to think that only some, special people have the ability to use them to express ourselves tunefully. I disagree with this idea – sure, there are born singers, including a few people with vocal apparatus and lung capacity so extraordinary that they seem destined for a successful career in music (although the ratio of talented singers to career opportunities is quite daunting). Equally, there exists a small number of people who are truly ‘tone deaf’ – up to 4% of people have Congenital Amusia, which is tone deafness that cannot be explained by factors such as hearing loss, brain injury or other cognitive/environmental factors. In spite of that fairly low prevalence, I’m sure I hear far more than 4% of people I encounter claiming to be completely, permanently unable to ‘carry a tune’. This always makes me a little sad because, although not everyone is quite as invested in singing as I am, I hate the idea of self-limiting beliefs preventing people from enjoying this particular form of self-expression.

Because our voices convey our emotions, our thoughts and identity, using them (whether for singing or speaking) can make us feel vulnerable at times. We’re putting ourselves out into the world, asking to be heard and dealing with whatever response is received. Singing is a super-charged form of vocal expression, because it combines the evocative nature of music with whatever emotions and stories are conveyed by lyrics, and because each of us has a unique sound that lets the world know something about who we are. It requires physical/muscular support and is more of a workout than it’s often given credit for. It becomes obvious to the listener if, when we sing, we feel so unsafe and uncertain that we lose control of our breath and our ability to find the right pitch or remember the words. So, I understand (from both professional and personal experience) some of the reasons that people might be a little shy about singing, particularly if they know that someone might be listening. And the less often we do something, the less naturally it seems to come – we don’t develop muscle memory or confidence, and we solidify our belief that ‘this is just something I can’t do’ – it can be a vicious cycle. There’s also the huge and debilitating issue of shame. So many of us have had experiences, in childhood and beyond, that shamed us into making ourselves smaller, quieter and not expressing who we really are. Many of us have had humiliating and even traumatising experiences of being heard by others and judged harshly, of being paralysed by stage-fright or of being laughed at when we dared to raise our voices and express ourselves. This really contributes to a sense of feeling that it’s not safe to be heard or that we ‘can’t sing. But that needn’t be the end of the story… discovering safer, more supportive places and people to sing with, exploring and challenging the critical voices we use to talk to ourselves (voices that likely once belonged to someone with an influence in our lives), and taking small steps to increase our vocal confidence can all help to turn things around.

Regardless of whether you claim you can’t sing but are happy to joyfully belt out a tune in the shower, or you refuse to let a melody pass your lips at all, there are various ways to get some of the wellbeing benefits of using your voice. For example, humming or chanting can be part of a mindfulness or meditation practice. Taking full, diaphragmatic breaths to prepare for vocalising, and extending the exhale (humming until you run out of breath) kicks in a physical process that brings your Parasympathetic Nervous System into play, promoting rest, calm and recovery. It also helps to bring your attention to the body and provides a focus point for those who find it hard to sit quietly with their thoughts. It’s still early days in terms of the science of this, but there are some studies looking at whether meditation with vocalising has increased therapeutic potential (for example, due to vagus nerve stimulation). But whatever the science says, I know from experience that singing and humming can be fantastic ways to get grounded, move past ‘stuck’ emotions, connect with the body and self-soothe.

I’m curious about how my thoughts will land with those who say they can’t sing. If that’s you, I’d invite you to be curious about it too. What emotions, thoughts or memories come up for you as you read this? What might that mean? Are you willing to challenge any of your assumptions about this? Does it matter to you? If the answer to some of these questions is a resounding ‘no’, that’s ok. Not everyone feels the need to use their voices in this way. Though to me, it seems that singing is an inherently human and beautiful thing to do. So go ahead and sing like nobody’s listening – the good news is that you don’t need to be ‘good’ at it in order to reap the benefits to your wellbeing.

Looking for support with being heard, using your voice to improve your wellbeing or learning to sing? Contact me!

Celebrating Neurodiversity

Being diagnosed with ADHD well into adulthood is a fascinating experience and one I’m glad I had. My understanding of what ADHD is has changed a lot over the years. I was vaguely aware of the concept during my school career - it was something ‘naughty boys’ had and manifested in an inability to sit still, disruptive behaviour in class and bad grades. This didn’t apply very neatly to me, so it didn’t occur to anyone as a possibility, as far as I’m aware. I was easily distracted and chatty (a word I’m sure was used exclusively to describe girls), but not ‘badly behaved’. I was brilliant when I put my mind to it, if I do say so myself! The issue seemed to be whether or not I wanted to put my mind to it. I did well at school and university, except in anything too mathematical, but I learned to do well by the seat of my pants. To use creativity and caffeine to pull me through year after year of slightly left-field essays finished at 4am. To sound like I’d read a book after skimming through it on the bus. I eventually learned better study skills and time management capabilities but it was an adrenaline-filled journey getting to the stage of ‘reasonably sensible adult’. 

During my MSc, my main area of study looked at how young people educated outside of mainstream school due to ‘social, emotional and behavioural difficulties’ self-identified. More specifically, how young men and young women* internalised different messages about their struggles. Most of these young people had ADHD. Safe to say, at this point I had no idea how close to home my studies were. I was then of the belief that ADHD diagnostic criteria were far too blunt an instrument, that it was over-diagnosed and that we were pathologising children for not fitting into an education system that was not designed to meet all learners’ needs.  I still believe there’s some truth in that last point, but learning more about ADHD as a neurological difference in the years leading up to my diagnosis made my views on the rest a little more nuanced. 

It feels more positive, here in 2020, to be discussing Neurodiversity as a term to describe, for example, ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorders and Dyslexia. The word is celebratory, with ‘diversity’ seen as something to be achieved and delighted in. An acknowledgement of all the different ways that brains can work and that this contributes to the many different skills and traits that make up a well-rounded society. Of course, they are still described as ‘disorders’ and still, in many cases require treatment, be it medical or psycho-educational. I’ve been reframing the language of ‘disorder’ for myself by looking at some of the traits and tendencies that can present challenges, and how they so often seem to have a ‘mirror’ trait that is an advantage (like the struggle to think clearly through a task in ordered steps, vs. the creative thinking that gave me the edge in those 4am essays). Still, a society that, just like the school system I remember, is not designed with Neurodiversity in mind can be an exhausting place to navigate.

I have found that body work, be it singing and humming, breath work, yoga or more active forms of meditation are hugely helpful in terms of bringing me back to focus and clearing my busy head. I’d previously put times when I was especially distractable, fidgety or struggling to regulate my emotions down to other causes - did I have anxiety? Was this unprocessed trauma? This is by no means black and white - having a diagnosis doesn’t mean that every road leads back to ADHD. And while it’s true that feeling anxious, stressed, over-tired or otherwise ‘out of whack’ is likely to exacerbate symptoms, I hadn’t realised that there was an underlying cause. But even before I knew the terminology or the layperson neurobiology, I knew what resources worked well for me. Although at first, I struggled to settle into a routine with using them, the more I did it, the more progress I saw. Training as a practitioner gave me even more opportunities to sing, breathe and get in touch with my body. This time of crisis that we’re living through really intensifies the challenges we already face, meaning that it’s more important than ever to stay on top of self-care and connect with our bodies, as well as to stay out of shame when we have a less ‘functional’ day.

A relatively high percentage of the people I’ve worked with over the years have been Neurodiverse in some way. This, along with my own experience, has led me to get really interested in finding out what links and overlapping traits might exist between, for example, ADHD, trauma and attachment (watch this space!). Academic interest aside, it’s been a privilege to be on this adventure together - using my skills and clients’ expertise in their own lives combined to figure out what works best for each amazingly unique person.

*I was quite unaware of the concept of non-binary gender identities at this point! 

Finding my voice

This is a cliché like the ones you hear on those ubiquitous TV talent shows, but I can’t remember a time when singing wasn’t part of my life. Although for me, that’s not strictly true – while I’ve been singing since I was quite wee, there were a few years of  vocal wilderness around a decade ago. It started with a bad bout of bronchitis and progressed to surgery and vocal rehab. A combination of bad luck, stuck emotions and a lack of rest resulted in temporary disaster but would ultimately have a happy ending.

Singing and speaking are the main things I’ve always instinctively turned to in order to process my emotions and express who I am (not to mention how I made my money – supporting people mainly through talking). Being unable to really use these resources was both devastating and shame inducing. Who was I if not a singer and professional voice user, and what was I supposed to do with all these inconvenient feelings that had nowhere to go?

This is where I may get a little evangelical about the tools that helped me get back on track and that I now have a passion for sharing with others. The NHS took care of the physical aspect of repairing my vocal apparatus but I needed to address other factors and this is where I first encountered a psychological and body work approach to vocal coaching. At Noble House, I learned about vocal rehab, an understanding of trauma and conscious breath work. I knew it was the right place for me, and still my carefully crafted defence system fought this recovery process every step of the way… until it all started to fall into place. I made leaps and bounds as a singer and a human. I belted out impossibly cheesy songs in my bedroom until my flatmate and I had fits of emotional giggles about this new development. I talked about things I’d never talked about before and felt the improvements come thick and fast.

The obvious next step in this adventure was to start training as a practitioner. It’s been a long process and an eye opening one too. While this has been going on, I’ve continued with my job supporting young people through various challenges in their lives and later, managing a small team of wonderful people who do likewise. I’ve been, and continue to be involved in various bands and music projects. I believe that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been encouraged by a friend to sort out my vocal problems. For most of us, our voices are one of the most important aspects of our identity and ability to participate in communities, to stand up to injustice and to express our feelings. I may be a little biased under the circumstances but I’d say that taking care of this aspect of self and being aware of how closely it’s connected to our emotional world and our health is of vital importance.

‘Tell your truth, find your voice, sing your song’ (Anon).