It occurred to me this morning that my self esteem and self-worth have been very closely associated with Harmonia and singing in general. I have never been confident as a teacher, but I always had singing. I'm a good reader, I listen, I can be a leader, I can sing solos, and I don't sound half bad. And Harmonia, as stressful and dramatic as it can be, was always a place where I felt important, confident and needed. I made wonderful friendships, collaborated with some fantastic singers, and been part of many, many fulfilling and rewarding performances.
Starting in December of 2013, things started to change. In my personal life, I was experiencing fertility issues, which was affecting me mentally and emotionally. Then it started affecting me physically. It started with a single concert (in which I was only filling in for a few songs) where I was suddenly struck with the overwhelming feeling of fear. At the time, I thought I was getting overheated, so I left the stage after one song, no harm done.
But the next concert, those feelings started creeping back. My mind raced
with many irrational worries - that I'd faint, get overheated, lose my breath, my legs would give out, etc. And it grew worse with each concert until the summer of 2014, when it drove me absolutely crazy and I couldn't make it through more than a song or two without needing to sit (which didn't really calm me down, but it was one less thing to worry about).
As all this was happening, I was continuing to experience the exhausting process of infertility, which involved months of disappointment, hormones, exams, blood tests and medical procedures. Eventually, it worked! And I was SO happy. I wanted a baby for what felt like so long, and it was finally happening. It felt like everything I'd been wishing for was coming true, and now I had an excuse to make the changes in my life that (I thought) I wanted.
And as far as Harmonia, everything seemed to fall into place. I hadn't been happy lately anyway, I knew I wouldn't be able to sing the whole year, and a new soprano was ready to take my spot. It was perfect.
Then Elliot came along, six weeks earlier than he was supposed to. We spent six agonizing weeks waiting for him to come home from the hospital. I was also healing from a C-section and dealing with pumping, storing and transferring milk for him. When Elliot did finally come home, I continued to stress about pumping, having a preemie and all of the normal worries of an anxiety-prone new mother. I stayed home most of the time, and when I did leave, I usually didn't feel right. I was anxious, tense, sometimes panicked just from doing things that anyone can do - drive, grocery shopping or going out with friends.
I made appointments with doctors. I was prescribed medication to help, some of which I tried but most of which seemed scary. I didn't want to live that way, and I was starting to feel much better since I was back at work. I knew that things were improving.
When Elliot turned a year old, I realized that I was finally feeling "normal" again. I felt much more capable of handling my emotions. I decided that it was time to try singing again. I knew it would be hard, but singing is part of who I am, and the timing felt right. I rejoined BCAS, a larger choir where I knew I could "hide" a little and wouldn't be a burden if I suddenly bowed out.
I sang in two concerts. The first was really hard and draining, but I did it. The second concert, I ended up sitting instead of standing on the risers. I was disappointed in myself, but at least I didn't have another panic attack.
It was also coming up on Harmonia's 10th anniversary - a big deal. I knew that I really wanted to be part of that celebration and that I would be really sad if I missed out. So I re-joined, making sure I didn't do any solos, knowing very well that there was a distinct possibility I wouldn't be able to handle the performance.
The big weekend came (and technically is still here!). The whole week I was gearing up. I tried taking some Xanax to see the best timing. Rehearsal was great - I was almost driven to tears more than once, just so relieved to be back in such a familiar place - standing with friends, Rob conducting - I wasn't sure I'd ever be back, and there I was!
Friday night "preview" concert. It wasn't perfect, and I had to switch to the end of the row so that I would feel less trapped, but I did it. I made it through the whole, albeit shortened, concert. The anxiety never went away totally, but I dealt with it and survived.
Saturday started tough - my throat felt very dry and the nerves were already starting to build during morning rehearsal. But I did everything I thought would help - came home, napped a little, long shower, chamomile tea, distracted myself by setting up for the reception after, did some deep breathing, popped a Xanax...
Turned out that none of that mattered. This concert was a big deal, and it all hit me twenty minutes before it was supposed to start. The professional video and audio recording, the news coverage, the world premiere and the hundreds of people in the audience. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I realized that I couldn't do it. What if I ruined the recordings with my nervous jitters? I knew that I would spend the whole concert in a state of panic, no matter how many times I told myself to calm down. After all, who can take a few moments to "meditate" when hundreds of people are watching you?
So after bursting into tears, I sat and talked to Lindsay and Veronica who helped me calm down, and decided not to sing. I momentarily felt better - they were right - it's one concert, and in the grand scheme of life, is it really THAT important?
I sat "backstage" and listened. The singing was spectacular. It made me happy that the concert was a success, it made me sad that I wasn't out there with them, and it made me selfishly angry how obviously they didn't seem to need me anymore.
I stayed to set up the after party (so I felt somewhat useful) and mingled for a little while, but I just wasn't in the mood. I knew that if I talked to Rob that I would just start crying again, which would be a bit of a downer at a party. So instead of eating cake and celebrating a successful ten years with my friends, I drove home sobbing, feeling like everything I went through was for nothing.
Now that I've slept, eaten, played with my boy and calmed down, I keep thinking, "now what?". Will Rob ever trust me again? How much therapy am I going to have to go through to get over this? What if I NEVER feel normal again when I sing? What's it going to take to be the singer and performer I used to be?
I KNOW that if last night had been just another "regular" concert, I could have done it. That is about the only consolation I can find, and the only bit of hope I can cling to. I was too ambitious thinking I could handle the evening, but I love Harmonia and desperately wanted to be part of this celebration. I need to congratulate myself on accomplishing one concert, and what else can I do but try to move forward? (A much easier thought to grapple with after a good night's sleep.) Maybe I could start taking voice lessons again. Maybe I should give a small recital for friends and family this summer. Maybe I need to give myself a break and know that I'm doing the best that I can with what has been dealt to me. Or maybe all of the above...
I hate that this is happening to me - and I know that many far worse things can happen to people - but it feels so unfair that I've lost something that has been such a huge part of my life. I just pray that I look back on this weekend someday and know that I've done everything I can do get back to where I want - and need - to be.
