When the music died…

People express themselves in different ways. For some, it is words. For others, it is music. And for yet others, it is art. For me, it was always words. I have always been a writer of some sort. A little over 17 years ago, when a good friend encouraged me to start a blog, I was reluctant. As always, I wondered if what I wrote was good enough for public consumption. I was full of apprehensions and self-doubt. But I still started. And many years later, I realise that writing has been my lifeline.

A similar, but very different creative outlet is music. I am no musical genius. Most of the time, I cannot even hold a tune properly. But, I love to sing. For years, I sang. I never held back. Not that I performed in concerts or sang professionally, but I did sing. I sang while cleaning the house or cooking. I sang when folding laundry. I sang in the car. I’ve never been able to drive without music. It’s a distraction, it’s what keeps me going. Not being a fan of podcasts and audiobooks, the next best thing was music. And when I drove, there was nobody to judge or criticise my singing.

But slowly, over time, that changed. I don’t quite remember when or how. I don’t know when the singing stopped. But somewhere in the seven years I was married, the joy of singing went away slowly. So slowly that I did not even realise it was happening.

When I think about it now, I think it started with a word here or there. An occasional snarky remark. A throwaway comment about my song being technically weak. Somewhere between the stress of keeping a failing marriage alive and trying to find meaning for my very existence, I stopped singing. I’d still listen to music. Of course it still kept me company on drives and at home. But I stopped singing along. It’s been five years since I left that house and that family. I have tried restarting several times. But something has held me back each time. Is it fear of criticism? Is it a trauma response that I completely shut down? I don’t know. This is something I need to address. And I am speaking out at length for the first time. Maybe this will prove cathartic. Maybe the music will come back into my life. Just maybe.