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.