An Ode to My Singing Voice

Critics be damned.

This piece is shorter than my typical posts. Maybe I’ll start a little section of this blog - “bite sized bits” ?

*****

I love to sing. The feeling of a note passing through my throat just ignites something from deep in my chest, where the soul is said to live.

When I was little, I was one of those girls who waited for her parents to leave the house so she could immediately pull out her laptop, open up Photobooth, and record herself singing into the webcam.

The notes sound a lot better to my ears than they do out of my mouth.

Growing up, I heard countless (or at least, that’s how it felt) people tell me I was not a good singer, and that I should not be singing where people could hear me.

I listened to them for far too long.

So now, at the age of 25, I sing a lot. Not always loudly and proudly, because I’m still working on silencing the voices from my past. But I sing.

I once again have the pleasure of feeling the tension build as I prepare for a sustained note. The deep breath as I ready myself to switch from the head voice to the chest voice. The satisfaction of holding a long note without gasping for air.

Singing - like writing - is a release for me. In the deepest parts of my depression, all of my self-care routines fell by the wayside. It wasn’t until I climbed out of that deep pit that I realized that singing is part of that self-care. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me thankful for my voice, my body, and what it can do.

Regardless of what other people say, I can - and I will - sing whenever, and whatever, I want.

With love and screams,

Taryn