Finding My Voice — To Sing Despite Chronic Illness & Pain
This may seem like a non sequitur, but I think people who can sing are really cool. My best friend is a singer, and when she cuts loose the sound is so beautiful it sometimes brings tears to my eyes-not just because she hits the right notes, but because she seems so natural, so comfortable, so confident.
When I think of the people who inspire me most, most are singers: Björk, Natalie Maines, Madonna, India Irie, Lady Gaga, Natasha Bedingfield… I could go on and on. It’s not just the gorgeousness of their voices or their awesome vocal technique; often, it’s about their message, and how I feel it through the music. They’re so, well, free. And powerful!
So I decided to take a singing class. I talked about it for a while, and I procrastinated because I’m nervous about performing in front of people. I kept singing in the shower, listening with a way-too-critical ear. Then one night, two people I’m quite close to surrounded me, shoved a class schedule from a local school in my hand, and basically forced me to sign up. That’s my story, anyway.
The first class was the other night, and I was really nervous. Turns out, some other students were WAY more nervous than I. Watching each person perform a few notes was fascinating; some people were clearly freaked out and giggled nervously, but others sang with confidence and ease. One woman sang when she wasn’t supposed to, and her voice was beautiful; she got embarrassed about missing her cue, but I thought she was fantastic.
Which brings me (in a roundabout way, I know) to you, Babes. We sick folk often lose our voices. We get shy, afraid to sing out in a crowd and let our opinion be heard. We get embarrassed, feeling like people hear us complain all the time…so why should we keep making noise? We feel something deep within but we get bogged down in how we think other people view us, and we’re afraid to speak up. We’re afraid to sing.
But just like that woman in class the other night-the one who sang out of step with the group but sounded marvelous-we have to get over our fear of staying in line with everyone else and learn to just BELT IT OUT! What we have to say is meaningful, valuable and beautiful. And while we may feel rusty at first, I know that with a little practice we can sing a tune that moves others to action.
Maybe you just use your voice on your own behalf, make a plea for help that is finally heard because you articulate your needs (symptoms? frustrations?) clearly and authoritatively. Maybe your voice soars over the crowd, reaching hundreds or thousands through a blog in which you tell your story and show others how to be strong.
Maybe your voice inspires your family and friends to learn more about your illness, or advocate for you or others. Maybe your voice will be so beautiful and strong that you reach another ChronicBabe who feels alone, who needs to be inspired to find her inner strength so she can start to feel better. Maybe you can change her life.
Once you start singing, who knows what could happen? I used to be afraid to speak up and use my voice to advocate for my own needs; the idea of speaking out on behalf of others, in the face of disbelievers or critics, seemed crazy. And look where I wound up, Babes?! On TV, in newspapers and magazines, on the radio and here on the internets, raising a ruckus on behalf of ChronicBabes everywhere. You can do it, too! Even if it’s just for your own sake, sing out. Make your presence known. I can’t wait to hear your voices!
Until then, I’ll keep singing in the shower. And in the classroom. And walking down the sidewalk. And to anyone who will listen.
Jenni Prokopy is founder and ChronicBabe.com, an online resource for young women with chronic illness. An award-winning writer, speaker, and expert on healthy living, she shares her personal experience – and rallies the expertise of hundreds of others – to help women live beyond their illness and be total Babes. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications, and she has worked with dozens of organizations large and small, local and multinational, to create compelling messages that empower people to work better, play harder. . .and be their best.
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My beautiful wife used to "sing" all the time until fibro slowly took over. She tries to sing today, but it comes in erratic spurts that are lovely at the time but leave her in pain afterward. I'm trying to sing for her during the times she can't. Thank for putting her struggle into different terms and helping the two of us approach chronic illness with a little more ammunition.
Thank you – this was exactly what I needed today. I'm getting sicker and sicker and I feel like I'm just getting lost in the medical system. I feel like I can't trust my own judgment because the doctors keep telling me my tests are ok. But they don't keep looking unless I keep bugging them like I'm a pest. I've lost a lot of confidence.
I know this article is a year old but I just wanted to say how much I love it. I used to be a singer/musical theater performer but due to vocal chord nodules and acid erosion, I literally lost my voice… or at least a large portion of it. I had to give up singing because my range became so restricted and difficult to control. For a while I didn’t even sing in the shower, for fear of damaging my voice more. Now, I’m realizing that I love singing too much to live without it. It brings such joy to my life, I just want to do it any way I can.
My speaking voice has also changed; it’s become much lower/huskier/scratchier and cracks or squeaks frequently. I can’t always control how loud I speak, or the pitch of my speech, or if sound even comes out at all. The singing loss was devastating, but the speech problems are more embarrassing on a daily basis. I’ve taken some acting classes recently, to ease myself back into musical theatre, and shared my vocal struggles with my classmates and professor. After one performance (which I thought sounded awful), my teacher told me that he’d actually grown to love my voice because it was unique and beautiful in its own way. He said that its imperfection wasn’t a weakness at all; it was actually a strength, because it made me sound different and interesting (and that it even sounded kind of sexy — not sure I believe that part, though!).
I think that ties into the “finding your voice/singing out” metaphor of this article. Whether it’s your physical voice or your willingness to speak up, chronic illness may change it. You may have trouble remembering words or knowing what to say when or sounding confident or asking for the help you need. It gets easier with practice sometimes, but it may never be perfect or what it was before — and that’s okay. Your voice is still beautiful because it’s yours. Nobody else has the voice that you have. So sing out, even if you think you sound terrible. The people who really matter will love your voice, flaws and all. Plus, you’ll feel so empowered when you start to speak up for yourself, and you never know who will be touched or inspired by it.