Right to Sing: Stories, Research & Reflection

  This post is for the singers who’ve found themselves caught in an inner tug-of-war: Don’t be too much… but also don’t be invisible. Speak up… but don’t be difficult. Be passionate… but stay agreeable. It’s for those who’ve learned to soften their tone, shrink their needs, or apologise for taking up space — just to avoid being seen as “a diva.” I’ve heard these quiet negotiations in the voices of my clients. I’ve lived them in my own career. And I’ve seen how they can shape the body, the sound, and the very sense of belonging in a singing space. This isn’t about every singer’s story. But it’s a story I keep hearing — and I believe it deserves to be told. The Cost of Avoiding the Label For me, the word “diva” didn’t evoke power or artistry. It meant difficult. Demanding. High-maintenance. So I did everything I could to avoid becoming that — even when it meant biting my tongue, smiling through discomfort, or compromising my needs. I wanted to be seen as agreeable. Easy to wo...

I’ve always led with my heart. Even as a young singer, I was attuned to emotional nuance — mine and others’. That sensitivity became one of my greatest strengths in performance and in teaching. I could read a room and respond accordingly. I could feel the shifts in energy. When teaching I could intuit when a student was holding back, even if their technique looked solid. But leading with the heart isn’t always easy. For me, emotion often weaves itself into thought. A small moment — a glance, a phrase, a missed note — can spiral into a flood of internal stories: “What did they mean by that?” “Did I do something wrong?” “Am I too much?” and the fawning and shape shifting begins! In singing, this kind of emotional overdrive can knock me off-centre. Suddenly, I’m not in my voice anymore. I’m in my head about my feelings, trying to make sense of them, fix them, soothe them. It’s exhausting — and not particularly helpful when I just want to sing. Over time, I’ve learned something simple but...

Establishing the Ground I’ve been dancing around this for a while—wondering whether to lay down a kind of philosophical welcome mat for anyone curious enough to follow my writing. Part of me hesitated (I do love to leap straight into the deep end), but I know I use certain terms— shame , objectification , embodiment —that deserve some unpacking. So this post is a beginning. Or rather, a bridge. Over the next few blogs, I’ll share some of the frameworks that have shaped my research and teaching. None of them are fixed. They’re evolving—much like the singers I work with, and like me, as I keep reading, listening, and learning. These concepts don’t belong to me. But I’ve been holding them up to the light, testing them against real experiences. They’ve helped me understand something about the inner lives of singers—the quiet pressures and unspoken hurts—and I think they might help others, too. This isn’t about airtight definitions. It’s about naming the waters we’re swimming in—so we ...