Right to Sing: Stories, Research & Reflection

  "Vulnerability is the soil of every safe space. Teaching asks us to hold that delicately - knowing we may cause harm, and still choosing to stay present, because healing and growth live in that very same ground". There isn't a single lesson where I don't observe vulnerability in my students. Voice work is vulnerable work - deeply exposing. It often unearths memory, doubt, fear and identity. Creating a safe space for this work is my intention - but to do that with integrity, I first have to ask: what does a safe space truly mean? What does it look like, feel like, and require? I once had a mature female student - a former professional singer - who had returned to lessons after many years away from performing. Mid-lesson, she broke down. Her voice trembled as she admitted to me how hard it had been to reckon with her changing voice, her confidence, her sense of self. My job was not to cheerlead or rescue her in that moment. It was to hold her admission with compassion...

  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...

                                     Let's be honest: Voice teachers often find themselves walking a very fine line. On the one hand, we're here to help. We offer tools, observations, and suggestions that (hopefully!) support our students with their vocal development. On the other hand our feedback can unintentionally pull a singer into a very tricky space - one where their previously "unnoticed" voice or body suddenly feels questioned or even ... wrong. (What if they were never bothered by that quirky way they make the vowel "Ah"? Or they love that breathy quality in their chest voice?) This is where one philosopher and physician Drew Leder gives us language for something that many of us instinctively understand. In The Absent Body (1990), Leder describes the concept of body dys - appearance. This is the way that the body tends to fade into the background when functioning smoothly, or yo...