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...

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 ...