Meet my inner critic, Cheryl.

Part I, Chapter 4: The Singer’s Breath: Consent and Confidence

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From my book, Unsolicited Advice: A Consent Educator's (Canceled) Memoir, only on Substack.

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January 30, 2021

Saturday

7:50am

Suzanne [my nurse at UCLA] gave me a good breathing technique. I liked her a lot.

I was struggling to eat yesterday. I tried to move really slowly.

I just pooped and it was a lot. Felt good. Big exit, release.

January 31, 2021

Sunday

8:08am

Wow I did so much yesterday. Started a new song on Garageband and practiced guitar. I read. I wrote some memoir (so nice to have a writing project).

I was so nauseous yesterday for a good chunk. I barely ate until 5:30

The breathing technique Suzanne gave me is fantastic.

When I got out of the shower, I talked to myself in the mirror for a bit. I’ve noticed that as I’ve allowed myself to be more masculine, I’ve felt sexier and more myself. I had the thought, “I am a gender.” Not agender, a gender. Like I am my own gender.

February 2, 2021

Sunday

7:10am

C texted last night looking to connect. I asked if he had been drinking in the most casual way I could find, and he immediately recoiled with self-deprecation. I felt all the co-dependency, all the anxiety come rushing back and I had to poop. He said he’d be into talking about how sending naked pics could feel good but understands that that might not be something I want. I said I could be into talking about it and I’m curious. But my body had such a clear “no” this morning: as soon as I thought about it I could feel my fight, flight, and freeze and I had to poop. I just texted him that it’s a “no” and if it changes I’d let him know. I considered if it could help me reawaken my sex drive but this isn’t how I want to do it and it’s regressive and not safe for me. I can’t play in that space. My body is still reeling. My mind keeps trying to say yes but my body is a clear no and I think it’s much more important that I listen to my body.

As a kid, I trained as a classical pianist and had Russian teachers who taught me Bach, Beethoven, and Tchaikovsky. I aced the Certificate of Merit, the test for music theory. I had a love-hate relationship with the piano. I have a distinct memory of practicing a piece and getting so frustrated that I crumpled up the sheet music and threw it across the room with a screamgrunt. I must’ve been eight.

Learning music this way didn’t give me any practice in self-expression or how to make something from my mind. I’m grateful that I have the music theory knowledge but I regret how this method encouraged me to strive for perfection over pleasure, replication over creative exploration, and never once asked me, “What are you trying to say?”

Singing was going to heal me.

In middle school I was in choir. I auditioned for Madrigals, the sort of “varsity” choir. I didn’t get in and deeply regretted not trying my best in the audition. I had done the bare minimum, afraid to give it my all. This had been a running theme throughout my life and would continue: the idea that if I only gave 85% and ended up with a B, that would be better than giving 100% and discovering that all I could pull off was a B. My mom would refer to this as something of a “good enough” mentality. I ended up doing show choir instead, cummerbunds and all.

I remember one of the boys from choir came to my Bat Mitzvah and made a sarcastic comment about my torah portion (where the Bat Mitzvah chants the portion from that week): “Why on earth didn’t you get into Madrigals?” I was disappointed and frustrated with myself because I knew I could sing and had musical talent, I just hadn’t given it my all. Nonetheless, at 13 I internalized that singing really wasn’t my thing. I did show choir just for 7th grade, where I was able to fade into the background, and then I quit. I only returned to singing in 2021.

In 2020, during the pre-vaccine pandemic days, my friend Steve Greist (fun fact: Steve and I have the same birthday) and I started learning to tap dance in our apartments together on Zoom. I bought a little practice floor and glued taps to a pair of shoes I never wore. Once we got vaccinated and were able to meet in person, we started practicing at his condo. As we got our shoes on for one of our practice sessions, I shared with him that I had learned this breathing technique from Suzanne that was meant to help me digest food by getting me into the parasympathetic or “rest and digest” state. I was to use it before and after eating, preparing my nervous system to digest and then supporting it in doing so. I demonstrated for him: You begin to extend your inhale, then you add a brief hold at the top before you exhale, then you elongate your exhale by slowly pushing air out of only a small opening in your lips. Another tool for your toolkit. (Great for before or after a meal, like a prayer.) Steve, a classical voice major with years of opera study, responded, “Oh yeah, the singer’s breath.”

Are you fucking kidding me? My proverbial jaw hit the proverbial floor. That sealed the deal for me. If this type of breathing was what singing was based on, I had to start singing again. It didn’t have to be perfect—it didn’t even really have to be any good. Singing was going to heal me.

Photo by Summer Wagner