My Own Worst Enemy

"I think I believe in you more than you believe in yourself."

She said it with a heavy sigh, as she dropped her hands from the old piano, and I knew she meant it. And worse, I knew she was right. I just didn't know how to fix it.

True story.

This was a real and seemingly insignificant moment of my life. I was a little cold, and a lot more than a little nervous as I stood alone with my high school chorus teacher inside the loading dock area between the chorus room and the stage. She used this area, and the old piano that lived here for quick practices before a show, or in this case, auditions.

She hit a note, and I could feel my voice wavering in my throat but I kept my mouth shut tight. She hit it again, looking me dead in the eye, expectedly. I was too nervous for this kind of defiance, so this time I barely whispered the note.

"Again" she said, and I did the whisper singing once more, and now I could tell she was starting to get angry? Annoyed?

And then she said it. She removed her hands from the piano and sighed deeply, "I think I believe in you more than you believe in yourself."

And I swear I was choking on the sob building in me. She wasn't mad. Or annoyed. She was disappointed in me. I knew the feeling. There was no way she'd ever be able to be as disappointed in me as I was in myself.

I didn't really fail the audition. I wasn't disappointed because I was unprepared, or incapable.

I didn't fail because I didn't try.

I botched my audition to get to the next level of chorus classes by pretending that I couldn't read music and didn't know how to sing the notes, even as she was literally giving them to me, begging me to just try.

I knew how to read the music, I knew how to sing it, I knew exactly what to do, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to try. I wanted to hide in the shadows, and quit chorus, and transfer to Spanish class. Not because I had any intention of actually learning Spanish, oh no, that was a wasted semester. I wouldn't actually worry about learning Spanish until another decade into the future when I found myself surrounded by Spanish speakers and desperately wishing I had actually tried to learn something other than necesito ir al baño.

I just didn't want to be there in chorus anymore. Chorus was for people who cared. Chorus was for the kids who actually thought they were going somewhere and that wasn't me. I wanted to be like the popular girls who knew how stupid and pointless everything was, and recognized our lot in life. And went to Spanish class, where we could socialize and scoot by with a passing grade.

But between you and me, I really liked chorus. I'm no Kristin Chenoweth but I really like singing. I liked learning to read music, and working with my own voice, and learning how to use it. I loved feeling that powerful swell of emotion when a whole room of people was making music together.

But I was more afraid then I was in love with it I guess. Either way, it's a moment that has followed me ever since. I think about it often, especially when I once again find myself giving up on something before I've even tried.

I've been doing lots of self discovery work lately in the name of recovering my inner artist (see the note at the bottom because I'm not diving into all that here), and I've been urged to identify where my limiting beliefs and negative self talk stems from. Maybe your parents didn't believe in you? Maybe you had a teacher who criticized your work at a young age, and that ruined your little inner artist forever? But what happens when none of that is true?

What happens when "I think I believe in you more than you believe in yourself," felt like being slapped in the face with your own inner hell?

What if damn near everyone believed in you, except you? What if you're the problem?

I tried diving deep, and who knows maybe along this journey I'll dive even deeper and find someone and somewhere else to place the blame, but the only common denominator I can remember is myself. It's been a long struggle with my own self worth, and I can't for the life of me remember an incident I can blame it on. Because no one told me I wasn't good enough, and yet I continued to tell myself that.

In fact quite the opposite, many people in my life, like this teacher, begged me to try, to give them any reason to help me succeed, but I had to help myself first, and I wasn't there yet.

In a way I feel like maybe it's not digging deep enough to just say I'm the problem. I can hear the urging, "yes you struggle with believing in yourself, but why?" Believe me, as someone who is always asking why about everything, every bit as curious as I was as a child, I am trying to dig deeper, and I will keep trying. But I can't help but wonder is there possibly any truth in just saying, that's just how I'm wired?

In the nature vs. nurture argument, surely something has to come down to nature? Are some people simply born more self assured than others? Are some of us just more sensitive to our own self critic?

And why is the self critic there? Cause that's the meat of this thing right? Is it crazy to just say because that's the world we live in?

Because no one told me I wasn't good enough. I told myself. I chose to compare myself to other people. Other kids my age who were more self assured. Other artists who I thought were better than me.

Sure, there were things I could blame. Friends along the way who had big, bright personalities, that made me want to minimize myself to let them shine. Or practical thinking that was a constant reminder that I wasn't born rich enough to really pursue artistic dreams. But for me these excuses are surface level, it's always been me. I'm the problem. I'm afraid. Plain and simple. All these outside factors might be true, but they weren't what stopped me from trying. I did.

I started taking acting classes recently on this journey of change, and in one of my scenes I was playing a character who'd just been dumped and my teacher was helping me get into the vibe, so naturally he asked me, "have you ever been dumped?"

To which I replied, "no, actually," which got a whole lot of encouragement, "damn, okay girl," from my classmates, to which I quickly protested, "it's not a flex, just my crippling fear of vulnerability."

It just popped out. It made everyone laugh, but in another one of my cringe moments it just came out, and I realized how terrifyingly true it was. It's a fear of vulnerability, fear of being seen, that kept me hiding, and kept me from trying for so long.

Why is that fear there? Who knows. But I won't blame everyone else, because the further I spiral into my own mind the more I see the same scenario over and over and over again. It's just me, knowing that if I let them see me, then I can't take it back. Then I've been seen. There'll be no mystery left. No chance to pretend I'm something else. No way to get back whatever part of me I lose when I bear a little bit of my soul and offer it up to the world.

Places like acting class, or here on Vocal have helped. Little by little, bit by bit, I'm exposing more of myself, and I'm hoping my teacher would be proud of me this time. I doubt she even remembers me, but I will remember her all my life. It was a defining moment for me. I didn't believe in myself, and other people knew it. And I can psychoanalyze myself all day, but it won't change the truth. I have to find it in me to stop being afraid. It might have taken me more than a decade, but I'm here now.

And to lighten the vibe, because despite the blasphemy that is posting this gif before Halloween is over, this scene is playing in my brain now 👇🏼

I started reading/doing the exercises in The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron recently and this little blurb is me being a cheater and using one of my "assignments" to also get myself to write something for Vocal. If you want to see more of my journey following the book and the exercises, I started blogging about it here.