I often attempt to offer life lessons through this blog. Today I’m going to try something different and ask for help.

When I was younger, I didn’t exactly know that I suffered from crippling nerves before going on stage. I mean perhaps on a subconscious level, but you never would have heard me admit it. I suppose I also just thought that it was normal. I must have claimed hundreds of times that I don’t get nervous. I’m cool as a cucumber. Performing is my happy place.

But here is the reality. Throughout my life I’ve gone through multiple stretches of years without getting on a stage. During those times I miss it and I feel so jealous of musicians who are performing that I will avoid going to live shows because of how frustrated I am that it’s not me up there.

Having just gone through such a long stretch of abstinence, I’ve been forced to contemplate why this happens. Why don’t I just get out there and play? I mean, I know I’m perfectly capable of it. If you ask me, I’ll give you every excuse under the sun: I’ve got no creative energy left after work, I hate the world around music – the egos, the competition, the judgement, the carting around gear and the late nights. All true to a degree. But if that had ever been the only thing stopping me, I know I would have still gone for it.

As I took the recent opportunities handed to me on a plate (a live stream out of Texas and a gig here in Auckland) I became hyper aware of what has really been holding me back all my life – performance anxiety and my own harshly judgemental voice tearing me apart. After my live stream this year, my Dad said something to me. He remembered how much stress I felt when I was performing with my band in Montreal. I only look back on those days with rose tinted glasses now. He said “Emily, if you can perform without turning your hair grey, you should do it. You’re good at it. But if you’re going to suffer that much, it’s not worth it.”

I’m now not really sure if I CAN do it without “turning my hair grey.” But I do really want to be able to.

This is what the experience of getting on stage is like for me…

The month prior to a gig I am happy. I have a lot more drive to play and practice every day. Some of my greatest singing happens alone in my apartment singing out to the city scape at night (the view from my balcony). I am relaxed and I give it my all. My imaginary audience don’t scare me. They are unconditionally supportive and loving.

The days before the gig I start to feel the nervous energy in my body. I’m shaky and my muscles sore. I don’t sleep well. I start applying all the tools I have to calm myself. Practice is one. This time I also tried kava. I load up on vitamins and herbal tea. I meditate, I walk off the energy. The day of the gig I have a constant stream of words running through the back of my mind – all the things I am going to say when I introduce the songs. I’m mentally practicing and visualising. I try not to use my voice. I eat lots of honey. I swing between feeling like I’m going to throw-up, cry, run away (and never come back), and genuine excitement.

When it comes to the actual moment of performing, I focus on being completely positive. It’s pure excitement. I get on stage and I feel genuinely happy. There is nothing I love more than opening my heart in front of a room full of people; knowing that as I do so it connects us and helps facilitate healing and a deeper acceptance of this crazy world.

At the same time, when I’m on stage, I go into deep focus and I tense up. All my singing and breathing techniques go out the window and suddenly I’m tilting my head back and forcing out notes that I know when I’m relaxed I can sing easily. After each song I have this bizarre mixed feeling of “wow, that was awesome” and hearing the perceived thoughts of my audience going… “oooohhh, that was baaaaaad. She really didn’t sing that well.”

 

After a show, having been in a state of constant stress for about of week, I feel exhausted. I also feel shame and humiliation. Especially when I watch videos of myself. My thoughts range from “I look so fat and old” to “well, I suppose that bit was played quite well” or “that one note sounded nice.” I’m usually able to find at least one song that I think sounded okay, and I share these ones online to try to make myself feel better. After all, I know I should be proud of myself.

That is generally the only thing people see too – me being proud of myself. The truth is sometimes I feel so upset and frustrated with my singing that I actually shout out loud at myself “WHAT THE FUCK EMILY!” No one will ever be as cruel to me as I am to myself. However, I’m quite convinced that if I am this critical, then other people must be too, and I’m all too aware that I also shouldn’t give a shit what other people think.

And here’s the worst part…. I’m almost equally as hard on those who play with me. My inner critic is a serious asshole. One of the things that I struggle with most about playing with other people is that I not only need to worry about myself making mistakes, but I also feel like I also need to worry about them. In other words, collaboration causes me stress (unless I am working with musical geniuses.) I don’t usually tell them that I’m upset with the ways in which I feel they’ve let my song down. I internalise it and blame myself for trusting anyone else to uphold the music to the same standards as I do.

So there you have it. I’m a nightmare to collaborate with. And I say that as someone who has to work with me on a daily basis.

One of the only things that has given me solace lately is Amanda Palmer. Stranded in New Zealand, we’ve been seeing her a lot online here lately. Here’s the truth – I don’t like Amanda’s singing. Her voice really doesn’t do it for me. BUT she is very successful. She is an amazing performer who lays her heart and soul out on the stage. She shares profoundly and has enriched my life, and many others in such a meaningful way. Amanda couldn’t care less what I think of her voice. She lives and speaks her truth. She is a hero to so many women. Oh tell me, how can I be more like you, Amanda?

I suppose that the hyper-critical voices in my head originated somewhere, and I’ve got a few ideas, naturally. In the days of my band, my number one coping mechanism was denial. I tried to always focus on the positive, thus being perceived as somewhat delusional. Unfortunately my band mates didn’t agree with this technique and would be critical as a means of pushing me to get better. Sadly what this actually did was crowd my brain with even more vicious little monsters, leading to hibernation for the several years that followed.

I know that nerves are a natural part of performing, and they say we even need them to be able perform well. However, mine can be debilitating. And short of some very expensive therapy, I’m not sure what more I can do. If anyone has any clues, I’d love to hear them!