imposter syndrome plus voices

At the risk of sounding self-deprecating, I’m trying my best not to let those intrusive thoughts run the show. The particular show I’m referring to is an actual show and is simultaneously the most wonderful and most icky opportunity I’ve ever been given. Let me explain..

There is a local promotions company in Brighton called Melting Vinyl, and a specifically magic woman who runs it called Anna Moulson. Over the years they have given me so many opportunities to support exciting touring artists, perform in some of Brighton’s most beautiful venues and just generally egg me on with many lovely words.

I’m also very blessed to have Anna in our choir. It’s a wonderful thing to collaborate with people whom I respect, and it’s so nice to share something musically active with someone who is normally in a ‘organisational’ role whenever performance is involved. Sometime last year Anna said she wanted to put on a headline show for me. It has been many years since I did that, or even considered doing it in Brighton, and I was flattered by the suggestion. Imposter syndrome swiftly knocked that smile off my face. I started having visions of no one turning up, no advance ticket sales, nothing. It has been quite some time since I’ve had this reaction to an invitation or opportunity, something I absolutely put down to Matresence and it’s fuck-you attitude that comes along for the ride. But of course summoning said fuck-you attitude is a different thing entirely, and as I’ve written about before, when it comes to the music industry and the self promotion machine that you have to be to be in it, I quickly lose face.

Fast forward a thousand thoughts at a million miles per hour, stood at the bar of the Rose Hill, and Anna and I have decided to invite the choir to sing at the show. It took me quite a few weeks to tell the choir that we were going to be learning my songs. The voices in my head were saying “they pay you to lead choir every week and now you are going to use them to sing your own songs for your own show? how incredibly self indulgent of you. how dare you”. Batting away these thoughts is a skill I have yet to master, but I’m getting better. I try to kill the voices with logic, experience, real things that have happened to me “but they have asked to sing some of my songs, I’ve been invited to do this show!” They quieten down, for now.

What is it about having to shout about yourself that is so hard. Sometimes just talking, or even whispering about an achievement can feel so skin crawlingly yucky that we stick to doing it very reluctantly. It’s one those ridiculous human (British, perhaps?) facets which the more I think about, the more trippy I feel. Consider being on the other side of a conversation in which someone you love and care about is telling you about something they are proud of. An achievement. A creative project. Even someone you don’t particularly love or care about. It would make me happy to see someone in their power, knowing their worth and not being scared to talk about it. I would encourage them, tell them to shout louder and beam more. Why on earth can we not do it in the mirror.

I’m sure there are many philosophical approaches here, as to why we need to not think of ourselves as the most important, perhaps a evolutionary mechanism to keep us tame and not turn into some alpha fighter with a god complex. But surely there is an in-between. The likelihood is that this is mostly a cultural phenomenon. Being British also likely magnifies it tenfold, how ghastly it is to talk up oneself and one’s achievements. It’s probably also something to do with being a woman. There is so much so deeply embedded about being seen and not heard, about letting the men speak first and that humility and etiquette are desirable qualities. At least the acknowledgement of the patriarchal pressure should mean I can throw all the silly feelings in the bin, right?

When I allow myself to shift the perspective and imagine my daughter in my position instead, I learn a lot about myself. I imagine her as a grown woman, rushing to tell me that she has been offered an opportunity to do something she loves, and be celebrated for it and I swell with pride. It’s easy to imagine, because she has the innocence and fierce self belief of a 3.5 year old who hasn’t yet become self conscious. The moment I attach my own narrative to this fantastical experience, and imagine her doubting herself, her worth and her value, my shoulders start to ache. I feel tearful and deeply sad. I want to tell her that she will always be worthy of celebration and that no one else sets the metric by which her value is measured. Her happiness is the only measure of value. She deserves joy. I’m talking to myself by this point, perhaps in child form. Perhaps the therapy is working.

The process of teaching my own songs to the choir is something I’m so grateful for, and I feel I have grown from it in this short space of time. As expected, hearing a choir of people you love sing your words to you in harmony, in a beautifully reverberant room is otherworldly in the most amazing way. It is incredible. At the same time I have noticed that my sensitivity has increased. I’m more aware of whether people are enjoying the sessions, if they like the songs and whether I’m boring them. I know that this is an exercise in vulnerability that is bettering me as I move through it. Keeping the created image of my grown daughter in my mind, or perhaps the childlike version of myself, I tell them both that it’s a safe place to find joy. You are allowed to enjoy it.

All this to say that I absolutely cannot wait to perform my songs with the choir I hold so dearly. The singers which every week turn up and sing at me which such joy, vulnerability, passion and life force are now going to support me on stage, holding me in the songs I’ve written. What a god-damn honour. If you want to come and see it happen, the details are here.

B x