Creative expression was a part of my being, but
for a number of terrible reasons the freedom to speak, to
express one's true self was forbidden in my home.
Silence was the rule - no singing, no laughing,
not even crying - especially crying.
When my parents discovered through 6th grade
chorus that I could shine as a soloist, everything changed. My father became my vocal coach.
Suddenly, I was singing all the time. He told me what to sing and how to sing. He gloried in the
accomplishments of his precocious daughter and his fine
mentorship, and never passed up an opportunity to let me perform
our songs or the poetry I wrote in honor of him.
I felt special during that time. I had value.
One night - I was 12 years old - my voice cracked
and gave out in a performance. I had been sucking on hard
candy waiting to sing. No one told me that it would coat my
throat and affect my voice. I was also physically and
emotionally drained. It had been a long rehearsal and
looking back, I can see I was
anorexic at that time. Not because I thought I was too fat, but
because, subconsciously, I was trying to disappear.
The strange sound coming out of my mouth and loss
of control frightened me, but my mother's sweet and reassuring
smile helped me to continue and finish the song. I made it
through the performance though I never regained my composure or
the power in my voice. Nothing awful. I just didn't
sound extraordinary...I sounded...well, like a nervous average
kid.
No mountains of praise this time, but one person,
a considerate nun, did come over to tell us I sounded "sweet".
My father graciously thanked her and mentioned I
normally did better. I felt bad I didn't do better, but I
was proud I hadn't quit.
When we got out to the car, my father said, "All right. If you're going to be like that, you'll
never sing again."
My mother, never able to challenge my father's
authority, just looked ahead. I'll never forget the look on
my father's face or the anger in his eye. I had humiliated him and he was dead serious.
As we drove home that night, I stared out the
back seat window, stunned by the injustice, silently raging at my
own powerlessness and terrified at my father's perceived power to
make good on his threat. He had forced me to quit dancing. He
could force me to quit singing.
I resolved to be perfect.
In that moment, I lost my
voice.
For years afterward, I sang like a tape recorder -
technically correct and well rehearsed, but unable, terrified to
improvise, ashamed of my paralysis when called upon to be
original.
It wasn't until a traumatic remembrance in my 31st
year of life...more like a terrible, truth-naming of all
the abuse in our family, when the family lies were exposed and
rationalizations challenged, that the stones burying my voice were
shaken. Two years later they crumbled to dust.
With eyes closed
and sitting on a kitchen floor, I sang and wrote, "Future
Song" a result of the healing path I walked the
preceding year.
I found my voice.
That was 17 years ago and I've been singing ever
since.
I have to sing, and I have to tell you, and as
many others as I can, about the wonder of the creative process,
the joy of finding your voice and the celebration of healing.
DreamSinger is my musical medium to sing the songs
that have waited my whole life to come out. It's a love affair
with the creative process and my way of loving and being loved by
Spirit. In allowing the Song to sing itself through me in this
way, I hope to inspire you to find your connection with your
creative source, and in doing so, discover just how much love you
have inside...and how much love Life has for you.
Keeping the Dream,
Demian,
~DreamSinger
