What is the Role?

I once had a singer in the studio who decided we weren’t a good fit. The reason broke my heart.

I wasn’t “mean enough” with her.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as we hopefully evolve and move into “the next times” with the ability to discover what we want our industry to be and how we want to move within it.

Welcome to storytime.

In a place in the before times, long, long ago, and yet not so far away, or long ago there was mindset that was often insidiously implied into the psyche of the young and impressionable artist-singer:

Be thankful for the scraps. Welcome the scraps. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t burn any bridge. Smile, nod and swallow. Swallow HARD. Keep blinking. Keep nodding. Don’t question. Just do as you are told, and MAYBE, just maybe you will get a meal once in a while. In the meantime, be thankful for the scraps.

And so, the young artist singer did as they were told. They worked hard. They smiled, they nodded and they swallowed. They accepted and welcomed the mind-games, the scarcity, the negativity, the rejection as “part of the business”. They swallowed when they were ridiculed; when they were told they were never going to be a true artist; that they didn’t have the voice, the intellect, the musicianship to have a career; that they were too sensitive to become an artist; that they were too fat, too skinny, too plain, too pretty, too, too, too; that they weren’t enough of this, too much of that.

And feeling defeated, the young artist singer continued to practice, and continued to return to the abuse day after day, week after week, until it felt normal. They numbed the stings, the isolation, the abuse, with anything that would stop them from feeling it. After that had worn off, they felt it even more, and instead of putting it at the feet of those who had inflicted it, they felt responsible.

They knew nothing else. They simply thought this was the way it was. They didn’t think there was a choice, because no choice had been offered or suggested. And so, the abuse, the isolation, the self-sabotage, the scarcity mindset, became normal. It became expected. If there was no abuse, no question, no sabotage, no power struggle, the young artist singer hadn’t experienced anything but, and questioned the motivation of anything that would want to empower, encourage, or build up. They couldn’t fathom growth, or development, unless it was filled with negativity; unless they were told they were doing it all wrong; unless they swallowed and did exactly what they were told to do, and MAYBE just MAYBE they would get a scrap; a glimmer; a hope that wouldn’t been ripped away.

And so the young artist singer got older. And nothing changed. Nothing got better. Nothing developed. They developed in another way. They developed more scarcity, more swallowing, more self-hatred. They had developed a type of Stockholm Syndrome and continued to go back for more abuse; more distrust; more dismissal, because it was all they knew. It was all they knew.

They knew it was wrong, but did not have the tools or life skills to break the bonds of the role they played in their own life, or the bonds of the others who perpetrated the abuse, the disillusions, the control, the power and games.

And so, the artist lost their way. The way and the journey went nowhere. Nowhere externally, no where internally. The wheels spun, the self doubt spun, deeper and deeper until they couldn’t even sing anymore without stopping to question everything. They didn’t want to sing anymore because it gave no joy, no exploration, no possibility.

The artist buried that part of themselves and let those who had played the games , become the vampires that gradually sucked the life out of them.

~ possibly the end, or is it?

What is your role in that story? We all have a story. We all have a narrative. We also have the power to change the narrative and the course of the story. We can also change the role we play.

It’s YOUR story, and it’s YOUR narrative.

It’s YOUR power and you can reclaim it at any point.

There are no scraps to accept. There is no swallowing. The bridges that need to burn were not serving you anyway.

And you know what? The story is not over. It’s never too late to change the narrative.

It’s never too late to say “enough” and change your role.

Your story. Your rules.

with fondness & fierceness,