I haven’t showed up as much as I would have liked to with my music work, as I have been enduring health difficulties.
I was faced with a serious medical condition, which surfaced unexpectedly, without warning and had placed me in an emergency situation where my life was at stake.
It was a scary experience.
Not to mention, a day before it started, I was healthy; life was normal.
I was practicing the piano as usual in the morning like I always do. I went for coffee with a music teacher friend; made supper for my family, picked the kids up, worked out at the gym, and swam laps.
My health literally took a 180 degree turn the next day, and no one saw it coming.
It is funny how life can work that way.
A week after being discharged from the hospital, I was still feeling weak but was glad to be home.
It is still unknown at this point as to how my recovery will take place but I was told it would take time, and there’s important rest to do.
I recall sitting at the piano one morning, after saying goodbye to my kids as they trotted off to school, and my husband to work. I had a strong desire to play the piano.
The piano had always been a safe haven for me. It is the one solitary activity that comforts me when I need to process my emotions or to relax and unwind.
I wasn’t able to move around much or do household chores anyway, and so I thought to myself; it shouldn’t be physically too demanding on my body to leisurely play at the piano.
I was wrong.
I couldn’t play for more than 10 minutes before needing to rest and sleep again.
I felt crushed.
A wave of heavy emotions swept through me as I cried on the piano bench.
I was sad that I couldn’t mentally and physically do the thing I enjoyed doing the most.
I fell immediately into a spiral of intrusive thoughts. I felt my efforts and hard work over the past 2 years had just slipped away in a faltering moment that was out of my control.
I had to cancel my music projects and gigs, and felt the future was uncertain.
In the days that followed after, I avoided the piano. I had not been listening to any sort of music for leisure. I had stopped my writing exercises.
One afternoon, I caught myself blankly staring at the piano keys from the couch where I was sitting. I had walked up to it slowly, but then turned around as I couldn’t sit down to play.
I had lost joy in the very thing I loved doing. The very thing that soothed my soul; that I would seek for healing.
I knew at that point, I needed help.
And so, I did a challenging thing.
I reached out to a couple of people in my small inner circle whom I can safely talk to.
I never used to have the courage to reach out and talk about my struggles because of past trauma.
I’m glad I did as I was able to hear their voices; the kind voices who never fail to save me when I’m drowning in my own.
Talking it out with someone helped me processed my thoughts a little better, and it reinforced the fact that I do have to focus on my long recovery road ahead, both in mind, spirit and body.
And, it is completely ok if music is not what I need to do now.
I became fully aware of the situation. I was experiencing fear.
Fear of having to reset; to start from scratch again, to give up on my projects, to lose performance opportunities, and to be pushed further back in the race to the finish line.
Yet, I had forgotten an important fact. There is no such thing as a “finish line” in music.
There was all this pressure to do more, learn more, and put out more; I had forgotten that stillness is also required in growth.
And, the art already lives within me.
I am the music.
I am the creative.
And it will never go away (unless I actually die, of course).
In having those difficult conversations with friends, family and myself, I realized I had poured so much energy into music because it became a beautiful place for me to escape.
I had forgotten the true essence of why I started music in the first place.
Yesterday is heavy. Put it down.
So, I made a difficult decision to step away from music. At least for a while, until I can find my way again in this changed life I have to embrace and live with.
In fact, this pause in music will be a good time for me to reflect on myself as an artist.
This year, I learnt an important lesson. When we let go of something and give it space; if it truly belongs to you, it will always come back to you.
And so I believe it will naturally find its way back to me.
True enough, unexpectedly, my child’s school teacher reached out to me yesterday. The school needed some help with the children’s upcoming Christmas ensemble performance.
I gladly sat in on their practice to listen, and offered a couple of tips on the arrangement and directing.
I was happy I could help, and it brought me joy again watching and listening to the kids have fun making music.
I'm very grateful to have been a small part of this music making experience and cannot wait to watch their performance.
A young girl from one of the classes walked up to me after the session, and surprised me with the most kind, sweetest compliment.
Recently, I had encountered an unkind comment about my skin colour and my skills as a musician. I was deeply hurt by it.
Through it all, it is amazing how sometimes the universe has a way of giving back; of letting you know you are beautiful no matter what, and you will be alright. This young, kind stranger was proof of that.
I noticed how your people didn't support you. So I sent strangers who did. - The Universe
It was very healing, and it reminded me all is not lost even if I have to give up some work opportunities in music.
And, here I am reminding myself to be proud of how far I’ve come in this journey.
Taking a step away from music, doesn’t mean that I don't love it anymore or that I am giving up on it.
As a kind friend had pointed out, it just means I have to revisit and perhaps, reframe what it means to me at this point in my life; what I can and cannot do now as well as moving forward into the unknown.
In the past 5 years, I’ve been exploring and working on a variety of things, of which I think deserve a whole rest (pun, intended).
Perhaps, I will understand my identity a little better coming out of this experience.
It is also a stark reminder that I’m only human.
I can die anytime. I don’t have to be in this rat race with every other musician in the world and can still create and share the music I love.
I will find my place again.
For now, I will heal, away from music; having realized I almost lost my life, and what matters to me in this moment is...
that warm hug from a friend,
the right voices that help me remember who I am,
the lovely snuggles my children give me in bed,
the peaceful sound of my breath while I rest,
and the tranquil silence in my home, which has always allowed my mind to breathe and find the space it needs to be free.
And, I believe in between all these; in the little quiet moments of silence and free spaces, I will find the strength to write new music.
Thank you for staying with me, and following my music adventures up until now. I hope you’ll still be here when I return.
If you’ve read up to this point, thank you for reading my story. Writing about it has helped ease the burden in my mind.
It has been a tough few weeks, but I’m glad I am able to find my way back to a simple writing of a blog post; as a way of offloading my brain, allowing more space for healing.
It was truly a blessing to hear these words from a friend,
“I’m glad you’re still here.”
And I will be back; sometime next year, with new music and adventures.
When I do, I will be back stronger; wiser and fearless.
Love always,
Esther
===A little update===
My heart is so full and I’m so humbled by the sweet school children who wrote kind messages to me. Their performance of Carol of the Bells was so lovely and memorable, and I’m so grateful to have been well enough to attend and watch it. I keep these priceless treasures for life!
Did you know that members in my mailing list enjoy the benefit of early previews of unreleased, in-the-vault, new music that I'm working on (yes, even before it reaches social media)?
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