Elusive Breath

Seeking work and excellence in the arts requires focused training for our bodies to perform to the highest calibration and to highly technical demands. And yet, sometimes, even after all the training, all the preparation, it might feel like our body betrays, by losing our connection to something so basic as breathing.

It's so disappointing to be human, with inner parts of one’s personality not on board with the passions that lie close to our hearts. With parts that might especially get afraid because our artistic desires are so very near and dear to who we are as a person.

It’s so dang hard to be human!

[I guess I have the inconsistency of being human on the brain, as I wrote my last post about Embracing Inconsistency.]

This is what happens for me in those times that I've spiraled out of control under the pressure: adrenaline increases. My muscles tense in response, as I try to control the shaky feelings. As my adrenaline increases, so does the shallowness of my breathing.

Then my mind starts in on trying to fix it. “Take deep breaths. Take deep breaths. Focus on your breathing. Fix your breathing!” My head is barking orders to my lungs. My lungs are impervious to logical input. It’s like I’ve stuck a bellows in my lungs and I’m manually forcing the air in and out.

The physical discomfort takes me farther and farther from the focus of my music or collaboration.

And then parts of me are mad or frustrated, because whose body is this?!? Where did my arms and fingers go? What about my dreams and desires? Which furthers the cycle of more parts triggering each other, and moving farther from my best performing self.

Does this kind of pattern sound at all familiar to you?

If so, I have two suggestions.

First, oodles and oodles of compassion. This is so hard, and so frustrating, to be so very human in this way. To have goals, desires, longings, and our very primal needs for safety are getting in the way! Such an inner conflict. I've lived many years wanting to banish those pesky parts that are fearful. But what if, instead, we can have compassion for those fearful parts?

Can you find any amount of authentic compassion for yourself? One possible way to do this, is to see this normal body reaction as a part of you, and treat it like you might treat a fearful child. Fearful children do not get less fearful by yelling at them and blaming them. They get less fearful by treating them with love and support and safety, and setting up the right circumstances for success.

You do not need to quit performing just because one part of you gets scared! But if you can find out how those parts might like more support and what can make them feel safer, then maybe you can meet those needs.

For example, maybe you bring your own pianist to the auditions that you most care about. Or schedule a rehearsal with the hired audition pianist. Or maybe you’d like to create a sacred ritual before you walk on stage that is calming to your nervous system.

What creative ways might you find more safety for your scared parts?

Secondly, try looking inward to see what happens at the time that you lose your breath. As much as you can slow down your process and notice what triggers what, the more awareness you bring to your unique system, and the more specific you can get with your preparation.

Some possible questions that you might explore: When do you notice you get off track? What happens for you when you’re off track? Was there something that precipitated getting stuck? What came just before the stuck breathing, or the rush of adrenaline, or whatever it is that you notice in your body? What are the thoughts, words, or sentences that go through your brain? How does adrenaline affect your body? What feelings do you notice and where do you feel them?

In my most recent IFS training, I did some cool work with adrenaline as a part of me. I was able to create some space and separation between me and the adrenaline parts.

Adrenaline is triggered by the unconscious, I can’t control it. And yet, when separating from it – IT no longer controlled me. I had adrenaline coursing through my body, lit up and shaky, but there was a deeper sense of control. I could connect to the adrenaline and learn from it and hear it’s story, but it wasn’t in charge. AND I could deeply breathe.

Since breathing is both voluntary and involuntary, taking a multifaceted approach will help you find your best way to dealing with this issue. There are many resources out there for approaching the physical aspects of breathing, including good voice teachers, Alexander and Feldenkreis teachers, yoga classes, etc. Investing in good knowledge and good practice with your body is a very useful way to get to better breathing when under pressure.  

Sending you all my compassion for the times when your body doesn’t perform the way in which you hold the vision for your best performing self!
Love, 
Marta

Embracing inconsistency

I’m taking a writing class and our assignment this week is to write about one of our beliefs. We brainstormed some beliefs, and a classmate brought up, “The only constant is change”.

I feel like I’ve been in one long transition for the last five years, and that I'm a broken record on this topic. First it was dealing with shoulder pain, which led me to uncovering performance anxiety, which led me on a long journey, part of which was eclipsed by pregnancy and baby, and wow, that was a lot of change. Along the way, music performance has shifted more to the background, while focusing on Inner Artist/IFS coaching.

My most recent IFS training led to some very deep transformations, and I’m in new inner territory, figuring out the new ways of being, what feels right to shift and let go, curious about what will emerge.

All of this to say, I’m writing to tell you that I’m embracing inconsistency with blog posting.

For many years, I had the burning itch to write, to share what I was learning, to teach, to have something of value to offer. It was a drive. Inspiration would light me up and I would delight in getting something out in the world.

But now, that drive is on the down low. I still have ideas. Loads of ideas. But the parts that were driving me so hard to get blog posts written and published, I think they are taking a nap. Or a vacation.

I recently wrote in my writing class about my life experiences being like compost. Some rotting memories have been festering and molding. Mixing them around into the compost pile, they become hot and stinky, and then turn into fodder and fuel and food for the soil. I love that metaphor and I hope that is what is happening internally, and in my writing.

I notice the teacher part of me wants to extrapolate this post into something that might apply to your life. Like, how you might find places to ditch the typical advice and follow your own instincts. Or that consistency and practice are key, but sometimes parts of our personality might rebel for whatever reason, and getting curious about those parts can lead to some really cool places. Or how our culture is not necessarily supportive of taking reflective breaks, or listening to our own instincts. 

I’m not sure what is coming next. Maybe the drive to post about performance anxiety and creative blocks will re-emerge. Maybe something else. Just writing this feels freeing. My goals and boundaries of what is possible keep expanding.

In the meantime, while I continue to contemplate and expand, I’ll be back when I have events, and when inspiration hits.

Spring schedule:

• Rep Rally (performance practice class) Sunday April 15th, 2-4 pm. Wait list
• Intro to Inner Artistry – Saturday, May 5th, 3-5 pm; Chicago; FREE
• Making Friends with Fear. Chicago Creative Coalition – Wednesday, May 23rd, 6:30 pm, Chicago. 

Quick Tip #2: Gratitude

My grandmother died last week at age 93 and she was a force to be reckoned with until the end. She hosted a monthly event in her retirement community she called Happy Notes, where she played and sang and got others to sing for a full hour! I hope to be that zesty when I'm in my 90s. 

I loved playing for her funeral. Mostly.

Because, my older sister happens to be a trigger for all my fears! Her being two years older than me, I lived my formative years in comparison to her. 

When I sat down at the piano bench, after Karina's beautiful playing, my body experienced a wide variety of intense feelings. Gratitude and warmth for music, for my grandma, for all the people in the church who loved her deeply. Appreciation that she asked me to play. Gratitude that I could fulfill this request for her.

And nerves. Adrenaline crackling in my arms and legs, heart pounding, fingers and legs shaking. 

I kept coming back to the warm feelings of love running through my body, and my gratitude, and in retrospect, those warm feelings were enough to keep me in enjoyment and in the moment - all the while, my legs continuing with their shaky shakiness.

Gratitude, in fact, is one of the first tools that I discovered that worked for me as a antidote to fear. Not that I am the first to discover this. But it felt like 'discovery' when I first internalized the power of the warm feelings as a way to stay in the moment, be more grounded, and to relax some of my chronically tight muscles.

As I was working on tools to deal with performance anxiety, I learned the Centering Exercise. One of the steps is consciously relaxing tense muscles.

This is what would happen in my head when I tried to relax.
Brain: Relax. Say ahhhhh. Let go. Feel good. Feel free. Come on, you can do it.
Shoulders: NOOOOOO
Brain: I believe in you, it's time to let go.
Shoulders: NOOOOO
Brain: COME ON, I SAID RELAX
Shoulders: NOOOOOO!!!!!!

It didn't work for me. 
Letting go of tension takes some amount of faith, of trust, that things will be okay. That you will survive. That you can do it. That you don't need to clench muscles to protect against judgment, wrong notes, and rejection.

This is all subconscious of course. I know in my head that I'm safe, that I will survive, that I'm okay if I play wrong notes. But my shoulders and the deeper, more vulnerable parts have taken longer to internalize and believe that truth.  

Gratitude is not the end-all-be-all solution to tension, and it doesn't solve the problem forever. But finding something in your performance, or your collaboration, or your creation that you can genuinely enjoy and feel grateful for, can be a tool in your arsenal to help shift the focus from fear to enjoyment. 

Performing from a place of love and gratitude and positiveness (even if your character is not positive), rather than fear - well, we all want that, don't we?

Here's how to do it:

• Identify places in your performance and preparation of true enjoyment and gratitude.
• You might have a voice that argues, saying something like you don't deserve enjoyment or relaxation if you don't do it perfectly. Try experimenting with the 'buts' and 'what ifs' coexisting with the enjoyment and gratitude.
• Are you performing with another human being? Has anyone helped you prepare? Do you have stage management, lighting and sound designers, directors that you enjoy and appreciate? Sense what that gratitude feels like in your body. Maybe even explore extending that gratitude sensation towards these other people.
• If it feels right to you, locate where in your body you feel the connections, the appreciations, the gratitudes and focus on that feeling. What happens if you stay with that for a moment, or two, or longer?

As with anything you want to be effective, using gratitude to counteract fear takes practice. To get gratitude to be at the top of list, apply it as part of your practice routine. Or even write the word on your music in key places, so you practice applying it as you work through learning the music. 

As always, thanks for reading.
With love and gratitude,
Marta

PS - if this was helpful, you might be interested in Quick Tip #1: State the Obvious

Quick Tip #1: State the Obvious

It's go time. You're ready to walk into the audition room, or onto the performance stage. You've practiced, you've prepared, you've done your due diligence. 

And BAM!

Suddenly adrenaline is rushing through your body. You get hot. Or cold. You start to shake. You can't see as well. Your breathing gets tight. You've forgotten everything you've ever learned in your whole life. 

It's times like these that we need a quick solution. It is not practical to go deep and get curious about what is happening and why. You need to do your job and do it well. Right now.

Today’s blog and the following weeks will be dedicated to some short term skills and tricks for coping with nerves. 

State the obvious. Get as basic as you can – you are safe.

Our lizard brains evolved to be on the lookout for any potential danger. It reads DANGER from an audition panel or an audience and does not interpret between real and imagined threats.

To get back into our bodies and thinking brains, and outta survival mode, one strategy is to notice the basics of your situation. Even though it might feel silly, say it out loud.

• Take a look around you and notice – no one here can eat me. Lizard brain is truly worried that you might die. Remind it that you will not die. Alexander teacher Peter Jacobson suggests taking this another step and saying what action you are doing:
  • No one here can eat me…and I’m playing octaves.
  • No one here can eat me…and I’m singing a “o mio babbino caro”
  • My body is safe….and I’m [character] from [this] monologue
  • I am safe….and I’m dancing a box step.

As you know, the key to anything that improves performance is practice. Same with using a tool to address nerves.

The thing about nerves is that our prefrontal cortex, our thinking brain, goes offline. Our ability to remember what to do can feel nearly impossible, once the adrenaline kicks in and the lizard brain is scrambling for safety. So even with these tricks, you need to practice and train for the quick default when the rush of adrenaline washes everything away.

This tool will help bring your prefrontal cortex back online so it and you can function better, even while nervous.

Here's how to practice this tool:

• In the practice room, as part of your practice routine, look around, state your version of events. I am safe, and I am practicing a Chopin Nocturne. No one can eat me here, and I am practicing my speech on {this topic}. Observe how your body feels when you say this. Take a breath. How does your mind feel? 
• Do a practice performance. Include walking in to the room, and as you walk in, say your safety statement. Take a moment to look around the room and notice that nothing here can eat you. 
• Hook this activity to something else you do on a regular basis - washing dishes, brushing teeth, bathing, walking. Especially if you notice anxiety creeping in for any reason, try out saying a safety statement and observing what happens in your brain and body.

I've been doing this exercise while writing this newsletter - even though there is no adrenaline, I have plenty of avoidance desires creeping in. Looking around my yellow and turquoise room, noticing my safety made me smile and settle and commit a little longer and avoid facebook for a few more minutes.

I know you know this, but since we are practicing stating the obvious here, I will state the obvious: the more you practice any given tool, the more it will be available to you when nerves strike.

Consider dropping a note here on the blog about your favorite tools to deal with nerves. I'd love to compile and share a list of tools that really work. 

Warm wishes for the start of this new year!
Marta

Am I racist? Or, how unconscious bias affects our teaching

This edition of my blog scares me. Often when I start writing, I have a seed of an idea, but I don’t really know where it will go. In this case, I went to a topic that scares me: Unconscious bias.

It feels scary because part of unconscious bias is racial bias. And conversations about race are loaded and tender and volatile. In adding my voice to the conversation, I worry: No matter how I write about it, there is a good chance I’ll do it wrong. Or be incomplete. Or offend someone. Or….

And one of those worries is about how it lands with you, dear reader. I care about my connection with you, even through a blog. If you are reading this, I know my words affect you in some way, trigger something in you. Whether that is annoyance, or engagement, or defensiveness, or connection.

Without further ado:
A number of years ago I taught an opera program to teens with After School Matters. The program was made up of high school students from all across the city, and our class was for teens who liked to sing. Abilities ranged greatly, some students didn’t have music classes in their high schools, while others were in arts dedicated high schools, majoring in vocal performance.

Socio-economic status correlated in the way you might expect – kids who had no music programs in their schools came from poorer backgrounds. While those who were in art schools often (but not always) had better financial resources.

You can imagine how easy it was to fall into the trap of extra helping for those kids who already had skills and training. They were fun to help! They had knowledge and already knew they liked classical music.

I’m sad to say that I wasn’t very aware of how my expectations of students created self fulfilling prophecies, and I’m sure my preconceived and unconscious judgments did just that.

This is called unconscious bias, and numerous studies show that a teacher’s expectations are a good prediction of how well the student fares – not because the teacher was right in their judgments, but because the teacher teaches differently based on assumptions.

So, as teachers, we become better teachers and serve the world by becoming aware of those preconceived notions. We do this by noticing, and interrupting, our assumptions.

A subset of unconscious bias is racial bias.

I recently read an article that said that people are very afraid to say, “I am racist” or “I have racial bias” or any slant on that. Because most people, me included, associate racist with white supremacy and cross burning and lynchings. “That’s not me! Don’t lump me into that category!”, is my reaction.

I feel afraid to admit that I am racist. I want to be a nice person, and I have a fantasy to treat everyone equally. I feel deep shame when I admit that I am racist. It is not who I want to be, and definitely not how I want people to think of me.

We are all influenced by racial bias in this society. It is the cultural story within which we are all immersed, with fear as it’s girder. Fear of people who are different, fear of losing whatever place we have in a scary and unpredictable world. And the world has been especially unpredictable lately.

White people need to grapple with this issue. It won’t go away until we too dig into it and work on healing our own unwitting participation. 
 

So, here is a way we can notice when racial bias shows up:

"I see racial bias as a Part of me."

The great thing about using the Parts language and framework is that we don’t have to agree with every Part within us.  
 

We all have Parts that are less than pleasant. The ones who are critical of ourselves, and judgmental of others. Parts who are selfish. Parts who are, or wish to be violent. Parts who eat a lot, or drink a lot, or do a lot of drugs, or cheat on their significant other. We all wish these parts would go away, change, leave us alone, be different.
 

Same thing with racial bias – those are Parts of me that have internalized deep cultural beliefs, and these beliefs do not jive with the rest of my system, with who I want to be.

Using Parts language gives me a tiny bit of separation from the beliefs, and the hope that I can change them.

For example, this is an over-explained, slowed down convo I might have in my head when I notice fear:

Racial bias part: “Ooh, scary black man with a hoodie….defenses up!”
Me: “Wait, I hear that automatic jumping to concern. I’m curious if I really need to feel that way. Are you sensing real danger? Or is that the cultural narrative that has been shown over and over in the media and news and movies?”
Racial bias part: “Well, he’s black. And he’s wearing clothes that make me uncomfortable.”
Me: “I hear you’re uncomfortable. I hear that you’re working to notice if something is dangerous. Thank you for being on alert. I’m curious, do you think that he really looked dangerous? Did you truly sense danger?”
Racial bias part: “Well, now I’m not sure. I’m just doing my job of being on high alert for danger.”
Me: “Right. I’m getting curious about the bigger picture here. Noticing concerns, and also noticing that these fears might not be the whole story, or a cause for reaction. I’m also getting curious about offering eye contact, or saying hello. Or just staying present in my body and seeing what happens. I’m also curious what it’s like for a black man to sense distrust directed at him from the world. That’s an unfair burden for him to carry.”

Working on my racial bias in this way has shifted the lens through which I see people that are different than me. Sometimes I still might notice the judgments or fears first, but I also equally often have a lot of curiosity and compassion at the forefront.

• Seeing a black man unloading a moving van in my neighborhood – wondering what that is like, to be a new person in my neighborhood. And knowing the history of black people who were often unwelcome in white neighborhoods – does he carry that history on his shoulders? What is it like for him here, in this neighborhood that is full of immigrants?
• Or watching a woman struggling with little kids on the bus. Wondering how she’s doing. Wondering about my assumptions of moms who look and act a certain way. Feeling like this topic is so complex and overwhelming. Wondering what led her to this place where it looks like she’s having a really hard time, but perhaps she is no different than me, another mom who has a hard time with my two year old on the regular.
• Seeing old, unkempt men of various races and backgrounds in the park. They look homeless, but are they? I have to be honest, this is a particular area of growth for me. I have a really hard time finding compassion for these elderly men. Even if they are homeless, do I need to be disgusted, or mad, or afraid, or creeped out?

Doing this over and over, interrupting and questioning my assumptions – that is leading to internal change. It is building my tolerance for discomfort and not having all the answers. And it takes the edge off of my shame for being racist – allowing me to actually do more to work with those racist parts. It feels much safer to say, “part of me holds racist beliefs. And I’m working with those parts to change.”

So, how do your Parts show up and affect your teaching? What assumptions do your Parts make about students of various backgrounds? Students who are poor, or from another country, or people of color? What is the narrative that your Parts tell you about these people who might be different than you in some way? Where can you find an iota of curiosity about your assumptions and old cultural beliefs?

I’m curious, how does this land with you? Does it feel like a cop-out? Does it make it easier for you to work on your racist beliefs?

As always, thank you for reading.
Gratefully,
Marta

Heartsick about hurricanes and violence? Me too.

I’m heartsick about politics and hurricanes and gun violence. It's all so much, it feels like a new tragedy every day. If it's not an actual tragedy each day, then it's the politicians tweeting and shaming and blaming and pointing fingers and nothing getting done. This inaction is having life and death consequences for many.

[Such poor leadership ability by the Mayor of San Juan, and others in Puerto Rico, who are not able to get their workers to help. They want everything to be done for them when it should be a community effort. Tweets from President Trump.]

Blame for suffering.

Well, this is nothing new.

“Women shouldn’t wear short skirts, kiss too much, wear too much makeup, stay out too late, flirt with the wrong people, change their minds, lead someone on, play hard to get, etc”
“Black people should just be respectful, grateful. If they aren’t guilty, then don’t act guilty. Don’t run away. Don’t talk back. Don't be angry. Don't be loud.”
“Inner cities are shooting each other up. We need our guns to protect US from THEM.”
“If you want to live in paradise (Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico), there is a price to pay.”

It all makes me feel helpless. And my (not proud) fallback when I feel helpless is to stick my head in the sand. To grieve privately. Overwhelmed. Drained. Rage contained and turned inward. Rely on the privilege to choose to look away.

And that is my cue to look internally for what I can do to help myself. Taking care of myself renews my energy to turn back outward to do what I can externally too.

All of these external circumstances might stir up our deepest fears, for survival, for well being, for connection and belonging. Witnessing these grand disasters, it reminds us that our world is not as safe and secure as some of us are able to pretend. Tragedy can strike, and even worse, we can be blamed for it.

These fears that show up in the meta picture can show up intimately in our performing and creative lives. Because those parts of us that are afraid carry our deepest concerns about safety and belonging, they show up in our very personal work. They show up in the audition room, or dealing with rejection, or writing about personal experiences, or choosing to go for a non-traditional and uncertain career.

The situation in our country amplifies those personal concerns, putting those fears on high alert.

Which sometimes makes art and performance more scary right now, because those fears are on extra lookout for danger.

Which means it’s also an opportunity to deal with those big fears in a meaningful way. They’re coming to the surface, which means more access and availability for healing.

Here are some steps to take to be with your fears and bring some healing inward. If you like, you can journal about the following prompts:

First step – Notice those fears as a part of you. The fears are not all of you. How does it feel to say or feel that the fears are not all of you?

Second – Notice when those fears get activated. Are you walking around every day with a knot in your stomach, or scrunched shoulders, or a spinning brain? How do your fears show up? Are there particular triggers?
 
Third – Is there a way to direct some curiosity towards those fears? Open curiosity is great, because we want to hear from the fears and all the concerns that they carry. We don’t want to change them or push them or pull them. Just hear them. When fully heard, they change on their own.

Fourth – Be kind to yourself. Self-compassion works wonders. Compassion doesn’t ask for anything to be different. Simply noticing, this is hard, this is a big burden. Extending warm heart energy towards those feelings. You can even place your hands on your heart and say something comforting to yourself, like you might comfort a child. "Yes, this is really hard. You are not wrong. I see how much you are hurting."

Concerned that turning inward to heal your own fears might be selfish? I view it the other way, this healing gives us renewed confidence and energy to continue to do our part in the world. Healing ourselves sends ripples in ways we cannot predict, but those ripples are a good and worthy goal.

With love and compassion, 
Marta