Standing with My Choir: Singing for Mental Health

Singing Is Good for Your Mental Health

I love to sing. And before you try to convince me you can’t sing, I’ll tell you that I’ve seen a rowdy lunchtime song session’s “Lean on Me” turn a group of frustrated teenage Israelis and Palestinians into a tears-of-joy-arms-around-one-another crew of hope and possibility. I used to run summer camps; I know down to my soul that group singing creates community and joy, even when the noise you make is louder than it is pretty.

And this is not just my opinion—the social, physical, and mental health benefits of singing in groups are well-documented. Singing builds social connection, improves mental health, exercises the brain, improves breathing and posture, and more.

In the waning days of the pandemic, I found myself craving that experience; I joined a community choir of people who love making music together. This spring will mark my fourth season singing with them and I look forward to every rehearsal like it’s my birthday and free taco day and hot-fudge-has-become-a-vegetable-day all rolled up into one.

Singing with a Disability

Each season we build towards a performance which is good fun for us (if not our family and friends) but this last season I skipped the performance because of the limitations of my body. I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a genetic disorder of my connective tissue. This is relevant because performing with a choir requires hours of dress rehearsal and standing for the performance itself, and for me standing and sitting for long stretches is painful. It can cause subluxations of my neck, ribs, and hips, nerve symptoms in my feet, and other uncomfortable and or seriously painful side effects that may last for days or weeks after.

I tried, though. The first time I performed with the choir I sat in my wheelchair, which I placed next to the risers. I’m relatively new to being a part-time wheelchair user and the self-consciousness of needing it coupled with my native stage fright made the whole thing such a deeply anxiety-provoking experience, I couldn’t enjoy it. I stood for as many songs as I could (even sang a solo!), but when I finally had to sit down it was difficult to hear everyone else, and being off to the side of the risers made me feel like an afterthought.

The second time I performed I brought a little portable stool so that I could be on the risers with everyone else, but sit when I got tired. This was not ideal as a) sitting on a stool is only slightly more comfortable than standing, and b) sitting on a stool on a riser as the nerve damage in my feet made them progressively feel heavier and clumsier made the situation dangerous. In the end, I was so tired after rehearsal and sound check, I ended up on a folding chair off to the side of the choir anyway, which was even worse than my wheelchair. The third season last winter, I just skipped the performance altogether. Which hurt my heart.

When we returned in January for this season I was surprised to be accosted by my friends in the alto section who demanded to know why I didn’t sing at the winter show. When I explained it to them, there were a few things that struck me about their responses:

1. They really wanted me there to perform with them because they think of me as part of the group, which feels intensely wonderful.
2. I hadn’t shared with them about my condition. Even though I feel like my disability is visible to them since many of them had seen me in my wheelchair, and all of them see the special seating pad I use to support my neck and back during rehearsals every week, they didn’t know. I need to use my words.
3. My habit of thinking that it was better for me to try to find my own solution rather than ask for help was inherently flawed. Our directors didn’t know about my condition either, but they do know much more about planning a concert than I do. Duh.

Asking for Help

After that conversation, I sent the directors an email explaining the situation and their response was swift and sincere. They wanted me to be able to participate and they wanted to work with me to find a solution because of course they do. We also discussed that, at nearly 200 members, there is no way I’m the only singer with this issue, at last week’s rehearsal they acknowledged aloud that everyone’s bodies work differently. They invited anyone who needs accommodations to share so that we could all work together to make the next show more accessible. It’s likely the answers will be different for everyone based on their needs and the setting we sing in.

I am still glowing. I knew the singing made me happy, but didn’t get the depth of meaning in the community we are creating. I feel held by them as we navigate how to solve this challenge together. I am not alone in having this problem, and I don’t have to be alone in the solution. And, I get to sing.