Losing my Voice: Navigating Change and New Direction
I used to say that my greatest gift was my self-awareness.
Though introspection is often laced with more poison than honey, I’ve always been deeply aware of myself, my habits and patterns, and my “whys.” But it wasn’t until one of those whys disappeared that I had to really start getting honest with myself.
Ashley as Fiona in Shrek the Musical, 2018 | Main Street Theatre | Photo by Kimberly Ramsey
For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been a performer my entire life. My first public performance was at the age of 3 for the church’s talent show. My first real production was in the 4th grade, and my first professional contract was at the age of 15. At these ages, performing revolved around musical theater. And that was true until my mid-thirties.
Remember how I said I’ve always been very introspective? Well, that made life quite difficult, often on a daily basis. I was hyper-aware of the external world and how it impacted the internal. I was always on-guard, constantly monitoring with vigilance and an activated nervous system. So it probably comes to no surprise that I was also in a lot of physical pain and mental anguish.
Not much came easily to me… just one thing: singing.
It was the only thing in my life that came naturally, without thought, resistance, preparation, or training. It was just something that was always there, always waiting for me, and opening doors along the way.
Until one day, it wasn’t.
A Change in Me
In 2020, I started experiencing troubling symptoms.
Here, try this: look up at the ceiling and try swallowing.
That. I was feeling that, all day, every day. Food wasn’t moving down when I ate, and I couldn’t swallow saliva without choking. Due to the pandemic, it wasn’t enough of an emergency to be seen, so I just adjusted (read: complained. A lot.).
Come 2021, the change in my swallowing ability resulted in me losing a significant amount of weight. In fact, I hadn’t been so slight since I was in 6th grade. So alarms raised, doctor’s appointments were scheduled, and scans were done.
I’ll leave it to the women reading this to guess what the first guess-diagnosis was. Anyone?
That’s right: anxiety.
“No. I’ve had anxiety my whole life. This isn’t anxiety, this is something different.”
Neurology. ENT. Speech Pathology. Gastroenterology. Rheumatology. Anyone?
A Spoonful of Sugar
At my persistence of a genuine problem, a manometry was eventually scheduled. A test I would quickly learn was my least favorite experience in the whole wide world. And I had to do it… twice.
This is where a gauged tube is inserted up your nose and down your throat, into your stomach, to measure the pressure and contractions of the throat and esophagus. All while you are awake, and being fed little squirts of water to swallow on command.
After the absolute pain and trauma of those tests, I declared I was giving up. I didn’t need an answer.
That’s when they confirmed and validated my suspicions: It wasn’t anxiety (huh!).
I only had 20% nerve function in my esophagus. 8 out of 10 swallows failed to create peristalsis, the needed contractions to move food and liquid from the throat to the stomach. In addition to that, my lower esophageal sphincter (LES) is completely non-functioning (only showing signs of “life” when my diaphragm moved it with the breath) and my upper esophageal sphincter (UES) had readings so high and tight, they were off the chart. Because of how tight that UES is, it pulls on everything in my throat, not only making it difficult to swallow, but incredibly painful and difficult to sing.
At the time, I didn’t care about singing or performing. I just wanted to feel better and find a treatment. But I would soon learn there is no treatment for this. It is considered a degenerative condition, one that goes hand-in-hand with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome: a genetic connective tissue disorder that explains my lifelong physical pain, stomach ailments, autonomic dysfunction, and POTS. What does that mean? I will never gain function back that has already been lost. There are no medications, no surgeries. Just… a new normal.
Everything Changes
When theaters reopened, I started getting calls from old self-tape submissions. I was even offered two of my dream roles, big time professionally, both which I had landed double call backs for before lock down.
And my response in 2022? “No thank you.”
I stopped taking auditions and call backs at that point. Not because I didn’t want to perform, but because it felt like a betrayal to go to an audition and possibly nail 16 bars, but have no idea if I could actually perform a whole show, 6 times a week.
So I’ll write, I’ll direct. Why yes, this is how Eralore came to be: a delightful pivot from performer to producer. A role that has evolved from sitting alone on my couch to collaborating in actor workshops and recording studios! A role that has genuinely brought me so many beautiful connections and relationships, and new, original stories I am so glad exist.
But is that all?
Maybe This Time
A few weeks ago, my youngest daughter performed in her middle school production of Guys and Dolls. Oh, how I love that show. I had watched one-of-my-then-idols perform Adelaide at Riverside, the professional theatre I worked at in high school, which led to me playing the same role my senior year.
Listening to those songs, watching these tweens and teens delight in a show that meant so much to me… it made me miss the stage for the first time in years. It made me want to hum and dance along. Which made me want to try out the songs again on the car ride home.
A few notes, then I’d stop. A couple moments later, I’d try again, only to stop.
“Keep going,” she’d say, eager for her mom to sing with her.
“I can’t.”
“Mom, it sounds fine,” she insisted.
Sure. Maybe. I’d say on a good day, I’m at about 80% of where I used to be. But my range is admittedly squashed after 4 years of no singing, and every once in a while, my voice cracks and holds both notes at the same time?!? But worse than that: at times, it can be painful. Like… bone-crushing, swallowing glass painful.
The one thing in my life that was my escape, the thing that I didn’t have to think about or prepare for, it is now the most uncertain and physically painful part of storytelling for me.
I thought I was ok with that. I mean, listen: I am okay. Truly. I’m surviving (the best one can in the fall of a colonial oppressive empire).
I don’t really miss the stage, honestly.
I just miss being able to show up, as I was, and for that to be enough. To be celebrated for my “I’m just here.” (Something that just does not happen when you have teenage daughters, let me tell you)
And I’m angry. I’m angry that I took it for granted for 37 years, and never once took the time to float in it, or to gloat in it. (Boy did I take to heart my favorite quote: “those who have the right to brag don’t need to.”) I never once let myself celebrate or feed pride in that gift. I never stopped to think about how lucky I was, how blessed.
And now, it’s gone.
Sure. The days and nights of tubes and wearable monitors are gone for this season of the disorder, but with it, went my song.
Where Am I Going?
I love writing. I really do. Most days. Look…I have been blocked creatively since The Haverton Howler closed on November 2.
I have 4 stories waiting for me. But I keep focusing on the feeling I want to create, how I want the audience to feel and what I want them to learn, instead of just telling a story and moving with characters. Instead of letting go of control and accepting that once I write a story, it’s no longer mine. It’s everyone’s, from their own perspective.
But more than that, every time I build a storyline, I start writing and the characters insist I write a musical.
A musical! A musical?!
(deep, heavy exhaustive sigh)
I don’t write music. I mean, I’ve written a few really below-average one-off songs over the years, but a full musical? Written by a woman who has just explained to you the absolute grief and physical pain involved with singing now?
I know what you’re thinking: maybe it will be healing.
But what I’m thinking?
This isn’t just a lesson in owning my voice in a new way, it’s forcing me to keep building this community and to keep collaborating. The joy for me hasn’t been writing. It’s been watching my writing come to life with the help and perspective of the people who take on each character. The joy has been in collaborating and planting seeds that blossom, not of my own will, but from the hands and voices of many.
You. Your hands and voices.
So… what do you say?