“I don’t get it. I really thought I had this job wrapped up. After all, the artistic director all but promised it to me, and now they’ve hired what’s-her-name. She’s horrible! Oh, what’s the use. It’s always the same. What am I doing in this stinkin’ business anyway? I just keep getting rejected all over the place. I really can’t take it anymore.”
Does this self-flagellation sound familiar to you? Any and all of us have had vestiges of this inner monologue playing its timeworn tune in our heads throughout various stages of our careers. Let’s face it, this is a tough business. It calls upon the innermost parts of our creative, vulnerable souls and exposes them repeatedly, only to have soaring spirits meet up with squelching realities.
When things are going well, we experience an amazing high. We’re out there, we’re singing—maybe this time things will finally get rolling after so much investment. When things are not going well, however, we feel despair and self-doubt that left unchecked can lead to hopelessness and unspeakable pain. In clinical terms, we are depressed.
The recent tragic death of our esteemed colleague Jerry Hadley once again reminds us of the fragility and the voicelessness inherent in being a soul in pain. It also begs several questions: How do we manage the turmoil of this business and come out the other end as an intact, whole being? How do we thrive, rather than just survive? Ultimately, how much is too much, and how do we know?
Being a professional opera singer is an investment of the entirety of your being, of which the actual voice is only a small percentage. We train endlessly, we hone our craft relentlessly, we undergo the microscopic judgment of teachers, coaches, managers, conductors, and directors. If we are successful, we undergo the further scrutiny of a public that can be fickle in its admiration and a press that can be crippling in its conjecture. Yet it is our passion for singing, as well as our tenacious commitment to art and beauty, that we hope will override these realities. When these strivings are insufficient, it is time to re-examine ourselves and discover a passion and commitment from within, perhaps for the very first time.
Depression is an insidious animal. Ask anyone who suffers from it and they will tell you just how overwhelming and consuming it can be. Indeed, I have probably already listed enough depressive material to keep you from reading any further! Coraggio. There is hope, and lots of it. Before we get there, however, let’s look more closely at some of the causes of depression, causes that may be specifically linked to our world as opera singers.
First and foremost, striving for perfection is at the core of our professional craft. In functional terms, this striving leads us ever onward toward the pinnacles of yet-to-be-discovered artistic nirvanas. In dysfunctional terms, this striving becomes compulsion, an ugly and self-loathing inner prison that houses the self-appointed demons who tell us we will never be good enough.
It is a delicate balance. Drive is necessary to assay the rigors of beginning an operatic career. It is certainly required to deal with the vicissitudes of stretching yourself professionally.
Realistically, can we ever be “good enough”? Must we ultimately be perfect? Try those questions on a budding Queen of the Night who needs to produce five perfect high Fs in the course of one short role, and you’re liable to get told just where to go. This conflict is very real, however, and a business that is built on constant rejection only magnifies that conflict. This rejection can be so characteristically chronic at some points in our careers that we’re shocked when we actually do get a job!
A few years of this constant emotional roller coaster can produce painful results. We persevere because that is what we’re highly trained to do, and yet our souls hurt, seemingly corroded by the very thing we love to do most. It’s a bitter irony.
Then we must deal with the harsh reality of employment itself. It is no secret that competition is fierce. In addition, once we have “gotten on the circuit,” financial rewards can be long in coming or perhaps never realized to the extent that we had envisioned, even after many years of hard work. Perhaps we need to work another means-to-an-end job, not only to pursue our careers but also to support our families. Fiscal obligations can be daunting and resources may be scarce.
On a related note, the opera world can be quite complex and unforgiving as singers age, especially in this time, when youthful singing actors have to compete to capture the attention span of a younger audience. This leaves the singer scrambling for other options, some of which may be difficult to negotiate or accept. In any event, financial vulnerability is often a key stressor in this transition.
In view of all of the above, are we all walking around depressed? Yes and no.
Our society is teeming with the jargon of all sorts of mental disorder diagnoses, most of which, incidentally, are used mainly for insurance reimbursement purposes and for a basic frame of reference for mental health practitioners. In short, beware of the dangers of labeling. That being said, depression is very real, and woe be to those who maintain the anachronistic thinking that it is something we should “just get over.”
In simplistic terms, it all gets down to functioning. Ask yourself these questions:
• Am I functioning well in the world (bearing in mind that “well enough” is an acceptable goal, especially under times of great stress)?
• Is my behavior endangering myself or others?
• Finally, do things seem permanently hopeless to the extent that I have had strong thoughts about ending my life?
Let me say up front that there is a large continuum in creative behavior, and I have difficulty with any automatic pathologizing of artists as “crazy” or “imbalanced.” Many of us are keen and steady business people, trying to honor our creative urges while making a living. However, some basic signs might strongly suggest that treatment for depression is indicated. They include a general depressed mood, insomnia or oversleeping, loss of appetite or an increase in appetite, feelings of worthlessness, fatigue, and a general feeling that you no longer enjoy the activities you once used to enjoy (known as anhedonia). Other signs include increased irritability, inability to think clearly, tearfulness or uncontrollable crying jags, and recurrent thoughts of death.
The essential features of the depression (clinically known as a “major depressive episode”) must persist for most of the day, nearly every day, for at least two weeks, and sufferers can experience recurrent episodes. Parenthetically, it is important to remember that grief replicates any and all of the criteria I just mentioned, so you might be experiencing situationally normal and specific depressive symptoms related to the recent death of a loved one. If you find you are prone to extreme “up and down” mood swings beyond basic euphoria and normal “being down,” you might have some degree of bipolar disorder (previously known as manic-depressive). Again, it is all a matter of the ability to function.
Left unchecked and untreated, depression may lead to a suicide attempt or attempts, an unfortunate option some take when they feel they have no hope and nowhere to turn. Tragically, the nature of this dark journey entails a slow detachment and isolation from others that can make it difficult to assess. In other words, thoughts of suicide can remain the inner language that goes unspoken in the soul of a human being. The burden becomes too great. Life becomes too painful. Death becomes a skewed solution—and perhaps not even those close to the deceased saw it coming.
Besides isolation, signs to note in others include giving away treasured possessions and “saying goodbye” in cryptic and indirect ways. It is also important to note that the critical time for suicide attempts is usually just as the depression begins to lift. (The person actually has enough energy to commit the act.) Finally, I offer a reluctant realization from resounding statistics in the psychotherapy world (at least in my training): people who are really intent on ending their lives will do so, therapy or no therapy, support or no support.
I offer the previous information mainly as a framework and reference in terms of diagnosis, yet diagnosis is incomplete without treatment. Fortunately, we live in a world of increasing options, in which the stigmatization of attending to the needs of your own mental health is beginning to lessen. This is encouraging news for all of us, particularly for those of us who, as opera singers, must temporarily “tuck in feelings” to perform.
First of all, beware of any “quick fixes.” Much like the process of securing a solid vocal technique, it takes time to address the pain underlying current behaviors. Find a therapist who will first and foremost listen, empathize, and validate your feelings, rather than overload you with “quick fix” homework assignments (yet another thing for a perfectionist singer to do wrong). Bandages peel off from such magic-bullet “cures,” just as they do in the world of vocal technique, revealing problems that resurface the next time the stress gets too intense and threatening to the soul.
The best way to find a therapist might be through a trusted colleague’s recommendation. You may also want to ascertain the therapist’s licensure through your state’s licensing board (available online). Optimally, and despite managed care’s cry to the contrary, long-term therapy is really the most effective way to heal wounds that may be getting in the way of the happiness and fulfillment you deserve. This takes a commitment on many levels—but then again, so did your voice. Moreover, getting the help you need is a gift to yourself.
Psychotropic medication is also an option, in its various anti-depressant, anti-anxiety forms. The vast availability of these prescribed medications has allowed millions of people to create hope where there was once emptiness and despair. Medication treats only the symptoms, however. If you stop taking the medication, the internal conflicts and their root causes are still there. Medication in tandem with therapy is an effective combination for treatment. The medication reduces the symptoms, creating a more amenable environment in which actual change can take place.
The second caveat is the way these types of medications relate to classical singers. Some singers, for example, say certain prescriptions can cause anxiety, moodiness, or numbness of feelings, particularly while initially adjusting to the medication. Performing might feel “different” during that adjustment period, so it is imperative that you stay in constant dialogue with your therapist or referred psychiatrist about what is working or not working for you.
Perhaps you are currently in a position where ongoing therapy is not an option, either because you are on the road a lot, have financial restrictions, or for other reasons. You can still do several things for yourself. Above all, stay connected. Isolation is a crippling component of depression and tends to magnify feelings of being alone and helpless. When you are moving from gig to gig, cultivate relationships with singer colleagues that are nurturing and not draining.
The Internet and affordable cell phone plans have made keeping in touch so much easier than it previously was for us peripatetic types. You can build a foundation of community and a supportive network for yourself. In addition, if you have children and/or a spouse or partner (at home or off singing as well), keep your family first and foremost in your connections. Try to find a balance between your professional life and your family, working together with your family as a team to plan deliberate non-musical activities and long-range goals.
Finally, apropos of everything and nothing, exercise is a terrific depression-buster, so let the sweat roll! Just remember that if life still seems too unbearable, please don’t delay in seeking help, no matter how inconvenient that may seem.
As a parting shot (and perhaps out of the lens of my own experience), let me say a few words about options. You always have options. Some may be more or less desirable than others, but they are always there, sometimes just hidden from view and yet for us to discover on our journey.
When that inevitable day comes, when the performing door finally closes, another one will open. Whether that transition includes moving towards teaching or even pursuing a totally new profession, we will experience a loss of the life we once knew. The journey of discovery will require us to mourn the passing of that life—and eventually, to reconcile ourselves to it. The healing comes in making peace with ourselves and realizing we did our best.
This realization cannot be forced. You must experience it authentically. It all takes time. This transition includes tremendous vulnerability, which can leave you at risk for feelings of shame and worthlessness. Left unchecked, these feelings can be crippling and, unfortunately, even fatal. With love, support, and reaching out, there is life after the stage—and it is good.
So the next time that inner voice of hopelessness and despair clashes with the highly refined and polished outer voice of your performing self, try to remember that you are not alone and that help is available for the asking. The road is often challenging, but it can be and indeed is joyful, fueled by the love we have for this special art. Our creative contributions continue to assure a future for classical singing and bring happiness to an embracing and diverse audience. As artists, however, we also need not only the love and respect of others, but also to love and respect ourselves.
Let your art serve you in self-fulfillment, not drive you in a compulsive dance of self-doubt and self-loathing. You deserve the best, and you have lots of options to help you get it. It all begins with you . . . and ends in infinite possibility.
