An imposter in charge
We were practising bowing before the curtain went up — and I was on my hands and knees on the floor. I had been restricting food all day and my legs had had enough.
For weeks, I’d had burnout and brain fog. I got stressed out about eating in front of others and touchy when people made jokes about me eating. I missed our show’s opening night party, and would usually survive off half a sandwich for the afternoon and performance. One day I ate standing up in a dead-end corridor outside the hall.
I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but how can I have a professional career if I can’t even stand and walk reliably?
In our rehearsals, it felt like my brain was split in two. A logical, ‘idealist’ part of me said that, of course everyone has to start somewhere. They don’t know that you’re making everything up, and if they didn’t like it, they’d have said it. No-one will know if it goes wrong.
The other half of my brain kept reminding me that I was the youngest team member in the entire production, hobbling around seasoned professionals. I feel like I don’t have good foundations in my music education, and therefore, I feel like an incompetent imposter when I work with others, making everything up as I go along. Often, I can’t help going mute and letting others take the lead.
How could I deliver as ‘music director,’ leading rehearsals and giving authoritative instructions? I felt so guilty and unqualified for taking on the job. Everything was a disorganised muddle; I mixed up my conducting beats; I felt (or imagined) that people saw me as a dead weight, confusing, unclear, and dragging them down.
Normally I can ‘get in the zone’ before a show, and channel my stimulation and nerves into flight. But for these shows, I was hit by significant anxiety, probably heightened by restricting food, which led to further anxiety and restriction. I felt hyper-stimulated, panting, confused, and panicking, with a squeaky high voice.
I’ve been in official anorexia recovery for about half a year, but the condition probably developed in my early teens. I remember a science class where we compared our weight to the rest of the class. Although I was a ‘healthy BMI’ I weighed more than most of the class, who were underweight, which triggered feelings of embarassment and guilt. I became ashamed of my looks and my terrible performance in PE.
My ED grew into a way to numb difficult emotions, ‘punish myself’ for being ‘worthless,’ and to give me a sense of ‘achievement’ and ‘control’ in difficult situations. This included my unhealthy relationship with music. I was made to practise long hours, even 10 hours a day, in a mind-numbingly mechanical way with a metronome. I was frequently shouted at, threatened, and accused of being a bad student and being ‘passive aggressive’. Once, I was hit on my head by a teacher. I lost (or never learned) any sense of musicality.
What surprises me is that my experience of anorexia defies basic logic. I know that I need to eat well, and luckily for me, no-one I know cares about my shape or body. It should ‘logically’ be a step of just pressing a switch and listening to my ‘logical’ thoughts.
But just as I thought I was in weight gain, my ED bit back.
Music ruined my life and is saving my life. But I am still processing the consequences now. Playing with a metronome still makes my stomach crawl now. (I kindly ask you not to speculate about names. I am trying to move on in peace.)
You can’t just snap out of mental health conditions. You need lots of support and courage to fight a part of yourself, which is why I’m so grateful to Hattie and Becca for being here.
I love this blog because I care about how music can release personal trauma and improve mental health. I recently graduated in composition and piano from RCM London, with a particular focus on collaborating with singers. My degree went more and more off the rails: my piano teacher left without warning, then Covid struck. My stress, fatigue, and episodes of uncontrollable shaking led to a diagnosis of an eating disorder and other mental health issues. The experiences described in this article do not relate to the RCM, where my professors and head of faculty were very supportive.