Weekly Insight #10: Trusting Your Voice—Overcoming Doubt When You’re On the Spot
Recently, I was invited to participate in a special gathering of Cirque du Toreros in Bayonne, a group that’s involved in our current opera production. Several members of this group are actually matadors, and it was an intriguing evening that blended elements of opera with this unique culture. Over dinner, I was asked to sing an aria from La Traviata. Although I was tired, I agreed because it felt like a wonderful opportunity to share my voice with people who aren’t familiar with opera but might be curious to experience it. The audience was highly appreciative, which made the experience even more meaningful.
As I prepared to sing, I noticed something I’ve seen many singers do when they’re unsure about their voice in a less-than-ideal setting: they tend to vocalize and warm up repeatedly, as if to reassure themselves that their voice is still there. It’s a common response in unpredictable environments, especially when singers are tired or facing less-than-optimal conditions. The urge to keep testing the voice, to make sure it’s ready, is understandable. But I’ve found that in these moments, it’s more about maintaining focus and trust in the breath and mind than constantly testing the voice.
Despite the less-than-ideal space—an electric keyboard, ambient noise, and fatigue—I felt focused and ready to sing. Everything was going well until the very end of the aria. Something happened with the accompaniment, which momentarily distracted me. I lost my focus just for a second, and as I went for one of the final notes, it didn’t quite connect as I intended. It wasn’t a complete crack, but it wasn’t perfect either. The moment passed quickly, and while the rest of the performance was well-received and touched everyone in the room, I couldn’t shake that small hiccup.
Since that moment, I’ve found myself replaying it over and over in my head. Even though I haven’t had this issue with the aria in other rehearsals or performances, I started to worry: What if I make the same mistake again? This small doubt, this fear of repetition, began to creep in. And that’s when I realized that this kind of thinking could easily spiral into what I like to call a self-fulfilling prophecy.
It’s not uncommon for performers to latch onto one small mistake and magnify its significance. The fear of making the same mistake again can lead to catastrophizing—a narrative we create in our heads where we imagine everything going wrong. In truth, this one moment was minor and didn’t detract from the overall performance. But by focusing on it, I allowed it to take up more space in my mind than it deserved.
What I find interesting about these moments is that, even after years of practice and knowing exactly what I’m doing, doubt can still creep in. You may have practiced something hundreds of times, knowing it inside and out, but when the moment arrives, that small voice of doubt asks: Can I actually do what I know I can do?
Margaret Harshaw, a mentor who has been incredibly influential in my career, used to say something that sticks with me to this day: “You will the voice to do what you wish it to do.” It’s such a simple statement, but it carries a lot of weight. The moment you allow doubt to slip in, even for a second, you lose that focused will. But when you trust that the support, the technique, and the practice are all there, the voice will follow naturally—even if you aren’t actively thinking about it.
This is a phenomenon I’ve found fascinating over the years. The very act of letting go of control, when paired with proper training, allows the body to engage in the way it needs to. Support doesn’t have to be constantly commanded—sometimes, the body knows what to do if you trust it enough to let go.
As I work through this, I’m reminded of something important: when we speak or sing in public, each moment is fleeting. What comes out, comes out. And most of the time, what we produce is fine—perhaps even better than we think. But the mind has a way of clinging to imperfections, and if we’re not careful, we can start to build a story around them that isn’t based in reality.
In moments like this, the key is to realize the thought, acknowledge it, and then let it go. Instead of replaying the moment over and over, I’m learning to trust my preparation, my training, and my ability to perform in the moment. The voice is a living, breathing instrument, and sometimes things won’t go exactly as planned. But that’s okay.
What I’m beginning to understand is that the real catastrophe isn’t the small crack or misstep—it’s the fear of it happening again that can sabotage future performances. The fear of repeating a mistake can tighten the muscles, constrict the breath, and distract the mind—leading us right into the very situation we’re trying to avoid. It becomes a cycle, where our anxiety about imperfection creates more imperfection.
The real work lies in breaking that cycle. By recognizing the fear for what it is—an overblown reaction to a small moment—we can diffuse its power. We can remind ourselves that even if a note doesn’t land perfectly, the performance as a whole can still move and inspire. We can trust that the audience will take in the bigger picture, not just the fleeting details.
As I prepare for the next performance, I’m focusing on the present, on trusting my body, my breath, and my voice. Each time I go to sing or speak, I remind myself that the moment is what it is, and that I am prepared to handle whatever comes. The more I let go of the fear, the more I open myself to the possibility of delivering something genuine and powerful—without the shadow of past mistakes looming over me.
So next time you find yourself replaying a small mistake in your mind, ask yourself: Am I preparing for this moment, or am I preparing for the fear of it? Letting go of the fear is the first step to moving forward, to delivering your best self in the present.
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