Back to the Stage After 22 Years: The Audition He Didn’t Cancel
- Gökçe Kutsal
- Jun 4
- 5 min read
* This story is shared with care. To respect the client’s privacy, some details have been changed. The essence of their experience and the outcomes remain true.
He had the voice. The training. The longing.
A conservatory education in France, and years of experience teaching singing to others...
But when it came to stepping onto the stage himself, something held him back.
Auditions — just the thought of them — triggered such intense anxiety that he stopped attending entirely.
Even invitations to perform sat unanswered.
It wasn’t a lack of passion, but a storm of self-doubt that made singing feel unsafe...
Like a trapdoor could open at any moment beneath his feet.
When Training Isn’t Enough to Silence Self-Doubt
Despite his dedication to continuing education — masterclasses, private lessons, and acting workshops — a deeper narrative of unworthiness lingered.
His conservatory diploma was technically a sub-college-level credential, something he admitted feeling ashamed of.
And yet, what could he have done differently?
He had been a single parent of two young children and had taken the only viable path at the time: Teaching full-time.
He kept learning, kept showing up for others...
But slowly, it became harder to show up for himself.
Burnout and Creative Block for Performers
When he first reached out, he was on sick leave due to burnout.
Not from singing — but from not singing.
He had spent so long pushing performance to the margins that his creative self had gone dormant.
"It's drained me", he wrote. "Only teaching, never performing. And I’m afraid to go down that road again."
This is something I see more often than I’d like:
Gifted, highly sensitive, emotionally intelligent performers who carry invisible burdens of self-doubt so heavy they begin to confuse silence for safety.
Music Performance Anxiety Is A Sneaky Beast
Because performance anxiety in musicians isn’t just "nerves".
For many, it becomes a chronic barrier that hijacks joy, choice, and visibility.
For him, the stakes felt existential.
What if I go and I fail? What if the anxiety ruins my voice? What if I find out I was never good enough to begin with?
I often think about how many singers live in a state of near-constant negotiation with their own longing...
How many times have they dressed for an audition, warmed up their voice, stared in the mirror and quietly said "Not today...maybe next time"?
He knew that routine intimately too:
The packed audition bag left untouched in the hallway. The too-tight breath. The voice inside whispering "They'll hear you're a fraud".
Mental Coaching Tools for Performance Confidence
He didn’t come looking for someone to fix him.
He came looking for tools, for presence, for permission.
Our work together began not with goals, but with grounding.
From the start, I encouraged him to observe his inner critic like a 'thought monster': Name it, talk to it, recognise its habits.
We used mindfulness and tiny experiments in courage.
Then we shortened his practice sessions.
We anchored warmups and routines.
We gave structure to the chaos.
He was skeptical, but he showed up.
Even when sick. Even when tired. Even when parenting and exhaustion pulled him in five directions.
That, to me, was already a kind of artistry.
Mindfulness and Self-Distancing for Singers
He began recording himself more frequently.
Not because I said he had to.
But because he found that hearing his voice every day took the sting out of it.
The big surprise of a performance became a familiar experience.
He described a kind of peace emerging:
"When I listen to myself every day, I can change things right away. It’s no longer a surprise — it’s a conversation."
He also practiced self-distancing, writing about his experiences from a third-person perspective.
It sounds simple, but for many performers, this can be revelatory.
It allowed him to see himself not as a failure, but as someone working through real fears with real effort.
"I was much less judgmental," he said. "Actually, a lot more forgiving."
Then there was a moment I won’t forget:
He shared how he had been singing alone one evening, kids finally asleep, the house silent except for the sound of his own voice...
And for a moment, he didn't brace against it. He let the sound fill the room — not to impress, just to be.
"I forgot to be scared", he said.
That moment was everything.
I think this is one of the most powerful parts of the process — when someone begins to parent their inner artist, not punish it.
To bring clarity instead of critique.
To witness their own vulnerability and say, yes, you get to be here too.
Reclaiming the Stage: The Dreaded Audition
The real test came later.
He had an audition scheduled — one he would normally cancel, or avoid at the last minute.
He didn’t.
That morning, he got on the train. He traveled hours to be there. He walked in, sang, and walked out with his head held high.
That alone was a triumph, yes... but there's more.
Because it wasn’t about nailing the high note.
It was about staying in the room. About letting his voice be heard despite the tremble.
When he told me afterward, there was this quiet sense of pride.
Not bravado. Not perfection.
Just him, and his favourite music.
Later, he found out that the audition had been largely ceremonial — a formality, with the chosen candidate already decided in advance. But the real achievement here wasn’t in the outcome anyway. It was in the showing up.
From Auditioning to Creating: A New Chapter
He’s not done.
The anxiety hasn’t evaporated. Life is still messy... especially as a single parent.
But he’s not running from the stage anymore.
He’s choosing to walk toward it.
Who he is now isn’t just a tenor who showed up to an audition.
He’s someone who learned to show up for himself. Someone who doesn’t treat fear as a verdict, but as a visitor.
And that is no small thing.
He is now actively taking control of his music and his performances.
He is planning to stage a project that is very dear to his heart — something long dreamt of but never dared.
He is also scheduling recitals on his own terms, creating space for his voice in ways that feel honest, nourishing, and brave.
There is a quiet revolution in this: Refusing to wait for permission.
Creating beauty not to be chosen, but because he has already chosen himself.
Working with him reminded me how brave it is to begin again.
Because his story isn’t about being fearless — it’s about choosing music and joy, over and over.
Let that be the anthem for anyone finding their way back to their voice.
