my voice, ur voice.

the most important instrument i own isn’t in my atlas.

i was a soprano in secondary school choir. i trained at a music school. i belted it out at ktv until my throat gave up before my heart did. but none of that taught me to listen to myself. it taught me to perform.

it took a humming meditation, of all things, to crack something open. not technique. not range. just one question: can you hear yourself?

turns out confidence and self-belief make a voice, not craft. and i had to un-learn a lot of performance to find mine.

the voices that got there first

for decades, my head wasn’t quiet. it was crowded. swarmed, actually, with other people’s voices, playing on loop long before i had one of my own to compete with them.

some recent ones still surface. an old manager, the judgment dressed up as a question: “hey janelle, is this all you can do?” a coach, the smirk audible even in memory: “this janelle still haven’t grow up.”

there were positive voices too. there always are. they just got drowned out faster. the negative ones had seniority.

when my therapist and i went looking for where this started, during a period i was working through depression, we landed on something i hadn’t expected: i was nine.

the girl who learned to keep her mouth shut

“give in to your baby boy cousin, he’s younger.”

“but it’s mine!”

“(piak!) listen to your elders. don’t talk back.”

“you’re just a girl.”

“why study so much, just get married, have children.”

“you don’t know anything, you’re just a woman.”

“oh, the youngest one at home.”

the fight against the elders at home proved to be useless, no matter how right i was. nobody stepped in to protect me. not even my mum. so that became the story i told myself: speaking up doesn’t work, not against people with more authority than you. just listen. keep quiet. they’re always right.

i carried that story straight into adulthood and handed it to every boss, every senior, every person with more title than me.

what’s funny (not haha funny) is that i never struggled to speak up for other people. if i saw someone getting bullied, i was first in. but ask me to speak for myself, and something closes at the throat. every time.

even in choir, soprano, technically singing, i was hiding. i tucked my voice into the group so it could never be picked out as mine. somewhere there’s a video of me singing “home” by kit chan, recorded from ireland during a national day broadcast in covid year.

listen closely and you’ll still hear someone trying not to be heard.

i did win first runner-up in a storytelling competition at fourteen. but that was that. one moment, then back into the choir, back into blending in.

when i was sad, post-breakup, post-fight, ktv was where it all came out. chinese heartbreak songs, the kind built for crying through.

i also did the technical route. pop songs singing classes. learned my range, the 假音 (head voice), the low ones, how to match pitch properly, how to fix my articulation so “mountain” stopped sounding like “maown tent.” useful. correct. still not mine.

the women’s circle cracked the door open

then i found a women’s circle. shamanic drums, a group of women singing together, tribal, unscripted. and something shifted, i could sing however i wanted. no pitch police. it sounded surreal, layered with other voices doing the same thing.

but the moment i was alone, at home, or facilitating my own sound bath, the throat would close again. group brave. solo stuck.

the humming that changed everything

during my meditation teacher training, there’s a practice called nabhi humming (osho’s version). one day, practising on my own, i just started singing. no tune. no pitch to chase. just listening to myself, feeling myself, letting whatever wanted to come out, come out.

i have never felt that peaceful and that confident in my own voice. not once, in all those years of training.

people started telling me my voice was gentle. which is funny, because in the past nobody would’ve said that about me. i used to hit some unholy high pitch and clear the room. tell anyone who knew old me that janelle has a “gentle voice” now and they’ll raise an eyebrow so high it leaves their face.

these days i genuinely don’t mind what people think. i’m calmer. when i’m reading a meditation script and i mispronounce a word, or it doesn’t come out quite right, i don’t spiral. my intention matters more than my accuracy. that took thirty-something years to learn and about ninety seconds of humming to finally land.

that realisation is the reason resonance: voice & listening journey exists. i built the class i needed. and now i get to watch other people find their own version of that ninety seconds, the overthinking quieting, the harmony that shows up when you stop trying to sound like anything. it’s beautiful every single time.

join a session at space2b → https://space2b.sg/practices/#expressive-arts-series

the smartest person i talk to now

since finding my own voice, i mostly talk to my highest self these days. and yes, i know that’s just another part of me. but honestly, who else would i argue with that’s smarter than me?

want to experience how we would sound like together?

i run weekly sound baths and monthly sessions at space2b. come as you are.

dm me for a first-timer discount 👉 ursoultoasted@gmail.com

also on my blog...

yello, i'm janelle!

an expressive arts facilitator who holds a gentle spaces for people to slow down, feel, and reconnect with themselves.

with a background in psychology, training in sound healing, expressive arts and movement, I weave in together sound, creativity and the body.. not as something to "perform", but as ways to safely explore and express what's भीतर (yes, even the messy parts)...

my approach is trauma-informed, consent-led, and shaped by lived experiences through burnout, loss, depression and rebuilding...

if you are looking for a space where you don't have to perform or have it all figured out, you've arrive.

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sound baths · expressive arts · singapore