In the last decade, I’ve learned what it means to trust myself. My 30s have been about tuning in to the natural intuition I have as a woman, as a mother, and as a business owner. Over the weekend, I experienced an entirely new type of trust fall.

I discovered the sheer terror of having to count on go-from-your-gut, feels right in your throat, hope for the best type trust as I literally performed on stage without being able to hear.

Let me paint the picture.
Saturday night, baby.

It was the setting all musicians crave:
– Full stage
– Sound and lights guy to take care of all your needs
– FREE PBR for the band lollll
– 2 openers
– A full guest list ready and handed to the door

It had been a minute since my band and I performed “for real” at a bar.
Since our last Thanksgiving Eve engagement nearly TWO years ago, we’ve cycled through 3 bass players, navigated a heart attack and knee replacement, and lost all connection to the local music scene. Turns out it’s hard to get a gig in town when everyone goes to bed at 9:30 p.m. We’ve had a few house parties and casual shows in the mix, but this would be an official and welcomed return to the stage.

As we walked on around 11 o’clock (I know, I barely made it) it all hit me.
Time to rock. Jump right in. And we did.

The exhilarating thing about performing solely cover music is that you have the opportunity to IMMEDIATELY excite your audience and engage them with their favorite songs. That’s what happened. A large group of younger-than-I gals came up to the stage right away and started cheering me on as we blasted from Hole’s Celebrity Skin to the legendary Highway to Hell by AC/DC.

The excitement had me a little too confident, and I went HARD on those first two songs, running around the stage and belting the fuck out of those notes.

BIG mistake. HUGE.

I realized by song 3 that my unpracticed voice was already cracking. This, plus realizing that I COULD NOT HEAR MYSELF sent me into sheer internal panic. I had signaled to our friend, Mr. Sound Guy to help me out with volume. He gestured that he did, in fact, turn up my monitor. (When we practice, I always use an ear piece, but for this show- we were going raw.)

SO the reality set in quickly.

I could not hear. I could not sing to full capacity. And a hungry crowd stood before me.

I did what any professional does, and I carried on.
I pulled back from some of my highest and lowest notes, made sure to keep the energy high, and dug down deep into trust.

I ONLY had the feeling in my throat to indicate whether or not I was hitting the right notes. It was the scariest, most unnerving feeling ever– like I had lost one of my senses and was out there naked.

I am proud of the work I’ve done to discover that TRUE trust- TRUE intuition comes from within. This experience only furthered that knowing– that I can make it through just about anything. EVEN if it means a pitchy outcome.

Well, guys- there were pitchy times. I saw a few clips from audience members and there was some cringey moments, yes– but also– some really fucking brilliant moments. I’d even say more of the latter.

By the end of the night, I allowed myself to be in the moment, remember how long we’d waited to reunite on stage, and ENJOY IT. I relaxed.

During the last 4-5 songs, a brand new group of people pushed up to the stage and began singing, egging us on, and for lack of a better term, fawning over us. It was wild. They knew the words. They danced. They shouted, (no lie) “ONE MORE SONG! ONE MORE SONG!”

Letting myself fully trust… myself… got me to the place where I could live my rock-n-roll fantasy, interacting with the crowd, regaining my vocal strength, and closing the show strong. It was the best feeling.

As I write this, we’ve already been contacted by the bar to return for at least 2 more shows this year.

Learn to trust yourself– even in the most precarious situations. Not only will you learn that you are resilient, but you’ll learn to be okay if it’s not perfect.

Imperfection is brilliance.