Discovering the Cure
For as long as I can remember, I have had deeply rooted issues with my body image. Although I have been aware of this for a long time, I always knew that I shouldn’t feel this way. But it wasn’t until this fall that I realized something important. Something that would be the starting point of my journey to becoming a happier and more confident me. And not only me as a singer, but me as a person.
Being a performer has been gratifying at times, but the journey has been extremely difficult. As many performers know, a significant part of training to be a professional is hearing about (and accepting) the things that we need to work on. Not surprisingly, changing my body — frankly, making it less fat — was often one of those things for me.
I constantly relive countless conversations where my body was the main concern, where a mentor tried to convince me that my weight was something to be fixed, ashamed of, and that no matter what, my voice would not be heard if it was coming from this body. Over the past year, I’ve been working through and reconciling with this trauma.
If I didn't love this art form as much as I do, I would have quit a long time ago.
People I admired and trusted would tell me things that anyone in their right mind would gasp at, things that actively destroyed my confidence and any sense of worth I had as a singer.
“If you don’t take care of your weight, no one is going to cast you.”
“Nobody will listen to your voice, they will just be thinking about your weight.”
People were going so far as asking me how much I currently weighed so that they could calculate how much I should weigh by the same time the following year. If I didn't love this art form as much as I do, I would have quit a long time ago.
A recurring conversation concerned my breasts. I regularly received comments that they didn’t look right in anything I wore or that I was showing them off. This made me feel uncomfortable, insecure, and depressed. And these comments started when I was 9 years old.
My breasts were, in fact, incredibly large. I suffered from back pain and difficulty breathing. But there is a difference between something we can and something we cannot control; and pointing out something we cannot control — something that causes physical pain already — can be damaging. It was for me.
As a result of my body embarrassment, I would try to hide my breasts under excessive amounts of clothing, even to the point of constriction. I developed a significant amount of tension whenever I would sing because I was so self-conscious about people staring. I just wanted to tell a story. I just wanted to sing, not to focus on what my body looked like. So, after enough of the emotional and physical pain, I decided to do something about it.
This past June I endured the most physical pain I have ever experienced in my entire life — my breast reduction surgery. I had wanted the operation since I was thirteen years old. When I finally was approved to have it covered by insurance, it was a real dream come true.
On the day of first consultation on March 13, 2020, my partner and I received the news that our university would be closed for an additional week following our spring break due to the COVID-19 outbreak. My surgery was scheduled for June 19th, and of course, as we all know now, by that point we were in the middle of a pandemic. During the spring, elective surgeries in New York City were cancelled and postponed, and I had no way of knowing if my surgery was truly going to happen. Luckily, the city started lifting certain restrictions just in time.
For the two weeks before my surgery I needed to quarantine in our New York City apartment, and then five days before surgery, get my first COVID test. I suffer from anxiety and this was debilitatingly stressful and scary. If I tested positive, I wouldn’t be able to get my surgery done. It felt like this surgery — that I had wanted for so long — would be the only thing to set my mind and body free.
The process leading up to and following about three weeks after the surgery was the most mentally and physically difficult time I have ever endured. Every time I moved, my chest burned as if it were on fire. Every time I needed to use the bathroom, someone had to help me. Every time I needed to shower, someone needed to be there. It was a torturous month of mental and physical challenge.
Before I say anything else, I want to say this: if anyone reading this is planning on getting a breast reduction, there is a chance that you will be in excruciating pain for three weeks, especially if you are getting a significant amount reduced. I wish I had known how painful the experience was going to be before making the decision, but many of the stories I read about others’ journeys with this surgery did not match what happened for me. My hope is that others who are considering this path are prepared for that possibility, and they can consider this when making their decision.
During my painful recovery, I had a lot of time to think about why I chose to get this surgery. The obvious reason was because of the physical pain, pressure, and burden caused by the weight of my breasts. But more than a decade of abusive comments surrounding this personal part of my body played a role in my decision to undergo surgery, with its weeks and months of physical and emotional rehabilitation.
The surgery was important, but it wasn’t the cure. I am the cure, and I deserve to love my body right now, and always.
I thought that this procedure would make singing, breathing, and simply existing more comfortable. I thought it would change my insecurities surrounding my body. In some ways, the surgery helped with these issues. In others, it didn’t. I endured unimaginable pain in the hopes that I would feel better about myself. It took a long time for me to realize that the breast reduction was not going to cure my own poisoned thoughts about my body. The cure for that needs to be me. I need to be ok with and love my body the way it is now, not what it might look like if I were 15 pounds lighter. The surgery was important, but it wasn’t the cure. I am the cure, and I deserve to love my body right now, and always.
I want this message to be clear. I am sharing my story because I want other women in opera my age, younger, or older to understand they are not alone. I want them to see that this happened to me and not carry guilt for feeling a normal and human reaction to what they experience as performers. I want them to know that it’s ok to call it what it is and know that there are people out there who know what this is like and know that this is something that needs to change. They do not have to change. The industry needs to change.
I’m still on this journey and I’m sure I’ll be on it for a long time. But knowing that there are people who care to hear my story brings me immense hope that we singers can help empower each other. We can create a space to talk through our struggles so that we do not perpetuate this toxicity.
I look forward to an industry (and a world) that does not force us to define ourselves by the way our bodies look, but rather listens to the voices and stories that come out of them. We can start with reclaiming this by embodying these ideals ourselves. I hope whoever reads this knows that they deserve to love their body where it is at.
You deserve love.
