Timeline of Tenacity

Composing this project has been one of the most challenging things I’ve ever had to do. Even now as I’m typing I’m struggling to find the words. And it’s not because this subject is difficult for me to talk about or because it is upsetting, but because what I’m trying to express is almost impossible to explain if I want to do it justice. When conceiving of the project, I knew I wanted to use self-portrait photography to help me get my point across. I went back and forth for months trying to figure out an aesthetic for these shots. What look would tell my story the best? What style would convey the scope of my feelings; the pain, the frustration, the anger, the hope?

Initially, I had envisioned a very French Noir monochromatic vibe where I would put black tulle over the lens so all of my shots would look a bit hazy to represent how my goals as a singer can feel blurred or distorted at times. I had another idea to adjust the exposure on each image so that the pictures became progressively overexposed representing my feelings surrounding my public candidness about my health, rare in our field.  Other concepts were even more abstract. But, once I got in front of the camera and tried to make these concepts work, I felt like I was hiding. Hiding behind the tulle, hiding behind the filter, hiding behind the performativity. So I decided to just let the pictures be as raw as possible. Just me and the camera...and some gowns.

I knew no matter what vision I decided to go with that I would be wearing something dramatic. I wanted these photos to represent the duality of my life as a singer and person with chronic illness. I’m a diva stuck in a sick person’s body. My favorite rep is Romantic French opera and Verdi, works that might otherwise be called “Grand Opera”. If I’m 80-100% healthy, that’s what my voice does best. But, if I’m sick it doesn’t always fit. It’s analogous to an athlete that has to switch sports. Someone who usually plays football has to compensate and periodically play baseball. To have all the instincts of a dramatic singer and not be able to consistently apply them to my singing because my body limits me is infuriating. I have had to change repertoire completely to accommodate my body based on my health needs at the time. I have had to make artistic choices that I disagree with just to get through a song. I have had to perform and compete and record knowing that I’m not accurately representing myself as an artist because my body isn’t allowing me.

Back to the gowns. Once I became very public with my story I had several people say something to the effect of, “Wow, you don’t look sick!” This is a phrase that my fellow invisible illness friends hear all the time. In this context, people were referring to promo shots taken of me this past summer. Those shots were taken during a two-week intensive program that prepares singers for their upcoming audition season. I was in the midst of a flare-up during that entire program, including the shoot.

Those photos are a perfect representation of what it’s like to be chronically ill. Externally I am functioning at a high level, frequently I’m even thriving. Nothing about those photos or my demeanor in them is fake. They just don’t show the whole picture. I am chronically in pain. I have multiple symptoms that are fighting against what you see on the outside. I’ve just learned how to distract myself so that the volume of the symptoms gets turned down low enough for me to be able to keep being me on some level, to keep up the presentation of a high-functioning opera singer.

The photos you see here represent the whole picture. An artist who is ready to go, dress and all, but constantly fighting back against her body. Feeling trapped by it and yet grateful that it can still do so much despite all it’s been through.

• Age 4 Performing in my Living Room

  STARTED SHOWING SYMPTOMS OF ANXIETY AND OCD
• Age 14 Started taking voice lessons,
  choir, community theater

  GOT MONO-ANXIETY WORSENED, TMD & DYSAUTONOMIA STARTED
• Age 19 Now in College,
  doing theater and music

  OCD, ANXIETY, & NEUROLOGICAL SYMPTOMS WORSENED
• Age 22 Sophomore Year of Undergrad,
  now a vocal perf major

  HAD MY DAUGHTER ANNE AND MY DAD DIED IN THE SAME MONTH
• Age 27 Grad School and Mainstage debut

  NEUROLOGICAL SYMPTOMS WORSE, YEARLY (AT LEAST) HOSPITAL VISITS START, PAIN AND FATIGUE START TO SET IN
• Age 33 Finished 2nd Masters, opened voice
  studio, took a break from performing

  MISCARRIAGE- ALL SYMPTOMS WORSENED, MUSCLE TENSION AND FATIGUE START
• Age 34 Teaching for Detroit Opera via Zoom,
  rebuilt private studio after COVID

  GOT LONG COVID COULDN’T SING FOR 9 MONTHS, HAD SECOND MISCARRIAGE
• Age 35 Started Performing Again

  HAD JULIAN, VERY SICK DURING PREGNANCY, ANEMIC FOR A YEAR
• Age 36 Performing, directing,
  teaching regularly

  GASTRO SYMPTOMS START, SURGERY ON HIATAL HERNIA, DIAPHRAGM, & ESOPHAGUS
• Age 37 Started the Chronicled Voice*

  DIAGNOSED WITH FIBRO, HASHIMOTO’S, AND A NON-BENIGN THYROID NODULE

*A more thorough explanation of my diagnoses and symptoms and how they affect my voice along with the referenced promo shots
can be found on my website & blog.

Looking at this timeline knowing everything I know now as  a performer and a teacher is mind-boggling. What I wouldn’t give for the ability to go back in time and advocate for myself. To explain to my teachers and coaches how the symptoms affected me in pedagogical terms. To just realize even half of what was going on in my body. It would have helped to have that insight, to put less pressure on myself, and to help me understand how my instrument varied from what my teachers had taught in their pedagogy classes. It would have helped to understand why I struggled with breath for example. Sometimes just knowing can make it less painful even if you can’t change anything. There is some weight that is taken off your shoulders when you understand you are not struggling with technique because you are a “bad singer.” But, rather, because your body is fighting you in a way that you can not control. Embracing that fact, frustrating as it may be, can provide some artistic freedom. 

Am I going to hurt myself if I sing today?

I can’t tell you the countless times I’ve spent researching, diagnosing, experimenting, and doctor-visiting just to get some answers. And when I’m lucky enough to get answers, they rarely come with any practical advice for fixing the problem. Medication is of limited help and can cause other side effects that would be detrimental for my voice. In general, everything is complicated and compounded because I have multiple disorders. So,  every day I have to go into super-sleuth doctor mode to figure out what my voice can and can’t do. For example, I often have pain and a burning sensation in my throat that feels like inflammation but is not (thank you Fibromyalgia). However, if I’m having a flare-up from my Hashimoto’s disease there actually is inflammation...so half of what I’ve done, the past year especially, is just try and figure out: Am I going to hurt myself if I sing today? I’m stuck in an exhausting and seemingly never-ending loop of mind-fuckery.

At the end of the day, what gets me is that I am focusing so much on the physical that it has taken a toll on the mental. The two are  not mutually exclusive (not ever, but especially when you’re dealing with chronic illness). The constant stress of it just weighs you down. It strips away your creativity and suddenly you feel like a malfunctioning machine and not an artist.

I can’t remember the last time I just sang. Just opened my mouth and let sound out for fun. Just to make art. I am so hyper-focused on navigating muscle spasms, or getting a low breath, or not letting my diction/tone suffer because of my tongue tension, or trying to feel my pelvic floor despite numbness,or– insert one of the twenty billion things that singers have to coordinate–to get an optimal sound. Being stuck in this frame of mind is death to a singer! This sounds dramatic but it’s true. It is virtually impossible to create a free sound when you are constantly telling yourself to free up. You sure as hell can’t sing like this and be artistic. At some point, you just have to let go.

This is my goal going forward. To allow myself to be the artist who is constantly screaming to get out despite whatever is going on with my body. I’m going to have that intention every. Single. Time. To open my mouth and remember that I can make great art that is worthy of being heard regardless of my perceived limitations. 

-Molly Noori