My Hamburg adventure also left me with something nasty: after a walk along the Elbe, nothing special, just a pleasant one-hour-stroll, my shoulder started giving me big, big trouble. Starting somewhere at the middle of my back, all the way up to my neck, everything just began to whine at first, and to really hurt later on in the evening. By night, I had some nasty stings behind my right eye, and a head full of panicky thoughts.
"What is this?"
"Could it be RSI?"
"What on earth did I do wrong this time?"
"Should I have been able to prevent this?"
"Did some kind of nerve got stuck in my neck?"
"Is this the coming true of the ominous words of my physiotherapist when I was six? 'Sit straight, or you'll have to wear a brace when you're 30"?
"Did something go wrong during my last AT lesson?"
"Where is this coming from?"
"Could it be...?"

Fortunately, Cypher talked some sense into me by pointing out that these questions were only aggravating the situation. So I decided to do the only sensible things I could think of: take a hot shower and some paracetamol, shove a book under my head and lie down. This I repeated every day, and it helped a bit, in that it took away the sharpest pain. I was able to spend the rest of my weeklong holiday without too much problems, although the pain didn't go away, and I couldn't walk for very long.

Today, I visited the company physiotherapist, and he concluded that my shoulder and upper right arm muscles were extremely overtensed, but other than that, nothing serious was the matter. He then manipulated them and I walked away relatively painfree. I was so relieved to hear it was 'just' my old shoulder problem in an extreme form, although I still was unpleasantly surprised by this sudden and unexpected manifestation of pain, and want to discuss this in my next AT lesson.

Although, deep down inside, I do sense where it's coming from. I'm in the middle of the most fundamental change I've experienced so far. I know I'm on the right track, and I've got many friends and other persons to help me out. But in the end, it's me that needs to change, and this kind of change doesn't let itself be forced. In this kind of circumstances, it's not strange that the stress that accompanies the change manifests itself physically, especially not in the first days of a holiday. Which doesn't mean that this kind of pain is normal and should be accepted as the status quo. But it's understandable in a way.

If STAT ever needs a test or exam to assess the progress of Alexander students, I've got a good one for them: surviving your mother's psychological warfare with a smile on your face.

No, forget about the smile, that's for advanced students.

What is it that makes mothers get away with things that we, daughters, wouldn't even accept from a perfect stranger? Like dumping a 1000-kg-canonball-load of their own emotionally unfulfilled needs in our stomachs? Over the phone? It's really f#cking unbelievable that mothers can do this, also from a physics point of view (Captain Kirk, eat your heart out, mothers have beaten you in telekinesis a long, long time ago).

But seriously, some points to remember for the future:
- The logical scientific approach is not going to work here, because this is not a rational problem. Don't try to understand, don't try to explain, it's going to be used against you anyway.
- Openness is good if you are in a safe environment. In an unsafe environment, protection of the self is more important. It's a delicate thing, powerful but also vulnerable. And it's my responsibility to take care of it.
- My memories are my own. Memories are not facts or universal truths, but subjective experiences.
- The world is not going to end if I don't like my mother.

Weird, isn't it, that sometimes the way of expression doesn't match how you feel at all. Humor is currently the only means I have to discuss this issue in public. Good thing is, though, that in private, I'm able to retreat to that little quiet place inside, and listen to the tiny silver stream that springs from there and spirals upwards. And from that point onwards, it's easy: I just grab a pen, a sheet of paper and write, and write, and write.

This week has been one big rollercoaster ride, and it felt pretty much sh#t. My shoulder started acting up again, up to a point where it really, nastily hurt. I switched to a pen tablet instead of a mouse, and that gave immediate relief, as did some lying down on the floor, but what annoys the hell out of me is that I cannot put my finger on the cause. I haven't been stressed at all, just returned from a three-week holiday, I'm not slouching more than usual, and still it happens.

On top of that, all kinds of mental stuff is blobbing up to the surface all of a sudden. I've already suspected for a while that some parts of me are changing to such an extent that I cannot leave other parts unchanged any longer. But so far, I've only been changing the relatively easy stuff, like the outside. Deeply ingrained mental habits are much harder to change, and I'm not sure whether that's something I'm ready for just yet.

During the day, I was asked to sing something at the farewell-party for those who left early. At first, I said I'd rather not, but then I thought, why not, let's give it a try and see what happens. But as the party drew nearer, I started worrying, like I always do when I have to sing alone (what will it sound like, what will I look like, can I do this, wadiwadiwadiwa). At that point, I decided that I didn't want to sing, and that I wouldn't do it. Period.

In the afternoon, however, I met two people who had similar stories to mine: they enjoyed music very much, but at a certain point, they just couldn't any longer. Just couldn't. They were the first people I met so far that knew what I was going through, and that gave me such a sense of relief, that I wanted to give it a try.

So, when the particular evening came, and my turn was there, I stood up, explained to everybody that I'd rather not sing alone, and instead do something together. Then, I sung a little canon that I still know from childhood. I've always liked it a lot, and it used to come to me quite naturally. But there, it just didn't. I guess that to the rest, it sounded OK, a bit wobbly perhaps, but inside, it felt horrible, I felt so sad. Such a simple melody, and it just didn't work.

That's when I knew for sure: this is no longer what I want to do. I want to enjoy music, and that's not happening if I keep continuing what I do now. So, it's time to stop.

It's strange, but at points like these, a spare Maaike takes over. I put everybody in two groups, explained the song to them, rehearsed it, and off we went. It was fun in a way. Most of the fun for me was knowing that I just decided that I'm not doing this any longer.

So, there you have it. I stopped singing.

About a year and a half ago, I was appointed solo soprano in my church choir. It was not that particularly wanted this, but our old soloist stopped singing, and I was more or less next in line. My voice is better than an average choir singer, I memorize scores very easily, I have perfect pitch, and I usually drag most of the others along.

But I'm not a soloist.

I know the technical stuff about singing, like breath support, the functioning of the vocal tract, sound characteristics and resonance. And at home and in the choir, I'm fine, but as soon as I have to sing on my own, I bolt, lock up, and loose control. Up till last week, I thought this was something that I had to learn to deal with, that it was just anxiety or stage fright.

But it's more than that, as I found out when I went 'sound checking' the church. This was something that I already wanted to do for a long time. The church building feels so huge that I let myself be intimidated, so I went there with my conductor, and just sang little bits and pieces while I walked around.

This was actually quite nice, until my conductor started making remarks, which were of course well meant, but they struck something within me which made me all sad and angry again. It's not that I felt critizised, but more that I didn't know what to do with the criticism. When a good teacher tells me I should do this and this, or stop so and so, I'm more than happy to leave some of my own ideas, and take over some of his.

But I don't know what to do with advice like "Put your chest forward, expand your ribs and make sure it stays that way" any longer. Even more because I can't connect to his world and make clear that those are the exact things I don't want to do anymore.

Problem is that I haven't found another way yet that does work. And everybody is used to me-with-a-great-voice, but what they cannot see is that I was misusing my self to produce it. So now, I have a not so great voice for the time being, but I'm (non-)doing much better underneath. I'm even considering the idea that there might be a Maaike who does not sing at all. And that doesn't feel too bad either.

This is going to be a longer and deeper process than I thought.

I went singing this evening and technically, everything went fine: champagne corks plopping out of the top of my head, little indians firing away at the sitting bones, directions up along the spine, little bit of nothing and just a little of that, shoulders beginning at my sitting bone and spreading like wings, you name it, I did it. Let it. Left it. Whatever.

As a result, not only did my throat behave, I also, finally, felt some resonance again. And just when I more or less started to enjoy this...

BANG!

I hit this huge wall of, well, I don't know really, but it gave me a great sense of sadness, of loss. I heard all these people around me singing and enjoying themselves, and for the first time since I started singing (almost 30 years ago), I felt like I didn't belong.

All these time before when singing didn't work out, I felt annoyed, angry, sad, but I never felt left out. But this time, it was almost like I was standing next to myself, looking at me, and then the question rose in my head: "why do I sing?". This came as quite a shock, because up to now, I could not imagine a life without singing. It came a naturally to me as breathing, sleeping and eating. At least, that's what I always thought. But I couldn't find the answer to the question.

One thing that keeps coming to my mind is something my first teacher always told me: "you can't change and stay the same" (I forgot where this quote comes from, I think it's Macdonald). At the time, I saw it as an obvious statement, probably because I considered change to be something that started at one point and ending at another. But tonight it hit me that change, real change, is not this well-defined. It requires giving up, another concept that I didn't understand at the time.

I still don't understand now, but I do feel that I can't keep singing the way I always sang. I don't need change at the technical level only (those problems will probably disappear anyway). The change I'm in right now is much more fundamental. It's about giving up singing and all the things it stood for so far. And the good thing is that I haven't got the slightest idea where I'm going.

Went out for a walk today and had ended up with a stiff neck and strained shoulders. Cypher told me that I walked with my head down, and that I perhaps concentrated on my shoulder joint too much, instead of my whole shoulder (which basically runs from the bottom of the spine all the way up to my neck, kinda like a big wing). I tried consciously directing while walking, and in doing so also noted that my lower back was not free, wide, whatever you want to call it. After a while, it improved a bit, but not very much.

I'd really like to have some lessons again, perhaps I'll try and call another teacher tomorrow.

So, how are you supposed to do this on your own? I guess you need a certain basic level of mastering AT to be able to maintain the quality of your directions, and let's face it: I'm not there yet. Still a long, long way removed of something that comes even slightly close to proper directions. And it feels sh*t.

The more I try, the less I succeed, I've come that far, so I've left that strategy. But completey neglecting AT doesn't work either. So here I am, more or less caught in the middle. But hey, should't I be able to do this without a teacher? I mean, I can't depend on a teacher for a lifetime of direction and inhibition, can I?

How should I 'work on myself'? The way I do it now, I only end up with a stiff neck, so that's not it. So, I should try something else. Not doing something else, because that's just the same approach- still doing something. But stopping and trying something else completely. But what?