Music, Trauma, and Recovery: My Story

Content warning: trauma and mental health

Some people know about my background in music. But not everyone knows I was a musician in a past life. It was my whole world. I filled my day with practicing and rehearsals and music classes. The goal was to one day be in the Symphony. But something devastating derailed that dream.

I played many instruments, including the piano which I started at the age of five. My teacher didn’t want to take me on as a student because I was so young, but he did, and I ended up being probably his best student. I played the flute starting in middle school when I could choose to be in band. That was not my favorite instrument. But I often fought for first chair and another Emily, and I would rotate being first chair. In high school, my band director recognized the musical talent in me and asked me if I wanted to play the bassoon. I didn’t know what the instrument was, but I agreed. In college, I learned to play the oboe because I thought I would be a double reed instructor.

I took to the bassoon the most. I fell in love with it. I started playing on the school’s plastic bassoon in high school and a few years into playing I got my own Fox bassoon. I did well with the instrument having just picked it up, making State band and receiving solo awards.

I wanted to study music. I never entertained the idea of doing anything else. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school to start this new chapter of my life.

In college, I auditioned on both the piano and bassoon because I didn’t know which instrument I wanted to major in. I took piano lessons for the first two years I was in school. But quickly I decided the bassoon was the better path. There were fewer bassoonists out there, there was only one other bassoonist at SEMO (Southeast Missouri State University) so I had a better chance of making it professionally.

The first two years in college I took lessons with my bassoon teacher from high school. I realized when I got to SEMO I had to practice, so I started practicing about two hours each day. Eventually, I surpassed my teacher in playing abilities and skills. I ended up being one of the top musicians in the department.

The other bassoonist, Carrie, and I asked the head of the music department if we could have a new teacher. We ended up studying with the second bassoonist in the St. Louis Symphony. Demands and expectations quickly changed now studying with her.

Our goal was for me to go on to study music professionally in graduate school and eventually audition for a symphony chair, so my new teacher demanded excellence. I increased my practicing exponentially. My senior year I was practicing eight hours a day, which I know now is excessive, but back then I thought this was what I had to do if I wanted to make it as a musician. I was praised for practicing so much. Professors thought I was modeling what everyone should be doing.

My anxiety about performing during lessons was high. I also struggled with a high degree of perfectionism. I would practice the same measure for an hour trying to make it perfect. It drove me nuts that music was temporal and each time I played, the music would be slightly different, never perfect.

I worried I wasn’t doing well enough. I would cry on the way to and from sessions (I had to drive the two hours to and from St. Louis every weekend to study with her), feeling completely inadequate.

My teacher also did a complete overhaul of my playing technique. I had to change hand positions, learn new fingerings, learn a fundamental bassoon technique, flicking, which I should have learned when I first started playing, and change my breathing. I felt like a beginner again.

It was the changing of the hand position that ultimately derailed my playing. I had a technique that worked for me, but then I had to concentrate on putting my hand in a different place. When everything fell apart, I lost the ability to know where to put my hand on the instrument.

The excessive practice and extreme anxiety ultimately caused me to sustain several injuries. It’s just like if you exercise too much too hard. Your body eventually breaks.

I ended up with severe tendonitis in my wrist and arm. I would have sharp shooting pains up and down my arm. After practicing for several hours, I couldn’t bend my wrist to take my instrument apart. But at the time, I thought this was a good thing. I thought it meant I was practicing hard enough.

I also ended up with what I know now was a neurological condition known as focal dystonia. Focal, because it was specific to one hand position. It only affected me when I put my hand in the position to play my bassoon. If I played the piano or oboe, I was fine.

My fingers would spasm and curl uncontrollably. It was terrifying not to be in control of my playing or my body. I didn’t know what was happening to me nor did professors understand or know how to help me. My teacher thought I was doing something wrong, like not practicing well enough.

Focal dystonia is caused by overuse and extreme anxiety. It causes misfires in the brain and involuntary hand or embouchure movements. It happens to professional musicians often when they practice a lot. I know several musicians from the St. Louis Symphony who had to leave their chairs because they struggled with this diagnosis. It is ultimately career-ending for musicians. Most people don’t recover from it. Many people go to extreme lengths to recover, like getting Botox injections, moving hand positions, turning their instruments (like guitars) around and playing with a different hand. But often the benefits are temporary. The bassoon requires all ten fingers, many operating multiple keys. I couldn’t try a different hand position or play with a different hand.

I thought I was doing something wrong, not practicing right, so I would practice longer and harder. I knew there was something wrong when I tried to play a simple E-flat major scale, and I could not do it. I broke down crying in the practice room. I was devastated and heartbroken.

I had many practice sessions where I cried. I even had my first of two panic attacks I’ve ever had in the practice room before an orchestra rehearsal. I felt so bad I thought I was dying. I went to the orchestra director, and I think I scared her. She didn’t know how to help me, but she allowed me to skip the rehearsal that night. I was so exhausted.

I had to reduce my practice time from eight hours to fifteen minutes a day and reteach myself how to play again. I had to make finger movements precise and slow.

That senior year I had two major performances to get through, an hour-long senior recital and a concerto with the orchestra (I won a contest to play with the orchestra). I did not know if I would make it through these performances.

I started seeing a chiropractor who worked to relax my muscles, I had so much tension all over my body. We tried acupuncture, ultrasounds, and deep tissue work—anything to help.

One day I was extremely distraught and went to the student health center and demanded to see a therapist. I had never been to therapy but knew I needed help. I basically cried through the whole session and couldn’t explain well enough the extent to which it felt like my world was collapsing. I left and never went back.

I was able to make it through my performances. My tone was impeccable, but my technique faltered. You could hear a lot of technical mistakes. It took me several years before I could listen to my senior recital recording. I felt sad hearing all the finger spasms and I could feel the tension in my hand just listening to the CD.

By the time I finished my performances, I was so glad to be done with my degree. I knew I could no longer go into performance, but that was okay because I was so burnt out. I was relieved not to have to pick up my bassoon again and I didn’t play for many years after that.

During this time, the anxiety, stress, trauma, and depression I experienced led to the development of an eating disorder. I was pretty sick. People grew concerned. I didn’t realize what was happening, I didn’t know what eating disorders were, so I didn’t think anything of the weight loss. I stayed in denial for years. The eating disorder is another story for a different blog.

To this day, music plays a very small part of my life. For years, I couldn’t go to the Symphony without crying. Now, I rarely listen to music, even popular music on the radio.

I’ve tried off and on to pick up my bassoon and play for fun. People kept telling me that will be healing. Playing for myself. But every time I try to play, I am out of shape, so I don’t have the stamina to play, and I get frustrated I can’t play the music I played on my senior recital. I hate being a beginner again. And my fingers still spasm and curl. That hasn’t gotten better with time.

It’s super frustrating and heartbreaking to play. I’ve thought about selling my bassoon because I know I’ll never really play it again and I could use the money, but the instrument still feels a part of me and I think I would be heartbroken if I parted with it.

I’ve reconciled the fact that I am no longer a musician. I have a whole different life now. That time in my life felt like I was a different person. Only a few friends from college remain who saw me go through that troubling time. It’s interesting to talk to them because it’s like they know a secret no one else knows. They know a part of me I never show the world.

My relationship with music is complicated, to say the least. It went from being my passion and whole world to not being in my life at all. To this day, I have never found anything to replace that feeling I had when I would play. I think the eating disorder tried and that’s one reason why it was so hard to let go of it.

Playing filled my soul in a way that nothing else ever had. Sometimes when I would play, it would feel like the music was just happening around me. I am not religious or spiritual at all, but it felt very transcendent. I miss that feeling.

What happened to me is a unique trauma experience. It’s hard to explain to people the depth of loss I felt. I used to have very vivid memories and dreams from that time. It would transport me back there. I would get lost in memories. Now that happens less and the memories are less intrusive.

I miss playing and yet I like my life now. I am grateful every day to be where I am at in life. I don’t even wonder what my life would have been like if I had been a musician. I am happy doing what I am doing. The bassoon sitting there in my back room is a reminder of my past, but I try to focus on where I am going from here. Being in recovery, the future is bright and that excites me. I wouldn’t change what I have now to go back. I have forgiven my body for breaking on me. Maybe I’ll never be able to have music in my life like it once was, but every day I heal a little more.

If you have experienced a trauma or mental health struggles in your life, seek professional help. Talking through your experiences with a trained professional can be very healing. Feel free to message me if you can relate to any part of my story.