Here’s what joining a choir has taught me about embracing my ‘time to shine’ era…

There is a photograph of me taken around 1997. I’m in my nan’s living room and gripping onto a microphone, likely from a karaoke set purchased in Woolworths, reading the lyrics from the sleeve of the Spice World CD as I sing along with gusto. 

Every time I look at this photo, I can see how seriously I’m taking this performance – far more seriously than one should when they’re physically incapable of holding a note. 

Fast forward to Christmas 2024. I’m glancing down at my gold sparkly tights and shifting awkwardly, trying to avoid the gaze of Mum and Dad, who are standing 5ft away from me, phones raised (boomer flashes on, obviously), pushing up against the front barrier holding their place firmly amongst a crowd of one thousand plus people. 

Just moments before the curtains went up, I’d been asked to move to the front of the stage. It’s my choir’s end of year performance, and all of a sudden I’m transported back to my 11-year-old self.

And yet, despite the fear, despite the butterflies, I’ve never felt more alive.

As a state school educated child of the 90’s, I still find the lyrics to assembly bangers such as ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’ and ‘Lord of the Dance’ deeply rooted into my brain.

You may infer from this that I wasn’t the coolest of kids. I was, however, cool enough to know that when you signed up to school choir you got time out of lessons for rehearsals. 

Here, hours of fun were spent putting on silly voices, singing in an over the top operatic style falsetto, and sliding along the wooden benches much to the annoyance of our music teacher.

And then that was it, I didn’t sing for years. 

That creeping insecurity that launched itself upon me in my teens eventually sapped away the joy I’d get from doing something because it was fun, and not because I was good at it. 

At least, that was until recently, when I found myself signing up to a local adult choir. 

Initially, there was a fear of failure, or of looking stupid. Plus, any friend who has had the pleasure of finding themselves at a karaoke night with me can attest to the fact that I indeed, cannot sing. I just don’t care that I can’t sing.

On one occasion when I first started choir rehearsals, I totally miscounted and began blaring the opening lines of East 17’s ‘Stay Another Day’ to a silent and slightly bemused room. 

Mortified, my face reddened instantly before a very glamorous cockney grandmother turned to me and said: “OMG I do that all the time darling, don’t worry.” 

So this time, instead of panicking and retreating into myself (like I usually would) I shouldered the mistake and continued full throttle with zero shame. I cannot express how freeing that felt.

There is an unbridled joy in being silly which we rarely get to experience as adults, and once I’d found this at choir, I was able to step back and re explore what makes me happy. 

It seems that overcoming my dread of appearing foolish or misguided for joining a singing group – despite the absence of any singing talent – was a barrier I needed to cross in order to feel able to say yes, and put myself forward for the things I’d have otherwise worried too much about.

This new confidence I was experiencing was really starting to make a positive impact on my professional life. Within weeks I was speaking at women’s networking events. I also started running without the fear I’d appear laughable to onlookers who saw me moving at a glacial pace. 

And this new outlook started showing up in my personal rituals too. After years of straightening, charring and damaging my hair, I’ve now embraced my natural curls in an effort to bring me back to my true self. 

I’ve ditched the heat tools and started using method®’s simply nourish shampoo and conditioner which always leaves my hair feeling strong, full of volume and bounce. 

Plus, the haircare range is paraben and sulphate free which gives me the excuse to ditch my old products for a regimen that replenishes rather than destroys my curl pattern. Sometimes I’ll swap this out for the method® peace+petals range if I want a more floral fragrance that leaves my waves smelling like I’ve fallen into a secret garden.  ​

Joining a choir has been like unlocking a hidden door to a party where joy and self-discovery are the guests of honour. It’s not just about nailing vocal techniques or achieving songbird status, it’s about finding your tribe and revelling in the shared hilarity and harmony of it all. 

Back in an old hall, the musty smell is always instantly recognisable. I immediately feel cheerful, with any self doubt tumbling from my chest as I join in the vocal warm ups at the beginning of each session. 

Every week I excitedly huddle together with groups of once strangers, now friends, guessing what song we’ll learn next, clapping along as experienced sopranos auditioned for the solo parts. 

Whether you’re a nightingale or, like me, just a very enthusiastic crow, a choir lets you reconnect with the carefree spirit buried under daily adulting.

Exploring what makes me happy bought me a sense of positivity I fear I’d have otherwise lost. When we grow up, we put in so much effort trying to find ourselves, we forget the things we lose in the process. 

But when I stood on that stage, front and centre, ready for my time to shine, I was the closest I’ve ever been to that girl doing a show in her Nan’s living room.

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