When the Singing Stops

*Trigger Warning: This blog post may be triggering for anyone who has suffered from sexual abuse*

The meaning behind my blog name.

At 16, I was in the “cool” friend group. Not people of my age, older. The hot guys, the fun guys, the rebels, if you will. I found my voice with them. I felt worthy, safe and appreciated. They thought I was cool, and at 16, that seems to be the only thing that matters. One day, my vulnerability grew - I decided to sing for them. Again, feeling safe and worthy. The song was the Glee version of Faithfully. I sang, with my soul sister, and they were floored. The excitement and smiles drew us closer into the group. This became our routine: drinking, singing, laughing, repeat.

Another summer night, same routine. The group felt more distant at this point, too much had happened. They were graduated, friends had sex, you could feel in the air that energies were drifting away. This was the night that would change the trajectory of the rest of my life. On this night, I was taken advantage of, I dissociated from my body, my voice was not heard, my “no”... my repeatedly saying “no” was not enough. Forced into a sheepish “yes” because you are afraid... that is not a “yes”. My voice was stripped from me by the same person who had built it up in the first place.

Deep in my soul, the singing stopped. The vulnerability, the value in “no,” the feeling like my voice mattered - these were the things he took away from me.

I let this eat me alive for five years. “How many people have you had sex with?” Yet, my body would never let me count that night. Because it was not sex, it was never consentual.

Five years later, Lauren (my sister & best friend) and I were on a drive to Sedona. I felt the vortex sweeping over me and I pulled over onto a dirt road. I voiced my truth for the first time. I wept, we wept, and for the first time I felt validation. I felt safe. I felt that it was not my fault. This is where I thought my healing journey would end. I believed that speaking my truth and telling close friends and family would allow me to “get over it.”

And yet, my voice did not return. In fact, it subconsciously continued to get worse. I would cringe when watching videos of people singing… it turned into a joke with my friends and sister that I couldn’t stand to watch people perform and sing. Without my knowing it, my body was protecting me from the pain I felt years ago.

It has been 11 years now. 6 more years had gone by since I had first voiced my truth. A few months ago, the connections and PTSD I felt had still not become clear to me. I felt a burning in my chest after I quit my 9 to 5 job as an engineer. The heartburn wouldn’t go away, my mind racing wouldn’t go away, and so, I booked a trip to visit my sister in Tulum.

With guidance of two angels who were divinely placed next to us at breakfast, I was called to Bufo. 5MeODMT, the most powerful hallucinogenic in the world. The 20 minutes of unconscious, soul searching beauty that would be the second most impactful event in my life. When I emerged, rebirthed from heaven, the Shaman looked at me dead in the eyes… “Do you sing?” he asked. The three words that would impact my entire healing journey.

I sobbed as I held my heart and uttered the words “I used to.” It was in this moment that I realized my healing had just begun. Because it was more than the singing that I lost 11 years ago. It was my sense of safety, my willingness to be vulnerable, my ability to easily tap into and show emotions.

It was not an immediate recovery, I tried to push the healing away again. I wanted to fix everything else in my life, but not that. It was too deep a wound. But my body would not let me push it away this time. I spent 2 months completely dissociated from my body. Panic attacks in the middle of the night, anxiety, you name it.

A day in the park with Lauren 2 months after Bufo, I finally had my first cry. Finally had my realization that I was not ok. My true healing. I’ve since had melt downs, shed tears that were bottled in me for 10 years, writhed in pain and screamed fuck you at the person who did this to me, was held by other women as a cried like a newborn, started going to therapy and started singing again.

Before I even knew what it was about, I listened to Kesha’s song Praying. I played it on repeat and sobbed for what felt like days. I sang it in my bathroom and felt like she had written it for me. When my sister told me why she had written it, the meaning grew even deeper. Kesha had reclaimed her power using that song and it fell into my headphones right as I had decided to reclaim mine.

Just as Kesha says, I thank him now. For everything I have become. For making me stronger than I thought possible. For allowing my body to protect me and heal when my time was right. For allowing me to take back my power and use my voice to make a change. My podcast, my blog, the healing services I will soon be offering, are all birthed from that single experience.

For me, it was my voice. For every woman I talk to it is something else. Replace singing with vulnerability, dancing, painting, loving, sex… the list goes on. I honor each and every one of you who have had a piece of you taken.

Just remember, when the singing stops, it gives us the opportunity to reclaim our power, rediscover who we are and dig into our true life’s purpose. I love you and hope to inspire you to heal. It will be the most painful and rewarding thing you ever do. Heal yourself, heal the world.

Xoxo, Camille