“In 2020, my top song on Spotify was Rain Sounds. I used it to fall asleep, in conjunction with earplugs, because the slightest stir in the house at night would send an electric jolt of panic through my body. Any and all sounds were, to me, evidence that my family was getting sick. Every cough, sniff or audible bodily function sent me into a state of dysphoria, so I learned to mute the household’s evening song with Rain Sounds. It wasn’t just the big C. What about all the other viruses and bacteria? What about the ones we didn’t even know existed yet?“
At the same time in 2020, my top (and only) song on Spotify as an artist was ‘Edithvale’. I won a couple of awards and the song was played on the radio. Emails from cool cats and top dogs of the music industry were arriving in my inbox by the hour. I was having zoom calls with music managers and lawyers who insisted I capitalise on the momentum of my success. Everyone kept asking me what my 5 year plan was, and if I saw myself as a touring musician. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would make it to the end of the year. The idea of the world opening up and going on tour terrified me. How could I be sure the mics were disinfected properly? 2020 was the year I got everything I wanted then ghosted half the music industry.
I began my Princess Fiona Tower Era and found an affordable, mildewed bungalow where I could lock myself away, complete with my very own dragon, an extremely protective blue heeler named Kiah. As the world started to open up, on the rare occasion I was brave enough to have visitors over, I’d scrub my already clean drinking glasses and mugs before guests arrived. Once a friend came over and casually grabbed a wine glass, filling it with water. I hadn’t accounted for this curveball, hadn’t scrubbed the wine glasses, and spent the afternoon unable to concentrate, wracked with guilt. Damn my friends and their whimsical spontaneity! The skin on my hands, already prone to eczema, was red and broken and stinging from the sanitising, the 20-second hand washing, the hospital grade cleaning products.
My email inbox was another virus that was multiplying at a terrifying rate. I couldn’t pick up my guitar without thinking about all the people I was letting down, most of all myself. The studio, with its confined space and bacteria-laden microphones, was a house of horror for a germaphobe. I pushed through the fear and recorded another song at the end of 2020. Then I ghosted the producer for months, unable to send mix notes. My brain was at capacity, constantly in a state of germ risk management while trying to maintain the facade of being a chill and mysterious indie-folk singer.
“Why did my anxiety have to be about things that were so yucky, so weird, so hard to talk about? The self-imposed physical isolation was hard enough, but feeling like my germ and health anxiety was too taboo and too freaky to openly talk about was the truly isolating part.“
My psychologist, bless her soul, had the patience of someone who has been tertiary-trained to be patient. She listened as I word-vomited my deepest fears over and over for four years. She listened. She challenged me. A worthy opponent. If I was on a debating team, I would tremble if she was on the opposing side. She reminded me that I mattered too. Protecting my loved ones from all known and unknown viruses and bacteria was no doubt a noble quest, but apparently my own wellbeing was also pretty important. Obviously everyone should be responsible when it comes to viruses like COVID, but I was taking my sense of responsibility too far. My sister, who I confided in during many walks in the Dandenong Ranges, echoed this sentiment. At some point, their words began to stick. The SSRI’s also helped. Slowly, I began to write again, turning the gross, weird, scary parts of myself into songs.
Having anxiety and trying to have a music career means that I’ve had to accept that it’s okay to plod along at my own pace, albeit sometimes slow. It means sometimes saying no to things that seem like really good opportunities, and being kind to myself when I get overwhelmed and am a bit slower on the emails. It meant that when I went to BIGSOUND, I chose to go back to the airbnb to have dinner and nap instead of going to another networking event. It means not using social media for weeks at a time so I can go for walks and cuddle my baby nephew and write songs without the flashy loud overstimulating online world echoing in my already busy brain. I choose to tell myself that if people in the industry really care about me as a person and believe in my music then they’ll wait. And when I look after myself and all is quiet in my brain, I start to hear the music.
Photos by Hillary Green
