Imposter Syndrome, Opera, and Finding My Voice
Hi again!
How are you feeling? I hope you're doing well!
I’ve been thinking a lot lately—probably too much, to be honest. And I won’t lie, it’s been a bit stressful. But here’s something I’ve learned: sharing my thoughts with you not only helps me deal with that stress but also brings me a kind of joy I only feel when we’re connecting.
So, thank you for being here. It means so much to me.
Let me ask you something—am I the only one who gets really scared when imposter syndrome hits hard? Of course, I know I’m not, but still, I can’t understand why it feels so isolating when it happens. I’ve been singing and training my entire life, yet I still wonder if the decisions I KNOW were best for me were actually the right ones.
When I was told that to be a professional singer, I had to train like one, that meant diving into classical music. So, naturally, the dream-chaser in me said, “Bet! I can become an opera singer in a year,” even though I had never really trained in this genre. I worked my butt off to get ready for auditions, and honestly, I grew to love the challenge of classical singing.
It all paid off when I got a full-ride scholarship to my dream school, in my dream city. Out of thousands of audition-ees, I was one of just ten who were accepted.
After four intense years, I graduated with a new passion: vocal pedagogy.
After undergrad, I took a leap and applied only to my dream program at Johns Hopkins Peabody Conservatory. It’s one of the few top schools offering a dual degree in pedagogy and performance. Despite auditioning while sick with the flu, I received their highest scholarship and additional support from external scholarships from people who had watched me grow as a musician over the years.
Then came the turning point: during my second semester of grad school, I woke up one morning and cried for an hour, realizing I didn’t want to be an opera singer anymore. For five years, I had balanced trying to please others while doing what felt right for me. But I realized I had been pursuing a path that left me feeling empty inside.
I was doing everything the training had taught me—perfectly executing what I needed to onstage—but I felt nothing afterward. I loved the training, the applause, and that everyone was proud of me. But I ignored the fact that deep down, I didn’t want this life.
That’s when I wrote Strong, my first song. While I cringe now when I hear it, at the time, it brought me back to life. That song healed me and reminded me of what I’ve always wanted: to heal others and myself through music.
Music is how I connect, how I express myself. I wasn’t finding fulfillment in opera because I was telling other people’s stories—stories I forced myself to relate to—before ever giving myself the chance to tell my own. So, I made the decision to do that, and here we are.
I finished grad school because, well, I didn’t want anyone calling me a “quitter.” But I dropped opera entirely, moved to Atlanta before school even ended (thank you, COVID!), and threw myself into this dream. I’m no longer chasing the goal of being the world’s best singer—I want to be one of the best people you’ve ever felt.
Even now, though, imposter syndrome still creeps in. I haven’t quite figured out why, but I’m grateful to have you here with me as I work through it.
I won’t trauma-dump all the time, I promise! But today was one of those days. So, to balance it out, I want to share something special with you—something no one else has heard yet.
I recently wrote a song called Annissita (which is what my Abuela - Grandma calls me) as a reminder to uplift myself when things get tough. Try replacing Annissita with your name, and I bet you’ll relate to every word 🙂.
As always, thank you for going through this with me.
Love,
Annisse 🤍
