​I run a ladies’ mental health choir. That sentence tends to invite assumptions.

Some people imagine a therapeutic space with constant emotional disclosure. Others picture a wellbeing add-on bolted onto singing “properly”. And some simply assume that singing is good for you and leave it at that.

But when you hold responsibility for a room full of real humans, with real nervous systems, real histories and real lives, “singing is good for you” isn’t enough.

As a specialist consultant in choir inclusion and mental health, I am deeply committed to mental-health–informed practice, and to understanding what actually happens when people sing together. Not what we hope happens; not what the research headlines say happens. But what our singers experience in a normal rehearsal.
​
So, we decided to explore it.
This blog is a good follow on from what-happens-to-the-brain-and-body-during-group-singing.html

If you’ve ever attended a choir rehearsal and felt your whole body relax before you’ve even sung a note, you’re not imagining it. Group singing is one of the most neurologically-rich, physiologically-powerful, and socially-bonding activities that humans can do - and we’ve been doing it for thousands of years for precisely those reasons.
​
But what’s actually going on in the brain and body? Why does singing in a group feel so grounding, uplifting, and connecting? And why does it seem to reach places that playing an instrument, talking, thinking, or singing in the shower simply can’t?
​
Let’s take a walk through the science - in plain English - and explore what’s happening in the brain and body when we sing together.

If it feels like the terms "mental health" and "neurodivergence" are suddenly everywhere, then you're probably wondering things like: Why now? Why in choir? Why are there so many more​ people with mental health and inclusion needs today?

It's true: over the past few years, there’s been a noticeable shift in who’s turning up to community choirs across the UK. Leaders are reporting more singers identifying as neurodivergent, more people navigating anxiety or emotional overwhelm, and more conversations about the mental-health impact of rehearsals.

For some conductors, this has felt surprising. For others, it’s been a relief to realise: it’s not just my choir - I don't have to explore this alone. But the real story isn’t that choirs are suddenly filling with “more complex needs”. In fact, it’s far more hopeful than that.

What we’re seeing is the natural result of increased awareness, cultural change, and a rising need for safe, emotionally-supportive creative spaces. And if we lean into it, this shift could become one of the most-positive developments in modern choral culture.
​
Here’s what’s driving it - and why it matters, for all of us.

Choirs are powerful. They bring people together, create community, and offer a space for shared expression. But beneath the harmonies, there are often hidden dynamics - unspoken anxieties, unaddressed needs, and cultural assumptions that can limit who truly feels safe and seen.

​That’s where a mental health and inclusion audit can make all the difference.

In my work as a Specialist Consultant in Choir Inclusion and Mental Health, I have developed the Harmonised Choir Audit, a way to shine a gentle spotlight on a choir’s structures, practices, and culture. Based on my experience with a wide range of choirs - 25 years as a professional conductor and, most recently, a deep dive into the working practices of a network of 18 UK choirs - I’ve seen just how transformative an audit can be. Here’s why I believe every choir stands to gain from this kind of review.

​Inclusion isn’t only about the songs we sing or the language we use, it’s about the spaces we occupy.  No matter how welcoming your ethos is, if a singer can’t physically, sensorially, or emotionally access your venue, that welcome stops at the door.

One of the simplest ways to embed accessibility into everyday choir life is through an Accessibility Rider a short, practical checklist that ensures consistency and care whether you’re hiring a new rehearsal space or preparing for a performance. 

It’s a bit like the detailed documents that travel with a pop star, listing everything they need to perform - from their favourite brand of water to the flowers in their dressing room. Only instead of catering to celebrity whims, yours helps your choir operate in new spaces more smoothly and safely, ensuring that inclusion is built into every logistical decision.
​
Think of it as your choir’s travel companion: it asks the right questions so you don’t have to start from scratch each time.

​On Thursday 2nd October in Hereford, I had the immense honour of carrying the Baton of Hope – a national symbol of suicide prevention and the world’s first physical icon of mental health. I wasn’t alone: my incredible mental health choir, Sing out Strong, was by my side, voices filling the air with music and love.

Meet Sarah...

​November 2024 was a rather important month for me. It was on the 6th that, at 35 years old, I finally got my autism diagnosis. The sense of relief I felt after that phone call was immense; there were a lot of tears, both happy and sad. After years and years of believing I was a failure, that it was all my fault, I had an official diagnosis. I’m not broken; I’m just me. For so long, especially in secondary school, I had been punished for falling behind, for forgetting homework, for getting easily distracted. Not once did they ask why. I learnt to hide my ‘quirks’ (what I’d later learn to be stims) for fear of being bullied, and tried so hard to be ‘normal’. The mask I built was heavy and painful. But now I had a reason for it all, I had permission to be me, to be different. (And, since writing this post, have also had my ADHD diagnosis, too!).
​
November was also around about the time I started singing with a local choir run by my singing teacher, Emma [Rowland-Elsen, of this website].

​Here's my story.

One of the hardest parts of being a choir leader isn’t the repertoire, the admin, or even the fundraising. It’s those delicate, heart-in-your-mouth conversations where you know you need to address a musical issue with a singer, but you’re worried about how it might land.

Perhaps someone is consistently too loud, throwing off the balance. Or maybe their pitching is unstable, and it’s starting to affect the section. You notice it, the choir notices it, and yet, the singer is clearly having a wonderful time. To complicate matters further, they may be neurodivergent, or they might be struggling with their mental health. You believe your “regular” way of offering feedback could easily cause shame, shutdown, or rupture.
​
So, what do you do? Ignore it, and risk the choir’s sound (and the frustration of other members)? Or speak up, and risk causing upset or harm?

The truth is: we need a third option. One where you, as choir leader, can have musically-honest conversations, and give constructive feedback, in a way that is clear, kind, boundaried, trauma-aware, and inclusive. Conversations that preserve group safety, while still honouring - and respecting - individual needs.

​Here's how.

​When most people think of choir warmups, they picture scales, tongue twisters, or breathing exercises - all designed to help singers find their pitch, focus their sound, and prepare for rehearsal. And of course, that’s exactly what warmups do, and why we incorporate them week after week. But what often gets overlooked is their incredible potential for supporting singers' mental health.
​
Warmups aren’t just a functional “tune up” for the voice. They are also an opportunity to ground, connect, release tension, and create an atmosphere where everyone feels safe and supported. If we see them only as a technical tool, we miss the chance to use them as a wellbeing tool as well.

When you think of the many jobs of the “choir leader,” you probably imagine score-marking, choosing repertoire, planning rehearsals, and sorting concert logistics - not sitting down for an hour with an AI chatbot. Yet here we are in 2025, where resources like ChatGPT can be as much a part of your choir toolkit as your pitch pipe or pencil.

The music world can be slow to adopt new tech, partly because we’re rooted in tradition, partly because AI can feel a bit… impersonal. But used well, it can become a creative and organisational partner that frees up your mental bandwidth and, crucially, supports the wellbeing of you and your singers.

Here’s how.