​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.
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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.

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!).
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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.
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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.

​If you’re leading a choir where “mental health” still feels like a dirty word, or worse, where it’s openly mocked or dismissed, you’re not alone.

Maybe you’ve tried to bring in a bit of breathwork at the start of rehearsal and been met with polite silence. Maybe your singers roll their eyes when you mention burnout. Maybe they think that if someone’s overwhelmed, they should just “get on with it.” Maybe you’re the one holding all the pastoral weight, quietly absorbing the emotions in the room, and wondering how on earth to introduce conversations that feel timely and necessary - but unpopular.

This is exactly the case with a community choir I work with. A lovely, friendly, long-running daytime choir, mostly made up of singers over the age of 70, many of whom come from what you might call the “stiff-upper-lip” generation. They value tradition. They like their routine. They’ve weathered storms, lost friends, sung through tears - and they don’t need anyone coming in with that emotional nonsense, thank you very much. During one discussion, one member even told me that the term “mental health” is overused and "almost encourages people to have something wrong with them.”

Don't get me wrong, I love working with this choir.  But the reaction of some members to my usual way of doing and explaining things just doesn't seem to sit the same.  And one day, in Mental Health Awareness week, we had a chat about it.  But here’s what’s interesting: once we gently reframed what mental health actually is, things started to shift.

Here’s what I've learned.

Community choirs are often built with the best intentions: warmth, connection, and belonging. But for neurodivergent singers - including those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, and social anxiety - some of the most common "welcoming" behaviours can actually create the opposite effect.

In fact, the things we think are inclusive can feel overwhelming, confusing, or even distressing for neurodivergent participants. The good news? With a few small shifts, your choir can become a genuinely safer, more accessible space for all kinds of minds - without losing its joy and community spirit.

Let’s look at five well-meaning habits that could be doing more harm than good, and how you can adapt them with every singer in mind.

Singing in a choir can be profoundly uplifting - but not all choirs automatically feel safe, supportive, or mentally healthy. If you’re starting a new choir from scratch, now is the perfect time to lay foundations that protect and support the mental health of your singers from day one.

This post outlines the must-haves, common pitfalls, and practical choices - from venue and repertoire to regulation techniques and community culture - to help you create a choir where everyone can thrive. Whether your group is for community bonding, vocal excellence, or something in between, these steps will help you build your choir with care and intention.

​What if your well-meaning conducting cues were actually making it harder for your singers to stay present, engaged, and emotionally safe?

It’s a tough question. But if we want to lead choirs in a way that supports not just sound but wellbeing, we need to talk about the subtle but powerful ways us conductors can inadvertently dysregulate the nervous systems of our singers - especially those who are neurodivergent, trauma-impacted, or dealing with stress and burnout.
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Let’s take a look at what nervous system dysregulation looks like in the rehearsal room, and how small, intentional shifts in your conducting style can create a more musically expressive and mentally-healthy choir environment.

We’ve all heard choirs described as “safe spaces” or “mental-health friendly.” But what does that really mean? And is it enough?

As a choral conductor living with PTSD - and someone working at the intersection of music and mental health - I’ve really had to challenge with what I thought made a choir welcoming and what actually helps people feel safe, seen, and supported in the room.  There have been times when what I thought was helping was really not the right thing at all.

I’m not here to call anyone out. I’m here to ask the questions I wish I’d asked sooner, so that others may learn from my wins and mistakes.  Here's what I know so far.