​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.

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.

Ever woken up the day after Christmas, a party or a wedding and felt a bit… flat?
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That strange emotional dip, a kind of afterglow lull where everything feels a little grey and quiet?

Now imagine that same feeling - but the night before, you weren’t out drinking or dancing or celebrating.  You were at choir.

Surprisingly, the symptoms the day after choir can be almost identical: pounding head, aching body, emotional fuzziness - like you've been through something big.

It’s a phenomenon that many of my singers have come to notice over time, and one that I’m not immune to either, even as the choir leader.

So, what’s actually going on?  Why do you feel so awful the day after choir?

It’s a real thing!

Actors have apparently dubbed this feeling “post-performance depression”.  I call it “the Choir Hangover”.
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You can get a choir hangover after a fantastic performance, a trip, a workshop or even a great rehearsal.  In fact, any time that the happy hormones have been buzzing, you can expect some sort of comedown the day after.
 
But why do we get it and what can we do to support our singers (and ourselves) with our mental health moving forward?