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.

​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.