When you are in a dry spell...

So maybe you haven’t sung in a while. 

Or maybe you’re in a dry spell with gigs. 

Maybe your last project wrapped up, and you haven’t landed on the next one yet. 

Maybe your sheet music is gathering dust in the corner while you binge-watch The Great British Baking Show (no judgment, it IS a good show ☺️).

And now, this tiny, nagging voice in your head whispers: “Are you even really a singer anymore?”

Let’s pause right there. 

This is the moment... the opportunity to catch that thought in action.

That’s not your wise inner guide talking—that’s just your inner critic flying under the radar with old lines from a script that no longer serves you.

It says things like, “See, everyone else is busy doing projects. What are you doing?”

“You haven’t booked a Broadway show yet. That means you’re not a successful performer.”

“Nothing is happening, that means you are not good enough.”

“You’re not the real deal.”

When we catch that voice we have the ability to align with the deeper truth which says: 

You are still a singer and your worth as a creative does have value. You don’t lose that identity just because the calendar looks empty or auditions are quiet. 

Singing is who you are—not just what you do.

Somewhere along the way, many of us picked up the idea that being a “real singer” is tied to how many gigs we’re booking, how often we’re singing for others, or how loudly the applause rings. 

But that’s a myth.

You don’t become less of a singer when you’re not standing under the lights. 

Just like athletes don’t stop being athletes when they’re between games, or writers don’t stop being writers when the page is blank…you don’t stop being a singer during quieter seasons.

Your artistry doesn’t need external proof to be real. It lives in you, always.

Your unique path doesn’t look like anyone else’s because it’s YOURS. It’s special. It’s valid. 

Every career has its seasons.

Busy seasons. Slow seasons. 

Seasons with a different focus.

But here is the thing. No matter what season you are in, it’s not wrong. You are not necessarily off course.

The dry spell isn’t wasted time.

It’s tempting to believe the quiet seasons mean you’re falling behind or losing touch with your craft. 

But dry spells are part of every professional’s arc. 

They’re not failures—they’re transitions.

Think of it this way: fields need fallow seasons so the soil can restore its richness. Voices, too, need time to rest, reset, and absorb.

A dry spell gives you the chance to:

→ Let your body rest. 

Constant output is draining. Quiet periods protect your long-term health.

→ Refill creatively. 

Inspiration often sneaks in when you’re not grinding. That movie you watch, that walk you take, that conversation you overhear—all of it can become fuel for your next project.

→ Reclaim your joy. 

When you’re not under pressure to “deliver,” you have freedom to rediscover why you sing in the first place.

This season is not a waste—it’s a quiet rehearsal for what’s next.

Here’s another truth: not all opportunities come from auditions, contracts, or someone else’s approval. 

Some of the most fulfilling projects you’ll ever do are the ones you start yourself.

If you’re in a dry spell, consider:

→ House concerts or small gatherings. 

Invite friends, colleagues, or your community into an intimate space and share your music.

→ Collaborations. 

Pair up with an instrumentalist, a composer, a dancer—create something new together.

→ Digital performances. Share a song on social media, host a livestream, or post a mini-recital on YouTube.

→ Teaching or mentoring. 

Guiding others deepens your own artistry and keeps your skills sharp.

→ Explore new material

Use this time to explore new repertoire and sing exactly what you want to sing- not just material you’re getting paid to. Recharge your creative spark with the permission to do what YOU are drawn to do.

When you build your own stage—literally or metaphorically—you stop waiting for permission and start reclaiming your power as an artist.

The quiet stretches don’t diminish you. 

If anything, they’re proof that your artistry isn’t dependent on constant output or external validation. 

So when that whisper of doubt shows up, you can answer it with confidence:

“Yes, I am a singer. Always have been. Always will be.”

And in the meantime, keep singing in the ways that feel good—whether that’s to an audience of thousands, to your own reflection, or to the silence of your living room.

Because you don’t need a contract, a curtain, or a crowd to be who you already are.

The next stage will come. Until then, remember: your identity isn’t waiting. It’s already here.