Who am I without my ability to play?

Recently, I read a great article in the online news site, The Conversation, titled ‘Sports talent programmes could be harmful for children’s long-term psychological wellbeing’ - you can read it here.

For those who are not familiar with it, The Conversation is an extraordinary online newspaper: all the articles are written by academics who spend their careers researching these topics, so the information there is as reliable as it can get.

The article states that making children specialise in a sport early - which is widely believed to be the key to develop future elite athletes - can be extremely damaging psychologically in the long run. In some sports, where athletes are expected to peak in late teens or early 20s such as gymnastics, the decision to pursue a sports career is rarely decided by the child athletes themselves. Essentially, parents and coaches choose for these kids, not leaving room for them to discover their own likes and dislikes. Due to the (often extreme) training regime, this leads to excluding other hobbies or interests. Often, the approach hinders their psychological development - with this narrow focus, they are forced to build their entire identity on the chosen sport. The article goes on to discuss the heightened risk of burnout and dropout, and the fact that injuries carry a much greater psychological risk for these young athletes.

As I was reading the article, I kept thinking about my own early ‘specialisation’ and how that related to my career, my identity, and my experience with Musician’s Focal Dystonia.

Growing up, playing the flute was my favourite thing to do. I had a lot of intrinsic motivation stemming from my love for music, a lot of early success, and joy. But the moment I started to show more and more interest, I was told to make a decision. If I wanted to become a professional, I had to start preparing. If I wanted this to be my future career, I had to secure a place at a conservatoire at 18, to get in there, I had to go to a specialized high school before that, to audition there, I had to have at least 4 years of intense practice under my belt, and maybe some competition pizes. I had to start planning at age 10 latest. I was advised against playing sports to avoid injuries. I was told that schoolwork can wait, just keep on practising. I felt that I needed to stop activities in order to succeed and be part of the ‘elite musician tribe’.

In sports, it is clearly shown that this kind of early specialisation is not helpful. It is not only detrimental for the developing psyche but also doesn’t pay off on the playing field. Developing a wide range of skills and interests besides the sport is more likely to lead to elite performance. I think it is reasonable to examine some of these claims in the case of musical careers. I’m not arguing that focused and intense practice is important in order to succeed, or that we should start early in childhood to create a stable foundation for our instrumental technique. We want to play music, we want to play in professionally and on a high level. The goal is clear, but are we really choosing the right tools to achieve it?

“We need to evolve into mentally and physically healthy adults to be able to be mentally and physically healthy musicians. ”

We know much more about childhood development, the neural background of movement acquisition and the optimal ways of motor learning than decades ago. And as the quoted article shows, using all our time for focused and specialised work does not do the trick. We need to evolve into mentally and physically healthy adults to be able to be mentally and physically healthy musicians. And for that, we need various experiences, self-discovery, curiosity, healthy learning, and a safe environment.

There are certain aspects of professional instrumental training which does not fulfil these needs and are downright toxic: obsessiveness and perfectionism are often presented as normal, even desirable and the false philosophy of ‘no pain no gain’ fully accepted. But most importantly, this culture prompts us to tie our identity solely to our ability to play. The strict practise schedules and the exclusion of other activities lead to a non-adaptable system, a rigid skillset, and much more pressure on the individual to succeed in the narrow field they have chosen (or which was chosen for them).

So what does this have to do with dystonia? Quite a lot.

If your self-worth is derived from your ability, then your ability has to be outstanding in order to feel good about yourself. And it has to be outstanding all the time. Others need to judge it as great. Teachers, audiences, peers need to say so, so you really feel valued. This can create enormous psychological pressure, raise anxiety levels, and make you try to control everything. All these were associated as risk factors by various practitioners and researchers.

So what now? How is this helpful if you already have MFD?

I do believe that this narrowly focused identity has a huge impact on rehabilitation as well. After the onset, our lives can feel completely empty without our skill and depending on it financially is an additional burden. Also, many of our social connections are linked to playing which can be very painful to maintain after the onset. Personally, I couldn’t go to a concert and listen to others playing in the first two years after my onset, I felt horrible and everything reminded me of my condition. I felt I was ‘thrown out’ of my tribe, which is a punishment considered to be worse than death in some cultures.

So naturally, we often become obsessed with the recovery and want to get it done as quickly as possible. While this is a reasonable wish, the pressure which we put on ourselves is often detrimental for the rehabilitation. As one of the practitioners I interviewed put it: ‘the most important thing is to get rid of this powerful '“must" to be able to open the door to curiosity, and observing our body without judgement.’

I think that to get rid of the powerful ‘must’, one of the most helpful things we can do is to seek joy, company, and meaning elsewhere as well. The retraining period actually can serve as a great opportunity to discover our interests in more depth, to start learning something which we always wanted to learn, start playing a sport, read that book, listen to that podcast, complete that online course. While the pandemic currently blocks most of us from frequently meet in person, there are amazing online communities which we can join, people gathering together to share their passion for their hobbies. It might sound counterintuitive, but doing other things than retraining can enhance your progress. Taking pleasure in other activities will reduce stress and anxiety, and will help you to step back from a narrow identity.

As one of my good friends put it: ‘I used to introduce myself as a violinist. Now I say, I’m Robert, and I play the violin.’

A little step like that can start to create change. We are so much more than we think we are.