To Sing or Not to Sing?

I've scheduled my first singing lesson for this afternoon. Last year for my birthday my husband gave me one hour of singing lessons. My birthday is tomorrow, so you can see it took me some time to get up the nerve to make the call to set up the initial time. The plan is to stretch out one hour to 2 half-hour lessons this week and next. If all goes well, I will add in more over the course of the summer.

The desire for the lessons stems from my work around the book I am writing about being sexually abused as a kid. As a little, little girl, I loved to sing. I often sang to myself made up songs. I imagined interviews many years in the future when I would tell the story to some interested reporter how I used to sing to my own reflection in the window of Gram's white car. I would explain how I had always loved to sing and what an important part of my life music had always been. When I was actively taking guitar lessons I wrote and sang a number of my own songs.

So, life didn't happen exactly the way I had envisioned. I don't sing in public, certainly not solo. I love to sing along with the radio, but you won't hear me warbling in the shower. I lost my voice when I lost my music, back when I was taking guitar lessons from a pedophile.

These lessons are another in a long line of attempts to regain what I lost all those years ago.

So what makes me think I can sing to begin with? Not much, actually. I know from work in high school productions that I can be a competent back-up singer, but probably not a soloist. But what if I can sing well? Strong, out loud, carry a tune and find a vibrato? I can, or could at one time, at least carry a tune. I'd like to recapture that part of myself at the very least. Anything more would be simply wonderful.