Making music is a joyful expression of your soul that nourishes you and the world.

I know what that’s like. Here’s my story:

I started piano lessons at the age of 7 because I wanted to play Christmas songs. A friend who took lessons had a book with a beautiful Christmas tree on the cover. I came home from the playdate and asked my parents for lessons, and to my great fortune, they said yes.

I couldn’t get enough of it, repeating every song until I mastered it and taking my music everywhere with me. The first song I memorized, “Rock-a-Rama,” was so much fun to play. Even more thrilling was having an expressive outlet for my feelings.

Fast-forward to freshman year of high school. While decorating for Christmas (a hilarious synchronicity!), I had a sudden thought: I need to become a piano teacher. My teacher, whom I studied with for ten years and loved dearly, helped me explore schools and prepare an audition.

I went on to earn bachelor’s and master’s degrees and was remarkably lucky to have two professors who believed in me. They coached me through performance anxiety and mentored my budding teaching career.

After grad school, I was pretty burnt out. Performing was always difficult for me. I wanted to share music with others, but anxiety and self-doubt haunted me. Facing this every day was exhausting.

So I took a couple of years off. It’s a familiar story—I began working out, joined a book club, started dating. I needed to feel like a whole person again. It would become a theme.

During that time, I taught at several colleges. I loved the students. They were so eager, curious, and passionate. I went on to complete a doctorate and, after eleven years of part-time positions, finally landed the professor job I’d been dreaming of.

Along the way, I had taken up meditation to cope with personal stress. My first performance after this was the job audition. It was an entirely new experience being onstage. I wish I could tell you I was less nervous. I wasn’t.

But I was more present. I wasn’t fixated on mistakes I had made or getting to the end. I was hearing and feeling every note I was playing. My senses were more vivid than ever, and my focus was razor-sharp.

The best part?

This awareness was stronger than the fear.

I knew I had unlocked something. This was more powerful than all those performance anxiety presentations I had given. I had to share it with my students, so I earned two certifications as a meditation instructor and began teaching and leading meditations on campus.

Along the way, life changed. My daughter was born and priorities shifted. Covid hit a few years later. Faculty were laid off. I wanted to leave on my own terms. So I left behind a 20-year career to follow my heart.

Man, it was hard.

My mental roadblocks were back—big time. I was in a fog for a year. For two more, I panicked, overworking to pay the bills. I knew I had something to offer, but clarity evaded me. As a parent in midlife, the stakes felt high.

I thought about giving up. A lot. I needed all the courage and confidence I had to keep going. Meditation provided steadiness. At this time, I was wildly lucky to find another inspiring teacher. She helped me free my technique, tune into the beauty of musical moments, and find joy making music again.

Slowly the pieces came together, and it hit me: The space I’d held for my students—to relax the mind and body, be kind to themselves, tune into their own musical voice—was the same space I had held for myself playing “Rock-a-Rama” all those years ago. It was my gift.

A path emerged: I could help pianists relax their technique, move beyond perfectionism, and (re)discover joy at the piano. I could help musicians let go of expectations, practice self-compassion, and embrace the confidence they already have.

I had done these things. It was not easy, but possible. There were no methods or quick fixes. The journey was complicated, uncertain, and exhausting.

But it was worth it. And if we are to embark on a quest for our own brilliance as musicians, we need practices to help us, and we need the support of each other.

That’s why I created The Liberated Musician.

I know what it’s like to burn with a deep desire to share something with the world.

The world needs what you have to offer. It needs more liberated musicians and artists.

Let’s make it happen.