Waking Up the Voice (and the Body) After a Break

Two weeks in Sri Lanka, a mischievous monkey, and why your voice isn’t really “gone” when you take time off.

Hi everyone and happy Monday,

I’m back! After two weeks in Sri Lanka, mostly exploring the south—stunning beaches, incredible wildlife, and the kindest people—I’m still processing it all. I saw elephants up close, watched monkeys cause chaos on rooftops, and snorkeled with turtles. I spent days walking through jungle paths that opened onto beaches, watching local fishermen balance on stilts in the waves. The country is vibrant, layered, and full of small, unspoken rhythms—life happening in a way that feels both unfamiliar and deeply human.

And now, I’m back at my desk, staring at my to-do list, wondering what it is I actually do.

Re-entry is always strange. It’s that moment when your body arrives before your mind does. The work is familiar, the routines are still there, but something feels off-kilter, like I need an entire week just to recalibrate. It’s a reminder that even when something is second nature, it still needs a moment to become natural again.

And really, I think this is about everything.

I see it all the time in voice work. People who have trained for years take a short break and come back panicked, thinking they’ve lost their voice, their breath support, their ease. But skills like speaking, breathing, and using your voice with confidence are embodied. They don’t disappear; they just go dormant. The ability is still there, but the familiarity needs warming up.

Think about it like this: if you’re used to running every morning and then take two weeks off, you don’t forget how to run. But that first run back feels different—your muscles are stiff, your breath is uneven, and you need time to ease back in. It’s the same with your voice. The breathwork, the articulation, the confidence—it’s all still in you. It just needs a moment to resurface.

One of my favorite moments from the trip was a safari, where I saw elephants grazing, peacocks fanning their tails, and crocodiles lurking by the water. But the real star of the show? A mischievous monkey that leaped into our jeep to steal a coconut. One moment it was outside, eyeing us with curiosity, and the next, it was right next to us, grabbing its prize and disappearing before we could even react. It was quick, instinctual, and confident—no hesitation, no overthinking.

That’s the kind of ease we aim for in voice work. When we’re in practice, we don’t have to think about every breath, every word—it just happens. But when we step away, even briefly, we start overanalyzing, hesitating, second-guessing. The key is to ease back in, reconnect with the work, and trust that the instincts are still there.

So if you’ve ever stepped back into a high-stakes meeting, an interview, or a stage and felt like your voice is wading through fog, don’t panic. You haven’t lost anything. You just need to wake it up.

The fix? Start small. Breathe deeply. Speak aloud to yourself before you speak to others. Play with sound. Reconnect with your body. And most of all, trust that the muscle memory will kick back in.

It always does.

M x