When Martin and I were first messaging each other, before our earliest meeting even, one of the things we did was exchange song lyrics. Although no audible music was involved, I still associate Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing with the start of our relationship. Apparently, long before I met him, posting lyrics to his Facebook timeline for friends to guess was something he did. I guess that’s the DJ in him.

As a small child I used to ride my tricycle round and round our tiny backyard in a small circle, lalala-ing to the tune of Jean Michel Jarre’s Popcorn. Not weird at all. No one in my family knew that tune or what it was called, but at some point I must have heard it and it permeated my being. It was known in our house as Julie’s Little Tune for years until it’s true identity was established.

At primary school I was one of the few who enjoyed hymn practice. Not because hymns particularly did it for me, but because I loved to sing. It lifted me. My headteacher recognised I had a good voice and used to single me out to sing solo in front of the upper school and teachers. I loved that feeling. I wasn’t an especially popular child, but people seemed to enjoy my singing. I joined my first choir there and took part in a local musical production. I was buzzing.

I was less involved in choirs and concerts as a teen, yet music felt like my lifeline at times. I found expression through Freddie, Prince, Boy George, Jimmy Somerville, Erasure and others. I was undeniably drawn to the gay music scene of the time. This said less about my sexuality, although I already had an inkling I was bi, and more about not fitting in. My mental health was extremely erratic and music healed me.

My involvement in the church over 30 odd years gave me untold opportunities to be involved in music, and in particular, singing again. I sang BV with the music group for over 20 of those years. At times when the team was thin on the ground I occasionally led worship, although it wasn’t a role I was really confident in, or suited to. I could just about pull it off when hypomanic. I did however from time to time sing something solo, either to teach a new song to the congregation or as part of a Christmas or Easter concert. I had the amazing opportunity to sing O Holy Night to a packed carol service. It was a goosebumps moment. As I finished singing there was a moment of silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Then the place erupted. It was, to this day, one of my proudest moments.

After my stay in psych hospital in 2014 I was drawn to singing as a part of my recovery. I was put in contact with an organisation called Tempo in the Community. They took singing workshops initially to psych wards, but subsequently to community venues. I went as an attendee, but in time as my mental health improved I undertook their training. I would co-facilitate workshops in a small team. It was amazing to see people responding. I was hopeful it was something I could be involved in long term, but sadly Tempo ceased to operate.

Alongside Tempo, for my own wellbeing, I had joined Fusion Choir. I had the most wonderful of times with them. I learned so many songs and we performed in many concerts. I also made some amazing friends. Our tenors section had a social life like no other section!

I again had the opportunity to sing O Holy Night in one of the Christmas Concerts. It was an incredibly spiritual moment. I had my dear Dad and my son in the audience and I’m informed they couldn’t have looked any prouder.

As soon as I heard it, I knew the song I was going to walk down the aisle to. It was a brand new song to me, but it hit me like a brick! We opted to sing to each other at our wedding reception, which was a great opportunity to take some singing lessons. Looking at the video footage I’m more at ease singing into that mic than I probably was for most of the rest of the day. I just let go. And when Martin sang to me, I was moved to tears.

Because that’s what music can do. It changes brain chemistry. It brings hope and energy to people. It evokes all manner of emotions, and memories. It uplifts us, moves us, delights us. Makes us cry, smile, sing, dance, applaud. It truly is powerful.