My Dystonia Story

In the summer of 2025, I was officially diagnosed with musician's dystonia. Leading up to that point were about 10 years of slow decline in my playing, finding band-aids to patch things up that were breaking down. There were always "explanations" for what's happening, like not enough support, weak corners, overuse, etc. I got by touring and freelancing, like a broken vase patched up with duct tape all over the place, until the dam finally broke. (See here for my progressive symptoms of dystonia.)

When the dam finally broke, I was at a loss as to what happened. A lot of pity-parties of “why me?” and grasping at straws to figure out what I did wrong to have gotten here. Needless to say, I was in a pretty  dark place. Like many musicians, my identity and feeling of self-worth were wrapped up with my trombone playing. My upbringing and musical training led to the idea of being a good trombone player being the most important thing about me that I clinged onto. 

But back to my dystonia story. In the middle of my master’s degree, I won my first professional job as Principal Trombone in an orchestra in South Korea. At the end of my year contract there, I distinctly remember where I was warming up backstage where I noticed a very slight hesitation on a low F, doing a series of simple lip slurs. At the time, I brushed it aside as a momentary blip, not enough air, weak corners, lips tired, etc. Strange though that my brain engraved that moment in my memory. 

I returned to the US after my year contract was up. I moved back to the DC area where I grew up and started freelancing and started my DMA. Over the next couple of years, I noticed a bit more blips of hesitation here and there, but I found workarounds, and my teacher at the time helped me to find better mechanics to fix the problem. I got by. Even advanced on a handful of auditions. 

At the same time, I was touring with a brass ensemble. The book was gnarly at times, and I did what I had to do to get by on tours. When things started going more awry in my playing, I chalked it up to overuse. Took time off when I could, and honed in on fundamentals. But things progressively got worse, but I kept finding more workarounds to get by (I got really good at air attacks). 

You can imagine that the continuing loss of proficiency, accuracy, and consistency in your playing will start to chip away at your confidence. I started dreading gigs, though I didn’t have the courage at the time to say no to things. But I would show up and sound less than stellar, and it was a downward spiral of performance anxiety that would inevitably rear its ugly head in physical form. Whatever was going on with my playing, physical issues from performance anxiety compounded to it, and the downward progression in my playing quickened. Then Covid hit. 

Like some, I took time off from playing at the start of the lockdown. I thought this extended time off while I had the excuse of a global pandemic might help me with a fresh start. 

The timing of the universe can be a funny thing - right around the time I was ready to get back at it, I had an accident and broke the shoulder of my slide arm. I had to wait about 3 months to start playing again. I had said yes to some gigs while I was healing, foolishly thinking I’ll be back with a fresh pair of chops, and a fresh perspective on life after the pandemic to reprieve myself from the anxiety. But boy was I wrong.

See, dystonia doesn’t care that you took time off. And you think a global crisis like the pandemic and all the terrible things that happened in our country during that time would’ve relieved you of your anxiety? Ha! When I showed up at the first gig after “coming back” things felt a 100% worse. After not having played in public, still using workarounds to get by on my hesitation issues (which has evolved to way more than that after the time off and broken shoulder) and not getting the psychiatric help I should have gotten about the anxiety, my brain thought I was about to be murdered by a tiger at a simple church gig. Think sweating bullets, heart beating out of my chest, and all playing mechanisms clamping up when you go to play. 

I was always one of those people that had a hard time asking for help. Up until this point, I felt I was able to solve my own problems through sheer grit and determination. But when I thought I was going to literally die playing a church gig (with no exposed solos, easiest rep, etc), I knew I needed help. BTW, even at this point, I was not suspecting dystonia. I had every other explanation as to why I progressively felt like I couldn’t play. During this time, I sought help from a couple of trusted players and mentors and had various bodywork done. They all had very good advice and exercises that relieved some symptoms here and there but could not fix the issue at its source. I was becoming extremely depressed, filled with shame, frustration, and fear. 

Just to relieve myself from the downward spiral of my mental health, I started sessions with a clinical psychologist, learning a more deep-rooted source of why I clung onto the trombone as my sole identity, many of my unhealthy thinking patterns, finally realizing I have a severe anxiety issue, and more. Through cognitive behavior therapy, I learned to respond differently to difficult situations, see problems in a more level-headed light, and learned mindfulness and centering techniques to apply to playing. 

At this time, I concluded that all of my playing problems were a manifestation of my anxiety. And it seemed to work for a while. Having a better perspective on life, realizing my self-worth away from the trombone, and having tools in my belt to not let intrusive thoughts manifest physically when playing got me to playing better than I have in a long time. I started planning a future performing again.

I signed up to perform on a group recital at the IWBC conference, a duet written for my spouse (tuba) and myself about our beloved furry friends. In my mind, it was going to the ultimate comeback, performing a piece that means the world to me. The preparation was stressful as it was my first “solo” performance in many years. But I had the support of my spouse and a dear friend as the accompanist. All was going well and there were even some beautiful moments during rehearsals, and I felt a piece of the “old me” in a good way.

Then the performance happened. It started out fine enough, but a third of a way into the piece, the sound coming out of my bell was something I haven’t heard before - a terrible, thin, uncentered sound with uncontrollable tremors. That was the longest 9 minutes of my life, and I knew something was absolutely wrong, beyond what I can no longer try to fix. 

When we returned home, I immediately searched for Jan Kagarice’s information (quite literally, parked the car, dropped off my bags, and got on my laptop). I’ve always heard of her name in conjunction with dystonia, but always thought it wasn’t for me, dystonia hasn’t happened to me. But now it felt like a giant iceberg I could not avoid. It was either reach out to Jan, or put away my trombone for good. I obviously was not able to play, and I was at my last straw with my mental health regarding the trombone.

I had the initial consultation with her and one of her wonderful coaches, Devin Bennett. She heard me play for a few seconds, and immediately recognized I had early onset musician’s dystonia. It actually felt like a breath of fresh air hearing this.

And thus began my retraining. I won’t go into specific details of the process, as I don’t want to inadvertently give bad advice. (I cannot emphasize enough, if there is any kind of imbalance in your playing, reach out to Jan Kagarice, and save yourself years of calamity and tears like me.) 

But in a nutshell, I had to understand how the widely spread brass pedagogy sets players up for dystonia, how brass playing actually works scientifically (a much simpler process of transferring energy to make the sound ring in and outside the horn, where the embouchure is simply a hallway for the transfer of the energy and nothing else, and the new and very important role of the tongue, opposite from the tension creating, energy blocking role that is taught). 

I spent the first months with Jan and Devin with seemingly simple exercises for my body, and most importantly my brain, to learn new and healthy movements. I did not play anything besides prescribed exercises at this point, as I was trying to make new connections in my brain with the new movements. Playing regularly would have reinforced the decades of old wiring I was trying to forget. As you can imagine, laying off of playing meant I had to disappear from the gigging world, and my stomach sank every time an email came in about a gig, and it killed me to say I wasn’t available. 

This was the scariest part of the process for me, as I was in brand new territory, not sure what the outcome would be, and I wasn’t sure I understood everything. The seemingly simple exercises were difficult and frustrating, as it was so opposite from everything I understood about brass playing. The idea is to let the sound teach the form and function, and doing less yields best results. My brain was screaming in frustration at how little I was supposed to do. So much of playing up until this point depended on doing a lot. Take a big breath, engage corners, keep up the support, how big is your aperture, make the oral cavity big for low notes, it’s da da da for legato, ta ta ta for staccato, and the list goes on. My brain was also screaming in frustration as I slowly taught my body new movements. It wanted results fast, but that’s just not how rewiring works. (I understand this can sound extremely vague, but at this stage, I don’t think I’m ready to eloquently, or even accurately describe Jan’s process.) 

But then came the moment when the sound came, from doing less and from the sound teaching the form and function. Once my brain and body realized minimal yet correct action led by expecting the sound yielded immediate sound (that immediate sound that I so struggled to achieve for years), I knew there was light at the end of the tunnel.

At some point, Jan illustrated in the simplest way what musician's dystonia is. We do our sessions online, and she took her finger to her camera to distort the video, illustrating the disconnect and chaos that happens when we go to play. It is my understanding that’s what dystonia is, no matter how it manifests for you, you go to do an action, but the brain misfires, distorts, and sends nonsense signals to the body. Just absolute chaos and confusion. And that’s why this process of retraining, making new connections where the sound teaches the form and function is so important. Having the singular task of meeting the sound where it is gives your brain a singular goal, rather than a series of complicated instructions that inevitably gets tangled up, tossed around, and confuses neuropaths.

It was still a frustratingly up and down process. There were days of clarity and feeling like things were working, then there were days when I felt I didn’t understand the new process at all and I could not find the sound. 

But the only thing I clung to were Jan and Devin’s gentle yet persistent reminder to do less and let the sound teach. It seems like a very vague idea, but each week, I started to feel the instant connection to the sound more and more. All of my unhealthy thinking patterns were screaming “Just tell me what to do!!” but now I understand doing so would not have been helpful whatsoever in my retraining. As I currently understand it, this entire process depends on the sound teaching the form and function. If they were to tell me to do this with my tongue, do this with that muscle, that would 100% impede the process of learning healthy movements and habits. Rather, it is my body seeking the sound that teaches the most efficient form and function. 

I was also so very glad I had done intensive work with the psychologist before going on this journey. I just know that my past self would not have been able to handle the scary dystonia diagnosis, nor the process of retraining which is not black and white. Having a better sense of self-worth away from the trombone afforded me the grace to go with the flow and be curious, rather than what I know my old self would’ve wanted… “MUST PLAY TROMBONE, MUST BE THE BEST. RESULTS NOW.” I can tell you, that kind of thinking would make retraining and making healthy new wiring in the brain impossible.

As I write this, almost a year into retraining, I now feel like I can play, though I wouldn’t say I’m 100% out of the woods. For YEARS, the mantra in my head was “I can’t play, I can’t play, I can’t play.” It’s no longer a question of is it going to work. I cannot express the reprieve I feel from never being sure of what was going to come out of the horn, but rather starting to expect good and instant sound. 

Currently on good days, I feel like a below average player. This is not meant to put myself down. I’m celebrating this fact. When you come from a place where you were questioning each day, is it time to call it quits, feeling like an ok player feels like you got a second chance at life.

About 10 months into retraining, I started dipping my toes back into playing publicly. I chose gigs very carefully, making sure the environment or the music wouldn’t put me off my comfort threshold. One of the first gigs back was an orchestra gig. The music was simple enough, not too different from a lot of the exercises I’ve done from the retraining. Up until this point, I’ve only played at home, or a bit in lessons with my students - a stable, familiar environment. It was almost funny to me how being back in an environment that had previously triggered severe anxiety brings you right back. I felt a bit of that sense of being attacked by a lion, and my brain was screaming “this isn’t going to work!!!!!!” 

But at last, here is the beauty of retraining. It WORKED. I calmly heard Jan and Devin’s voices saying “relax your body, let go of everything” and when the time came for me to play, the new connections over-rode the dystonic connections and there came the sound (a good sound might I add), right in time. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t happy tears on the drive home. The astonishment at the new connections overriding my anxiety, past trauma, and decades of unhealthy connections in the brain, and feeling a glimpse of hope were something I truly cannot describe in words. Though I’ve been at peace of who I am away from the trombone, I really cannot deny the joy music making brings. 

I continue to do my exercises (Jan calls them prescriptions) religiously, starting each day making those healthy connections in my brain, and at each weekly session with Jan or Devin, I continue to understand further this whole process, and what it means to do less and let the sound teach. Though a year is a long time, it is actually amazing that Jan’s process of retraining can help the brain let go of DECADES of dystonic connections. 

At this stage, I know I still don’t understand fully, or can act fully upon the most efficient and healthy ways of playing. As I mentioned, I know the retraining isn’t fully complete yet, as there are “Tourette's moments” and the old connection rears is ugly ugly head. But those are becoming further and fewer in between. And what’s amazing about the mind and body is that after those moments occur, my brain double downs on the healthy connection, as if to say, “oh we definitely don’t want THAT again - THIS is how we make a sound.”

And I wonder if that’s a process I will be chasing all my career. Or if there will be a point where I feel like I'm back to where I was. But then, that is a loaded notion. Because I don't want to play the way I played before, and I don't want the old way of thinking and unhealthy entanglements with what comes out of my bell and my identity. Before all of this, I was chasing unattainable perfection to keep up with a version of me I told myself I had to be, a big part of the reason that got me in this mess. After everything I went through, perhaps chasing the healthiest movement to meet the sound where it is sure seems like a hell of a better place to be than chasing “perfection,” whatever that truly means.