When people think of opera, they often imagine the glamour – beautiful gowns, dazzling lights, the grandeur of the stage. It’s easy to see the final product and assume it’s effortless. The spotlight may illuminate your carefully crafted character, but it reveals nothing of the internal battle that many performers face beneath the surface. For me, this journey through opera has been a journey of discovering what courage truly means.

Throughout my career, I’ve battled paralysing stage fright. Not just the butterflies we often hear about, but full-blown mental breakdowns before walking on stage. I would be shaking, physically ill, consumed by an ongoing internal dialogue of doom. I remember this vividly during one of the most significant moments of my early career – when I went on to win second place and the Zarzuela prize at Plácido Domingo’s Operalia Competition. It was a moment that might appear as the pinnacle of a young artist’s career. But just minutes before stepping on stage, I was in the restroom, almost unable to walk, desperately trying not to throw up from fear. The pressure of representing such a prestigious competition, broadcast worldwide, with the greatest artistic directors as judges, and such an iconic figure as Domingo in the pit, weighed heavily on me.

In those terrifying moments, my mother, a strong Sicilian woman standing barely five feet tall, became my anchor. She would grab me by the arms, look me straight in the eyes, and say, ‘Marina, believe in yourself. You’ve worked so hard. You will do well. Believe.’ I didn’t feel strong in those moments, but I learned that courage doesn’t come from the absence of fear. It comes from moving forward despite it.

My mother’s unwavering belief in me carried me through the early stages of my career. But as time went on, I realised something profound – I needed to learn how to provide that same encouragement to myself. Fear and impostor syndrome can convince you that you don’t belong, that you’ll fail, that you aren’t enough. For a long time, I let my mind travel down those negative pathways. What if I messed up? What if I wasn’t as good as I needed to be?

But then I learned something critical: what you tell your brain matters. Every time I allowed myself to visualise failure, I was encouraging that very outcome. I allowed my body to be flooded with stress hormones, my mind a whirlwind of self-doubt. Yet, over time, I began to understand that success wasn’t about eliminating the fear. Miraculously, through hard work and sheer determination to get back on stage, I was succeeding. It wasn’t fear that dictated the outcome, but the narrative I was telling myself. I learned to do what my mother had done for me – to regulate my own thoughts and through that, my emotions.

I began to tell myself, ‘I can do this’. I realised that fear didn’t define my ability to succeed. Yes, my body was feeling the stress, but I learned to take deep breaths, calm my mind, distract myself, pray, and still step out on to that stage and give my best. More often than not, I succeeded. In fact, I found that by embracing my fear rather than fighting it, I could channel that energy into my performance.

The biggest message I want to share is this: fear does not predict failure, nor does it define success. Fear doesn’t have to be a roadblock; it can be part of the journey. Accept it as part of the price you pay to be a vessel for this incredible art form. What truly matters is how you respond to the fear. Instead of focusing on all the ways things could go wrong, start telling yourself that you will do well, that you can succeed, and most importantly, be grateful for the music and the opportunity to share it.

Every time I walk on to the stage now, I still feel that familiar tension. But it no longer controls me. I’ve learned to trust in my preparation, my passion, and the support that surrounds me – even when that support has to come from within.

And so, to anyone struggling with fear – whether in opera or any other arena – know this: you don’t have to wait for the fear to disappear to succeed. You can walk alongside it and still be victorious. You will do well. You’ve already come this far. 

This article originally appeared in the Winter 2024 issue of Opera Now. Never miss an issue – subscribe today