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Learning to sing again after second puberty (Hormone Replacement Therapy)

  • Writer: yannick-robin eike mirko
    yannick-robin eike mirko
  • Oct 16, 2024
  • 4 min read

Updated: Nov 27, 2024

BEFORE ANYTHING I JUST WANNA MAKE IT CLEAR THAT I AM NOT A DOCTOR THIS IS JUST ME SPEAKING FROM MY EXPERIENCE REMEMBER THAT ANECDOTES ARE NOT SCIENCE OKAY LET'S DO THIS I'M SORRY THIS IS AN ESSAY I DON'T KNOW HOW ELSE TO BE


When I came out to people, I was met with a lot of transphobic questions like, "But, you worked so hard on your voice, why would you ruin it? Wait, I thought you wanted a career in music, why are you destroying your chance? It's all you have, realllllly think about this." The fearmongering almost worked. My voice was what got me out of hell, it was my chance to make the island proud. Should I risk it?


What if I told you they were wrong? What if learning to sing the second time is just like the first? What if it's easier?


It turned out to be a lot of things, some unexpected, some surprising: though none like they talked about. Because ruining your voice through Hormone Replacement Therapy is, in my experience, completely impossible. My response to people before I started was a hypothesis of mine, one that I tested on myself and found successful. You'll sing in a different register potentially, sure. But talent is not determined by a person's octave range. Being a good singer comes from somewhere else: the brain (and the heart...but mostly the brain).


"My future is not dependent of how high or low I can sing: it's dependent on the quality of the sound. Timbre, clarity, clean/not 'airy', you get me. I went to vocal lessons to train my throat but only after my brain understood the cocktail of tools necessary to make sure my cricoid is tilted the right amount for the vowel and so forth. Drop it guys, I've got this."



[ALT: a starry night sky with a row of tree silhouettes across the bottom of the frame.]

And wouldn't you know it, years after having to justify my choice for the millionth time, I turned out to be right. It did take some time, though. For the first bit, I didn't sing much since my voice was trying on different registers to find out which one was the best for it to sit in permanently moving forward. It's "new normal". In the meantime, I became familiar with the other part of musical duets that I never listened to before because it would give me dysphoria before I even knew what the word meant. Grieve your old idols, find new ones. Remember you can always listen to find techniques everywhere, so it's not a waste of time to sing both.


Once my voice began to decorate the walls around its new register, I got in the car alone after dark, found an empty park/trail, got out of the car and started. Slowly - ten minutes at a time. Warm-ups, then one song at mid-volume (you're not gonna belt for some time, kid). A simple tune, that wouldn't take much out of my middle register to try. I made a playlist of songs that would stretch my range from the inside (middle range) to the outside (higher and lower) over a couple of weeks at a time (during Ride The Cyclone I wasn't fully back to my whole voice so, I'm actually embarrassed at how I sounded in that show - live, laugh, love) in non-drastic increments.


The notes that felt intimidating or difficult to do at mid-volume I would try to do at a whisper, as different vowels, with different consonants before them, etc. It's even more difficult to cleanly sing at a whisper for me than any other way, so I started there a lot of the time because by the time I've mastered it that way, singing it louder and with a different part of my throat becomes much easier to access and at times helps me dodge the panic attack of, "WHY CAN'T I SING THIS NOTE THAT WAS ONCE EASY FOR ME" as well as be a lovely surprise to one day go from imagining myself singing along to something to just suddenly, healthy doing it like I used to.


Admittedly I did cry a couple of times during the process, but when I look back at first puberty, I cried so much MORE back then. But I didn't feel at all like I was starting from scratch, or that I was ruined. My brain remembers how to sing healthily, and I care so much about that that I made sure to never forget it. It was scary to try to prove to myself that I still remembered how to work through difficulties singing, and I wasn't always patient with myself. But remember to take breaks instead of pushing yourself. This is a delicate time for your throat, I wouldn't suggest singing with the same (or more) amount of effort/push/energy as before HRT right away, if you hurt yourself it'll take even longer to get to where you want to go.


I don't know if this made any sense to anyone, I'm sorry if it didn't, I'm just trying to help.

p.s. DO NOT DRIVE TO A PARK ALONE AT NIGHT TO PRACTICE SINGING YOU COULD GET KIDNAPPED OR WORSE I WAS DUMB BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD BE FIND SOMEWHERE PRIVATE AND SAFE


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yannick-robin eike mirko [who communicates in Spanish, English, + ASL] is a Manhattan-based Biawaisa/Yamoká-hu/Maorocoti multidisciplinary artist, choreographer, writer, doula and disability justice activist with a rare disease. His work sits at the intersection of movement, access, queer and indigenous survival, death care, and institutional accountability, using the body as archive, protest, and living evidence.

Her relationship with dance and movement has never been linear or purely technical. From Off-Broadway to online, their work has been shaped by access, interruption, advocacy, and forced stillness. Movement and progress, for yannick-robin, is not simply choreography or activism; it is testimony, how a marginalized body speaks when institutions fail to listen. 
 

In 2021, yannick-robin participated in Drawing Breath, a visual and embodied project by Risa Puno that centered marginalized voices during COVID, with yannick-robin representing disabled people. The work focused on breath, endurance, and visibility at a time when disabled lives were being openly treated as expendable. This project cemented their understanding of movement as political: presence itself became resistance.
 

In 2022, disability justice became inseparable from his professional life. He was the first physically disabled actor/musician [acoustic and electric guitar, accordion, glockenspiel, xylophone, tambourine] to play a physically disabled role written through an ableist lens and publicly fought the theatre and writers for accountability. This work was documented in his blog and a documentary, a social media movement, and ultimately led to his inclusion in the University of Minnesota’s Tretter Transgender Oral History Project, archiving his contributions to disability, gender, and labor justice in theatre (the most recent edition/collection of years awaiting entering the public access archive due to funding and completion of editing. Help fund the preservation of non-cis history here).
 

That same year, he worked on Mr. Holland’s Opus at Ogunquit Playhouse as an actor/musician [bugle, trumpet, drum kit], a fully captioned production where his lived experience as a non-cis deaf and physically disabled artist directly informed their performance rhythm, physical storytelling, and musicality. Also in 2022, she performed in the inaugural Breaking the Binary Theatre Festival on Theatre Row under the direction of L Morgan Lee, delivering work as an actor involving monologuing about wheelchair use, access failure, and systemic injustice, using their body not as metaphor, but as evidence. 
 

In 2024 after a year and some change prioritizing deathcare work, they returned to theatre at New York Stage and Film (NYSAF), contributing to the work of disabled choreographer Jerron Herman as an actor/dancer. They also released their multi-genre EP passing that year, which catalogs their multi-instrumental writing and use of music for processing as they fall deeper into grief, hearing loss and deafness, and a world of being misunderstood for not being cis.

In 2025, yannick-robin worked on the developmental process for Jay Alan Zimmerman’s upcoming show Songs for Hands on a Thursday, following Jerron Herman’s recommendation. The project included a residency at New York Theatre Barn’s Choreography Lab and a music workshop premiere, where yannick-robin served as both choreographer and dancer. The piece centered a Deaf father’s death and a CODA grappling with silence; yannick-robin’s role was to integrate sign language into choreography and bridge gaps between sound, access, and movement for d/Deaf performers.
 

Alongside his performance work, yannick-robin has been active in nonprofit and advocacy spaces since 2020. She worked for Imara Jones of TransLash Media, one of TIME Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People of 2023, where they were nominated for a Webby Award as an associate and digital producer for The TransLash Podcast, contributed to The Anti-Trans Hate Machine series, and wrote obituaries for TGNC siblings lost to violence. He has written for TalkDeath on racial disparities and discrimination in death care and other deathcare and injustice related topics and now offers obituary writing, death doulaship, and bereavement counseling for TGNC decedents and their families, people with rare diseases, and disabled communities.


for commissions, death care, speaking engagements and more, press the contact button.
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yannick-robin eike mirko is represented by Arise Artists Agency

© 2026 yannick-robin eike mirko

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