Crystal Shawanda photo courtesy of SonyBMG Nashville.

There are several overriding themes in my life that keep me sane.

One: My mother never taught me I'm different...so I don't believe people are different. We're so much more the same than different.

Two: Wait for the good to come. Never lose hope.

Three: Music is my lifeline to my family, my world, and my soul. It is my prayer.

Four: I'm learning to be strong enough to share myself, to talk about what hurts.

I stomp my feet when I sing. I only started doing that when I stopped holding back my feelings. Now I release everything into the song. One time I stomped so much at Tootsie's that my boot heel got stuck in the floor and I couldn't get it out. Finally, I pulled so hard that the bottom piece of my stiletto heel came off in the floor. The floors at Tootsie's are that old!

Shawanda means "Dawn of a New Day." Sometimes on the res, a new day is what we needed. Music gave me that. I sing music to free myself. My name and my dream are the same.

So many little things I take for granted now. I have the means to eat healthy foods. On the res, we think young is old. There's no money for healthy foods. My grandma died at 62. We lost her so young, but 62 on the reservation is old age, to live that long. As a sign of respect, my mother and I would do her hair with great respect and care, and I would sing "Where the Sweet Grass Blows." Sweet grass, to us, is the hair of Mother Earth.

When we talk about extended family, we mean the whole village. When any small group of us gather, we always exchange stories. That's how we love each other. My husband was officially welcomed to the family when he got his own story. We depend on each other. Each soul is a character, a vital piece to our whole. When one is gone, it is hard not to crumble.

My talk is different than my singing. I'm strong when I have to be and soft when I need to be. I throw everything I have into my song; I close my eyes, and when I open them, I realize I'm stomping and jumping to the beat. It just comes out of me.

I remember when I almost lost my dream. I had gradually lost my confidence. I woke up one day and realized that I used to lose myself in my music while I sang. I had stopped allowing the music to heal me. I had stopped being in it. I was losing what had saved me. I was smothering my dream. So, I started singing my songs over and over again and figuring out what was me. What did I feel strongly enough to lose myself in? That was my pathway to myself. It was a scary thing to live through. But I recovered the dream, and found the road back to who I was.