Katherine Vicente Podcast

When I read today’s Stoic passage about humility and learning, it struck me immediately because of where I am in my life right now. I am in a season of being taught from many directions at once. I am studying, I am training, and I am also doing the work of self-development and facing emotional wounds so that I can show up better in every other responsibility I carry. In all of these areas, I keep running into the same lesson: learning is not only about effort. It is also about humility (Aurelius, Meditations).At first, humility can sound passive, almost decorative, like a nice trait to have. But I do not think that is what this kind of humility is. The humility required for learning is much more demanding than that. It asks you to face what you do not know without collapsing into shame. It asks you to be corrected without turning correction into a wound to your identity. It asks you to admit that someone else may see more clearly than you do in a given moment, and that this does not diminish you. It helps shape you.I have been feeling this very deeply in classical singing. Singing is not just something you master by wanting it badly enough. It is not even something you improve through practice alone. Of course discipline matters. Lessons matter. Repetition matters. But so much of vocal growth depends on being teachable. It depends on being willing to hear, again and again, that something needs adjustment: the breath, the jaw, the vowel, the support, the placement, the tension you did not realize you were carrying. In that kind of work, the teacher is not there to praise your potential in vague terms. The teacher is there to tell the truth.And that truth can be uncomfortable. A teacher who is honest and demanding will not let you hide inside your habits. They will point directly to what is not working. They will hear or see what you cannot yet recognize for yourself. They will insist on precision. If your ego is too involved, that can feel brutal. It can feel like exposure. But I am learning that this is one of the greatest gifts a student can receive: a teacher who cares enough about your growth to be truthful with you.Not because harshness is good in itself, but because honesty is.There is a difference.A good teacher does not protect your feelings at the expense of your development. They also do not shame you for where you are. They listen, identify the issue, and ask for adjustment. That kind of guidance tests both ego and humility because it forces you to decide what correction means. Does it mean you are inadequate? Or does it mean you are learning?That question matters to me because I am realizing how easy it is to confuse a technical problem with a personal failure. If I do not understand something right away, if I cannot execute something yet, if I need the same correction more than once, there is a part of me that wants to make that mean something bigger. It wants to turn the moment into a verdict: maybe I am behind, maybe I am not good enough, maybe I should already know this. But that interpretation is not humility. It is perfectionism.Perfectionism does something cruel to the learning process. It takes a normal part of growth, not knowing, and turns it into evidence of unworthiness. It says that struggling is embarrassing, that confusion is a weakness, that needing help is proof that something is wrong with you. But that is not true. Not understanding something is not the same as failing. It is not even the same as being unprepared. Sometimes it simply means you are in the middle of learning, which is exactly where you are supposed to be.One line that stayed with me from Marta Segrelles’s Querida mamá, me dueles says it with disarming clarity: “no sabemos hacer las cosas hasta que sabemos cómo se hacen” (Segrelles, loc. 566). We do not know how to do things until we know how they are done. It is such a simple sentence, but it names something essential. We are not born knowing. We do not arrive at mastery untouched by confusion. Understanding takes time. Sometimes it takes repetition. Sometimes it takes a different explanation, a different image, a different teacher, a different season of life. Everybody has their own way of understanding. The fact that something takes time to click does not make it less real when it does.That has been true for me not only in singing, but also in college. Going back to school has brought me face to face with the experience of learning in public again. There are concepts I grasp quickly and others I need to sit with longer. There are moments when I can feel the old temptation to think that not knowing something right away somehow subtracts from who I am. But I am trying to reject that way of thinking. What I am learning in school is not there to diminish what I already know, but to add to it. Education is not supposed to erase me. It is supposed to expand me.That distinction feels deeply important to me.There is a big difference between saying, “I do not understand this yet,” and saying, “There is something wrong with me because I do not understand this yet.” One statement leaves the door open. The other closes it. One is the voice of humility. The other is the voice of shame.And I think that is part of why this reflection connects for me not only to Stoicism and to singing, but also to what I am reading right now about the mother wound, perfectionism, and emotional development. So much perfectionism seems to come from the belief that our worth is always being evaluated, that every mistake reveals something defective about us, that every gap in our understanding places us at risk of rejection. In that mindset, correction does not feel like guidance. It feels like danger.That is why another idea from Segrelles stayed with me too: the importance of moving through what we feel “sin juicio y sin avergonzarnos” (without judgment and without shaming ourselves) (Segrelles, locs. 571–572). I keep thinking about how relevant that is to learning. Many of us were taught, directly or indirectly, that making mistakes should embarrass us, that not understanding something quickly means we are behind, that struggle is something to hide. But that only makes the learning process more rigid, fearful, and defensive.Learning cannot fully open under that kind of pressure. Or rather, it survives in a distorted form: anxious, overcontrolled, and overidentified with performance. You may still achieve things, but the process becomes full of fear. You stop meeting difficulty with curiosity and start meeting it with self-judgment. You stop listening for what is being asked of you and start listening for what your mistakes supposedly say about your value.Humility interrupts that whole chain of thought. Humility says: I am allowed to be unfinished. I am allowed not to know yet. I am allowed to need correction. None of that makes me less worthy. It just makes me a person in the process of learning.To me, that is one of the hardest and most beautiful truths of being a student in any form: a voice student, a college student, a human being trying to grow. You do not get better by pretending you already know. You get better by staying open long enough to be changed.And openness requires security. It requires enough inner steadiness to let someone tell you the truth without making that truth mean that you are broken. It requires enough self-respect to tolerate being a beginner, or being in transition, or being less polished than you want to be. It requires enough faith to believe that your current limits are not your final form.That idea also connects with another line from Segrelles about “la seguridad en la exploración”: feeling accompanied and safe enough to do the things that scare us progressively, to make our own decisions, and to remain open to making mistakes (Segrelles, loc. 587). I think that is what real learning needs. Not constant reassurance, and not indulgence, but enough safety to keep experimenting. Enough grounding to keep adjusting. Enough humility to understand that mistakes are not proof of worthlessness; they are part of exploration.I think this is what I am trying to practice now: separating my current level from my worth. When a teacher corrects me, they are not reducing me. They are helping me refine something. When I do not understand a concept in school right away, that does not make me small. It means I am learning. When something in me reacts with embarrassment or frustration, that reaction itself becomes part of the lesson. It shows me where my ego still wants certainty, speed, and perfection. It shows me where humility still needs to grow.And maybe that is the real work.Not just learning the material. Not just improving the technique. But learning how to stay soft enough, steady enough, and honest enough to receive what the lesson is actually trying to give you.More and more, I think one of life’s greatest blessings is finding teachers, mentors, and guides who tell the truth. The ones who do not flatter you. The ones who do not let you settle. The ones who see what could be better and trust that you are strong enough to face it. That kind of truth can sting, but it also clears the path. It gives you something real to work with. It invites you out of performance and into practice.And practice, real practice, is always humbling.Maybe that is why humility is not the opposite of confidence. Maybe it is what makes real confidence possible. Not the fragile kind that depends on always getting things right, but the grounded kind that can survive being corrected, being stretched, being shown what still needs work. The kind that says: I do not know everything, and that is not a tragedy. It is the beginning.For now, that is the lesson I keep returning to: not knowing is okay. Not understanding immediately is okay. Needing time is okay. Being corrected is okay. None of those things diminish me. They are part of how I grow. And if I can meet them with humility instead of shame, then maybe I can finally receive learning for what it is: not a threat to who I am, but an invitation to become more.ReferencesAurelius, Marcus. Meditations.Segrelles, Marta. Querida mamá, me dueles. Kindle edition, 2026. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

He came back, but it wasn't the same. I mean, he was the same, but I wasn't.I became insensitive to the poison of his words, to his touch that was once magical—same hands, same lips, but not the guy I imagined him to be.A few months passed. I worked a lot on my fears and insecurities.I knew when he came back something was different. I didn't listen to myself. This time it doesn't hurt that he left. I believe people can change, but sometimes they just get worse. I truly needed that perception of connection I had maintained for so many years. I closed the door—why did I open it?He ended my hopes, my steady slope. He came with his story, the same tired words as always, the same hopeful bedroom eyes I always fell for. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

Mom,In the shadows of our yesterdays,Where pain and love intertwine,I write these words to bridge the spaceBetween your heart and mine.Through storms of harsh words spoken,Through tears we both have shed,I see now you were broken too,Fighting fears I never read.Remember when you held me close,In hospital halls so white?When you fed me, taught me, dressed me up,Making dark days shine so bright?Those precious moments scatter like starsAcross our troubled sky,The birthday meals, the pretty clothes,Your love that wouldn't die.We're daughters both, imperfect souls,Carrying wounds from different times,You did your best with what you knew,While I judged with words unkind.Let's build anew from broken pieces,Learn each other, day by day,Not perfect friends, but something more:Mother and daughter, finding our way.My mother, my mirror, my strength divine,Through years of love and pain we shine.You shaped me with your hands so worn,From your struggles, I was bornInto the woman I am today -Strong, resilient, finding my way.Who am I to judge your path?When from your love, I learned to laugh. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

Mami:En las sombras de nuestros ayeres,Donde dolor y amor se entrelazan,Escribo estas palabras para unirEl espacio entre tu corazón y el mío.A través de tormentas de palabras hirientes,A través de lágrimas que ambas derramamos,Ahora veo que tú también estabas rota,Luchando contra miedos que nunca percibí.¿Recuerdas cuando me abrazabasEn los pasillos blancos del hospital?Cuando me alimentabas, me enseñabas, me vestías,Haciendo brillar los días oscuros.Esos momentos preciosos se esparcen como estrellasA través de nuestro cielo turbulento,Las comidas de cumpleaños, la ropa bonita,Tu amor que nunca murió.Somos hijas ambas, almas imperfectas,Cargando heridas de diferentes épocas,Hiciste lo mejor que sabías,Mientras yo juzgaba con palabras crueles.Construyamos de nuevo desde los pedazos rotos,Aprendamos la una de la otra, día a día,No amigas perfectas, sino algo más:Madre e hija, encontrando nuestro camino.Mi madre, mi espejo, mi fuerza divina,A través de años de amor y dolor brillamos.Me moldeaste con tus manos gastadas,De tus luchas, yo nacíEn la mujer que soy hoy -Fuerte, resiliente, encontrando mi camino.¿Quién soy yo para juzgar tu sendero?Cuando de tu amor, aprendí a reír. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

Construyendo fuerza nota a nota,Como un río que crece en silencio,Rompiendo cadenas oxidadasQue antes me ataban al suelo.No soy quien fui ayer;La sombra que era se desvanece,Aunque sus huellas permanecenGrabadas en mi piel.El miedo regresa como marea,Celosa guardiana de mis pasos,Susurrando amor envenenado,Queriendo retener lo que ya vuela.Pero crezco, como árbol hacia el cielo,Dejando atrás las viejas mentirasQue antes creí verdades eternas;Ahora son solo ecos que se alejan. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

In this candid episode, I explore the journey of personal growth through trusting your intuition and embracing imperfection. I share my experiences with following spiritual signals, pursuing musical development despite challenges, and the liberation that comes from detaching self-worth from creative output.This raw conversation examines how consistent practice—whether in music, creativity, or self-acceptance—leads to meaningful progress, even when the path feels uncertain. Join me as I discuss finding fulfillment through daily dedication rather than perfectionism, and how combining learning methods can accelerate your growth in any discipline. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

This episode is all about the importance of showing up for yourself and loving who you are. Whether it’s following your passion for music, spending time with loved ones, enjoying nature, or reading a good book, this episode reminds you that your dreams matter—no explanation needed. Through personal stories about practicing music, imagining success, and celebrating small wins, this episode inspires you to be your own biggest cheerleader. Recorded on a sunny day in New York City, it also talks about finding joy in simple things, like feeling the sun after a cold winter. Life is short, and this episode encourages you to go after what makes you happy. Tune in for motivation, self-belief, and a push to keep working toward your dreams, step by step. Remember, your dreams are worth fighting for, and it all starts with you. Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe

In this episode, we explore the transformative wisdom of Florence Scovel Shinn’s The Game of Life and How to Play It. From understanding the power of affirmations to aligning with universal principles, we break down the key strategies to navigate life’s challenges and turn your dreams into reality. Whether you’re new to the book or a longtime fan, this conversation will inspire you to rethink your approach to success, relationships, and personal growth. Tune in to learn how to play the game of life—and win! Get full access to Kath Vicente at kathvicente.substack.com/subscribe