To the world, Shania Twain is the fearless queen of country-pop. Her voice brought stadiums to their feet and made millions sing along to empowering anthems like “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” and “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” But there was a time when those very songs—the ones that defined her career—became the source of her deepest fear.
After the massive success of the late 1990s and early 2000s, Shania Twain seemingly had it all: global fame, record-breaking albums, and a devoted fanbase. But behind the scenes, something was quietly breaking down. Shania began experiencing vocal issues she couldn’t explain. Her once-powerful voice started fading, cracking, refusing to obey.
For years, she suffered in silence, unable to understand what was happening. Doctors misdiagnosed her condition until she was finally told she had Lyme disease. The disease had gone undetected for too long and had caused lasting nerve damage to her vocal cords. Her instrument—her voice—was no longer reliable.
As a singer, especially one whose entire identity was built around vocal expression, this diagnosis was devastating. But for Shania, the heartbreak went deeper than the physical.
These weren’t just any songs. They were her songs. They told the story of her survival, her power, her rebellion against stereotypes. Every line was tied to a moment of triumph. And suddenly, she couldn’t sing them anymore—not without fear, not without pain, not without remembering who she used to be.
In interviews, she has admitted that she avoided performing her own hits for years—not because she stopped loving them, but because they became emotionally overwhelming. Singing those songs reminded her of the voice she had lost, of the woman who could command a room with a single belt note. It was too much to face.
It wasn’t just about technical difficulty—it was grief.
Complicating matters further was the collapse of her marriage with longtime producer and creative partner Robert “Mutt” Lange. The man who helped co-write and craft those mega-hits had betrayed her in the most personal way. Singing the songs they made together felt like walking through emotional landmines.
She stepped away from the stage. She needed time. Time to heal physically. Time to make peace with a different voice. And most of all, time to redefine herself.
Eventually, Shania began rebuilding. She underwent procedures to stabilize her vocal cords and worked with vocal coaches to develop a new singing technique. Her voice returned—but it was not the same. It was lower, huskier, more textured. At first, it scared her. But then, she realized: this voice told a new story.
A story of someone who had been broken, but not defeated.
When she finally returned with the album “Now” in 2017, it was more than a comeback. It was a reclamation. She began performing her classic hits again—not the way she used to, but with a fresh honesty. No longer about technical perfection, the songs now carried scars, wisdom, and soul.
Today, when Shania performs “You’re Still the One” or “From This Moment On,” she’s not just singing for the crowd—she’s singing for the woman she used to be, the one who nearly lost her voice and her self-worth, but chose to fight back.
She sings those songs not to relive the past, but to honor it—and to remind her fans that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means owning your journey, even the painful parts.
And when she stands under the lights now, there’s a different kind of power. Not from vocal acrobatics, but from resilience. From singing not because she has to—but because she still can.