Finding My Voice Beyond The Music

Sometimes it feels like my dad just doesn’t *get* what I do with this blog. He sees writing about music as a hobby, a way to fill time between homework and whatever else I'm supposed to be doing, which is mostly chores these days. It’s not that he actively discourages me; it's more like he expects it to fade away when something "real" comes along. College applications, a serious job, *something*. He doesn't understand the quiet thrill of someone, somewhere, actually reading what I write and connecting with it. That tiny rush after the Phoebe Bridgers show – seeing those numbers on the blog jump because someone reblogged from Tumblr – that was… validating, in a way nothing else has been.

I’ve always felt drawn to songs about heartbreak, even when I hadn't truly experienced it myself. It wasn’t about wanting to be sad; it was more like there was something comforting, something *understandable*, in those melodies and lyrics. Now, looking back, I think that’s because a lot of what I thought was just sadness was actually anxiety, a buzzing feeling under my skin that needed somewhere to go. The songs gave me a language for that – for the discomfort, the restlessness, the vague sense of being on edge.

My mom is supportive in her own way. She prints out my articles and sticks them on the fridge with magnets shaped like guitars. It’s a lovely gesture, but I suspect she mostly sees it as “something nice [my name] does.” She doesn’t dissect what I'm writing about; she just cheers me on. Which is good, I guess. But sometimes I want someone to ask *why* I feel compelled to write these things, why certain songs hit so hard, why relationships often seem like a minefield of potential disappointment.

There’s this idea – that how you interact with people as an adult has roots in how things were when you were little. It's not about blaming anyone or saying childhood experiences are excuses for bad behavior now, but more about recognizing patterns. I remember feeling intensely responsible for my parents' moods, needing to smooth things over after arguments, wanting to just… make everyone okay. It feels like a habit now, anticipating needs and bracing myself before any interaction, hoping to preemptively solve problems that probably weren’t even mine to fix.

And then the relationships... I've had crushes that consumed me. Times when my world felt entirely defined by whether someone liked me back, or how much they seemed to like me on a given day. It wasn't about them, not really; it was about finding some external validation for an internal feeling of…something missing. That feeling is hard to describe – it’s more than sadness, more than loneliness. It's a hollowness that I thought someone else could fill.

I read something recently (from studies looking at this stuff) about how some people learn to manage their anxiety by getting really focused on another person, trying to control the relationship and through that, control their own emotional state. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It's like…if you can convince yourself that someone else is responsible for your happiness, then you don't have to deal with figuring out where *that* happiness comes from inside yourself. Which feels exhausting.

I think it has something to do with learning how to feel – truly and completely – without needing to avoid the uncomfortable parts. Not pushing down those feelings, but letting them exist alongside other thoughts and sensations, without automatically acting on them or defining your entire identity by them. It’s about realizing that you're more than just a feeling—more than just the anxious daughter, the girl with the too-intense crushes.

Learning to find peace doesn’t mean suddenly becoming detached or emotionally numb. It’s about cultivating a sense of inner stability so that those inevitable disappointments – the ones everyone experiences – don't knock you off your feet entirely. Maybe that's what I want this blog to be, not just a place to write about music but a space to explore how to navigate all of that - the anxieties and the longings and the need to figure out who I am when there’s no one else around to define me.