My earliest memories have a soundtrack. It’s reported that I sang TLC’s No Scrubs around the house before I was five, and cried to Edwin McCain’s I’ll Be before I could adequately tie my shoes.
As I aged, the trend continued. I remember what song played during my first winter formal slow dance at 15 (Apologize by One Republic, which in hindsight, was a bizarre choice by the DJ), what played in the car the first time my would-be husband picked me up for a date (My Heart by Paramore), and, of course, the songs that played on repeat when I most needed music—when I was too sad to do anything but search for solace within the lyrics and melodies of my favorite songs.
I was in 7th grade when I got my first iPod (the silver iPod nano). My parents raised an eyebrow when I filled my playlists with divorced dad rock (see: Hinder and Daughtry) and songs with lyrics that should’ve indicated that I was in the early stages of what would become severe clinical depression (see: Linkin Park and Hollywood Undead).
The bands that became my favorites during junior high (Linkin Park, The Fray, and Paramore), remained my favorites throughout high school, undergrad, and beyond—so much so that they are still in my rotation today, eighteen years later.
When people say “emo is a phase,” or suggest listening to emo/rock/metal/pop rock/pop punk is the result of a temporary bout of teenage angst, I’d argue that these people neglect to acknowledge the impact these songs have on the little “emo kids” (who eventually become “emo adults”).
Before I could name the feeling of depression, I cried when The Fray said Maybe God can be on both sides of the gun. Before I knew how to ask for help, I wrote (and circled) Linkin Park’s lyric, When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done / Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed in my journal. Before I could understand how my depression affected everyone who loved me, Paramore’s lines So why can’t you stay just long enough to explain? replayed in my head. Music was my gospel, my prayer, my saving grace. An incantation that helped keep me alive.
Music can also be dangerous if I’m not mindful. Three years ago, when I was in Paris with my husband, my sister, and my friend Kayla, Kayla heard me listening to Me & My Dog by boygenius when I was getting ready for the day. She approached me and said, “Did you even try to be happy today?”
Most recently—two weeks ago—I listened to Past Lives by Jay Som (ft. Hayley Williams), so many times in a row that I became such a wreck that I crashed out (see: emailed my therapist), who quickly asked for an impromptu session, sat with me, and helped me understand why the song was affecting me so deeply. After discovering that reason (see: me struggling to reconcile with my past selves + forgive myself for surviving), they suggested that we have an extra session each week for the foreseeable future.
There are parts of myself that I have trouble accessing, and music acts as a leech on my brain and my heart. When I need the most vulnerable parts of myself to come to the surface, listening to a sad song is the quickest way for that to happen.
For me, emo was never a phase, it was an entry way. It allowed—and continues to allow—me to name what I was feeling and understand that nothing was wrong with me for feeling it.
If I enter a mood where all I want to listen to is an old Linkin Park album on repeat, I know this means there is something tender that needs to be addressed. And when I want my younger self to feel connected to who I am now, I put on my headphones, turn them up as high as they can go, and thank everything in the universe that there are things that can help me feel more like myself.
the aforementioned Past Lives by Jay Som (ft. Hayley Williams) because i’m still not over it
all the love, all the warmth, all the light,
i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!
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unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3
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who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.
who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.
if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)
Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673
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