We Always Had Music

As a kid, I didn’t have much, but we always had music. We moved a lot growing up in an Army family. There were periods when we didn’t have a couch or a bed, but my dad always had stereo equipment. Looking back, that detail says a lot about the place music held in our lives. Even when we were still getting settled and the house was missing furniture, there was something to listen to.

When you move often, you spend a lot of time adjusting. Different homes, different schools, different people.

Music was something familiar I could carry into each new place. A song didn’t change because our address did. I could hear a familiar voice or melody and feel connected to something I already knew.

That relationship with music has stayed with me. It has helped me through so many difficult periods of my life. Sometimes a song gave words to feelings I couldn’t explain. Other times, I didn’t want to explain anything. I wanted to listen, sing, cry, dance, or have a few minutes when whatever I was carrying didn’t require my full attention.

This week, seeing Erykah Badu and Jill Scott felt renewing. There was the excitement of seeing them live, of course, but there was also something personal about hearing music that has accompanied different parts of my life. I could enjoy who I am today while remembering the woman I was when certain songs first meant something to me. I left feeling replenished.

It also made me think about the conversations we have in therapy. We spend time understanding what hurts, how it started, and what needs to change. There is also value in asking what has helped us get this far. What brought comfort before we had the language to ask for it? What made us feel understood? What still gives us access to joy?

For me, music belongs in that conversation. It is part of how I have made sense of my experiences and found moments of relief within them. That doesn’t mean every song makes me feel better. Some bring grief or memories I wasn’t expecting. But even then, music can help me recognize something I need to acknowledge.

You don’t need to be especially musical to explore this in your own life or in therapy. You might start with a song you return to when things are hard, one that reminds you of someone, or one that makes you feel most like yourself. The meaning you attach to it may open a conversation that is difficult to begin any other way.

Seeing Badu and Jill Scott reminded me to make room for something that has supported me for years. Music has been present through uncertainty, change, and some very hard days. This week, I got to experience it from a place of joy, and I’m grateful for that.