Music as Therapy
Recently I was putting together a mixtape of sorts (I think the kids call them playlists today). Remember those? For me it almost always started with a song and I’d build from there. Finding a group of songs that fit together in such a way as to tell a story, so share a part of myself. I remember the mixtapes I made for friends, the mixtapes that were made for me by friends and loves. Music is such a powerful medium for processing emotions.
In the process of making this mix, I fell down a rabbit hole of songs I hadn’t listened to in a long time. In many ways, it felt like going to a movie and watching trailers of parts of my life. I have said for years that I think being the music director for a film or TV would be a wonderful job for me. This little exercise sort of felt like I was doing that mentally.
In college, my dorm room walls were covered with my handwritten song lyrics – back in the days of cassette tapes and CDs, I would buy new music and rip the package open and read the lyrics start to finish before even listening. Song lyrics have long been my poetry.
There were songs that were from truly blissful moments in my life –
R.E.M’s “Nightswimming” which will forever evoke the delicious joy of 18 kids who just graduated from high school, a group of kids who were so beyond in love with each other and the friendships we had built, all of us on the precipice of college and the changes that would bring for all of us.
Barenaked Ladies “Good Boy”, the song playing the moment I fell in love with my now ex-husband as he revealed so much to me through the lyrics of this beautiful song.
Patty Larkin’s “I Told Him That My Dog Wouldn’t Run” – sitting in a coffee shop in Vancouver at 23, holding hands with the man who at that moment, I was convinced I’d be with forever, listening to a string quartet cover this song, so intoxicated with young and new love.
U2 “Where the Streets Have No Name” – my best friend and I share a deep love for U2 and make it a point to see them together for every tour. This song is us, arm in arm, singing to the points that our throats ache while jumping up and down – pure joy.
There were also the songs from moments of heartbreak and healing –
Peter Gabriel’s “Don’t Give Up” - the summer after my freshman year of college, I would go to the local elementary school and sit on the swings and listen to this song and repeat over and over again as a meditation to just keep going, no matter how hard and painful and sad everything felt in my life. I have said many a time that this song saved my life and that’s truly not hyperbole.
Katie Herzig’s “Wish You Well” – this song is the perfect description of how I felt in the midst of deep heartbreak in 2014 and it became the roadmap for finding myself again. It was seeing myself through someone else’s eyes that gave me the push to move past his eyes and find my own way, no longer dependent upon anyone else to know that I am good, whole, and enough, just as I am.
Sarah McLachlan’s “Hold On” – driving through the Columbia River Gorge, making peace with many of upended pieces of my life, mourning that which would never be, celebrating the tremendous gifts that sat in front of me if I was just willing to open my eyes and see them.
Counting Crows “Miami” – early morning spinning classes, my brain screaming that I had to leave my 2nd marriage, tears pouring down my face and being insanely grateful that spinning classes are held in the dark and the sweat pouring down my face was a cover for the tears I was wiping away.
I have processed so much of my joy, fears, heartbreaks, hopes, and dreams through the venue of music. When walking friends through pain or supporting clients through an issue, I often point them to the music in their lives – how can we use what comes up with lyrics and melody to access what is going on in our heart and soul? How can we use it as a conduit for forward movement?
