I’ve noticed that some stories of childhood trauma are more socially acceptable than others. Stories of parental neglect or schoolmate bullying are palatable for public conversation; other stories are darker, and make people very uncomfortable - those are the stories people don’t really want to hear. I have one of those stories. 

My parents met at my father’s record store. They were married in Vegas; I think they started off having a really good time. When I was four years old my mother committed suicide. The circumstances of her death were especially gruesome; I’m not going to get into those details right now, but suffice it to say that in addition to the grieving itself, there’s a lot that goes with the aftermath; the social stigma, understanding that some people look at me quite differently once they know the whole story.

I was blessed with a father who provided the basics as well as encouragement towards a good education. However, he, like all of us, had his limits. He was never able to appreciate the devastation I felt at my mothers passing; he didn’t believe in therapy or counseling, so I didn’t receive any, nor did he take it upon himself to tell me anything about her. And ultimately, he was unable or unwilling to accept me as I am; we had very different ideas about what I should do and who I should be. I wanted to be a musician, an artist; he wanted me to get a degree in something practical and be something practical. He wanted me to fit in.

I never felt that I fit in with my family. I never felt a sense of emotional safety with them. I was the rebel, the black sheep, the problem. I finally got enough of the whole scene; my ongoing struggle to feel accepted and respected by my family was incredibly frustrating and demoralizing. I finally accepted that I would never feel right in that environment and I let it go. I have been no contact with my entire family for 19 years; no contact is a controversial thing and it’s not for everyone, but it works for me. My family found what they needed in each other. I found what I needed in music. 

Music is my oldest friend; it has always transported me to a better place. Music has delivered me from darkness, despair, and confusion of every kind. My love for music has always helped me find relief, find hope, find joy, find myself. So much of the heartbreak of life comes from being let down, finding out that something or someone is not what you believed them to be. I haven’t had that problem with music, not ever. The music industry has broken my heart no doubt, and there are definitely some musicians who’ve thrown me for a loop, but music itself is still the same pure, true friend I found in childhood. 

When I’m hurting, feeling like my whole life is a mess, a song can break through all the noise and confusion; sometimes it’s the remarkable beauty and cleverness of a truly well written song, sometimes it’s an amazing instrumental solo that communicates something raw and true and human; sometimes it’s a funky beat that gets inside of me, making me move and simply forget to be sad; sometimes it’s a voice of a singer whose tone or style is so compelling that it distracts me from anything else.

Music reminds me of the best things in life, in myself and in others. Music keeps me alive.

Namaste.