When Everything Feels Like Too Much, I Turn to Music
Everything feels like too much lately. Too much uncertainty. Too much pressure to keep up with a world that never really slows down.
And when it gets like that, I don’t really look for answers.
I turn to music.
Because it’s the one thing that still knows how to turn the volume of everything else down.
Music was always there first.
Music has always been a safe space in my life.
When I was growing up, it was CDs and cassettes that went everywhere with me. On the bus to school. Between classes. Anytime I could get a moment alone with my thoughts.
Bands and artists weirdly felt like friends. Especially during the awkward years, when things felt off, and I didn't have the words for it yet. Honestly, I still feel that way — isolation isn't exactly getting better.
Then COVID happened
If there’s one moment that made everything feel more real, it’s COVID.
By now, people almost talk about it like it was some distant chapter. But for me, it wasn’t that far away from something that actually shifted things.
Around that time, August 2020, I was diagnosed with a mental health disorder.
I remember sitting on my porch when my doctor called me. Just sitting there, not really moving. When she told me, I felt something I didn’t expect…relief. The relief that it was not all in my head, and I hate to say this…going crazy.
And after I hung up, I didn’t really know what to do with that feeling.
So, I went to my playlist, hit the shuffle button, and a song came on that really put everything into perspective.
And “Kite” by U2 came on.
Out of everything in my library, that’s the song that played.
“Who’s to say what will break you? I don’t know where the wind will blow.”
I don’t know if it was random or if it just felt perfectly timed, but it hit in a way I can’t really explain.
That song is about letting go of control. About change. About not knowing what comes next but still moving through it anyway.
And that was exactly where I was.
Trying to understand a diagnosis. Trying to figure out therapy, medication, and what it all meant. Trying to figure out how to talk about it, or whether I even should.
And also just trying to sit with the fact that nothing really felt stable anymore.
Music started carrying more weight than before
After that, I started noticing how certain songs would stay with me differently.
Fetch the Bolt Cutters by Fiona Apple.
The Garden State soundtrack, songs like:
Coldplay’s “Don’t Panic.”
“Let Go” by Frou Frou.
I wasn’t just listening to them. I was kind of living inside them.
They became part of daily walks, where I didn’t really want silence but also didn’t want noise from the world either.
It wasn’t escapism exactly.
It was more like… something finally matching what I was feeling.
What music actually does
Sometimes, no medication, therapist, friend, or family member can do what music does in that moment.
Not because those things don’t matter—they do.
But because music doesn’t ask you to explain yourself.
You just put your headphones on and exist inside it.
Inside the lyrics. The sound. The emotion.
And for a little while, everything feels a bit less heavy. A bit more understandable. A bit less like you’re carrying it alone.
Why vinyl still matters in all of this
Even now, I still go back to music in a very intentional way, especially vinyl.
There’s something about it that forces you to slow down.
You don’t scroll. You don’t skip endlessly. You don’t get pulled into everything else happening on your phone.
You just listen.
Start to finish.
And in a world where everything is fast and fragmented, that feels almost rare now.
Because in the end
Music doesn’t take me away from life.
It brings me back to it.
Beautifully said.