Finding Safety in Music/Your Passions

"Discomfort endlessly has pulled itself upon me, distracting, reacting. Against my will I stand beside my own reflection; it's haunting how I can't seem to find myself again; my walls are closing in." ~ Chester Bennington, 1976 - 2017.

The first time I heard "Crawling" by Linkin Park, I was probably 12 years old. It's unlikely at that time that I had any type of formal recognition of what those lyrics meant, but here's the thing: I didn't need to. I felt what was being conveyed and connected deeply to the emotion. I recall thinking, "Wow, he's fed up; this guy has something to say, and I'm here for it." "Crawling" wasn't just a hit record. This guy was struggling.

At the same time, I was feeling understood, a feeling so many struggle to gain access to today. There was an emotional release for the artist in this music; how wonderful. Not only that, it's relatable; I know there was a part of me feeling the very same way – it's just that I usually kept it to myself. I began to realise how music had the ability to harness and convey feelings in a potent manner, even the uncomfortable ones. I could feel what the music was communicating, even in times when the lyrics weren't exactlyrelevant or when there weren't any at all. In psychotherapy, this is quite similar to the process of active listening.

Although I had some brilliant musical collections concerning ideas about love, storytelling and adventure, it was as if I had found a sound for so many feelings that weren't traditionally welcomed throughout any given day. Back then, I felt that maybe it was only myself who felt such ways about myself and the world. Yet, here he is, unapologetically putting those feelings into words, in such a way that had me figuring out how I could get his voice on my iPod to listen to on repeat.


Music is in many ways a therapy; a place where all emotions are welcome, it often comes from the heart and can be played or recorded for those who may connect through a melodic display of empathy.

As I find myself in private practice, I find that I am still faced with many of the remnants of feelings I had long ago, back when I first began forming my own opinions about the human experience. Upon reflection, those feelings always came and went, and it was always easier with company. I'm forever grateful for the old computer speaker, the Skullcandy earphones, and the blaring amplifiers at concerts I attended when I was younger. They all served as a close confidant for when there were no words to articulate the pain.

Maybe psychotherapy is another way for those wanting/needing support to feel accompanied in their struggle. My goals in this profession? I hope to continue providing this experience of feeling heard, or that somebody "gets it" when life gets overwhelming.

I write this note proudly, as a professional, but also as a huge fan of Chester, a man who shared such a vast array of emotion in a way that undoubtedly struck those who were able to listen. Rest in Peace.