Reparenting Myself Through Spotify

 *I do realize that in November of 2025 that Spotify has become problematic with their use of ICE recruitment ads*

 Fifteen year old me loved her discman. I would sit on the bus to school, not really in the mood to be human in the morning, and listen to my beloved small collection of CDs. Oh those compact discs! The love story I have with them! I was influenced by different friend groups - so I'd listen to G Love & the Special Sauce in one realm, DC Talk with my youth group friends and secretly listen all year round to my Harry Connick Jr, "When My Heart Finds Christmas" album. 

 I don't remember exactly when the discman broke. Might have been during college. In the beginning years of cell phone use - I didn't listen to anything other than downloaded mixtapes and my CDs in the car. And even later, my cassette player in a blasted Dodge Neon. And if you follow the evolution of music technology - I enjoyed the days of the iPod Nano (that girl went with me to the treadmill many times!), to CDs in a minivan, to downloaded music and back to record players. 

 I also broke/lost my iPod and for quite awhile, listened to Pandora and my family account of Spotify. As a family, we listened to Queen and Yo! Gabba Gabba songs, musicals, Bruno Mars, Lady Gaga, Michael Jackson, etc. But I hate Pandora - every time I wanted to scratch that Harry Connick Jr Christmas itch...they'd throw in some Josh Groban. Random selections were no better than the radio. 

My kids have gotten older and more selective in their music tastes. So our family algorithm became a bit scattered and I made the big financial leap to pay for my own Spotify account... a whopping $9.99 a month to save my own playlists and search for that song I haven't heard since junior high. 

 Right before cancer struck - I started an industrial sewing job where we have the freedom to listen to music/podcasts/audiobooks all day long if we desire. And Oh do I desire!! This is when my Spotify account became the best friend I could tote with me anywhere. Phone battery in alignment, of course. I could tap into whatever genre I wanted given what I was feeling that day - and it was mine, all mine. I may sound silly - but as a parent - there aren't a lot of things that are yours. You have to share, a LOT. And not much is private. 

But no one but me and Spotify know what goes on in my headphones. I can listen to a new song I found 15 times in a row and not bother a soul. I can search up all the albums I bought from BMG and recreate the thrill I had listening to them in my tween room. 

Music, and my ownership over what I choose to listen to, has been a very healing element as I navigate the normal challenges of adulthood and parenthood. Sometimes the day is too loud and I just want to hear the Sleeping Beauty ballet music. Sometimes I need to put on my "You're Gonna Cry" playlist and release everything I've been heartbroken over. It's also helping me navigate the not normal parts of life. Where I'm teaching myself to better regulate emotions and reparent myself, as I try to give myself space to understand all that went on after my father died. It's such a strange season in life to be the grown up, but watching your kids live in a much more secure environment than you had. My inner 20 year old, my 17 year old, my 11 year old selves - they are begging to be heard and understood. They want to rage with Tori Amos but also rediscover listening to Janet Jackson at sleepovers. 

There is something deeply comforting about finding your voice again. It's a meditation practice to sing or hum music that is so well known. In your body. It's bringing me back to the root of who I am, but also the root of who I wish I could have been without experiencing so much trauma.