The Other Side of Nice

I used to tease my son that the reason he had anxiety was because he listened to heavy metal music. It was too much for my racing mom brain on the way to school. “We should listen to something less intense,” I’d joke. Truthfully, I believe music was his escape — just like it has been for most of us at one time or another. A place to put the feelings that didn’t yet have words, a place to feel understood without having to explain

Healing doesn’t always come wrapped in quiet. Sometimes it comes through a pounding drum, a raw voice, and words that hit straight to the heart.

I’ve always believed music creates connection. One of the best decisions I ever made was taking my daughter to a Taylor Swift concert when she was just five. It became “our thing” — dissecting lyrics, learning new phrases, finding meaning in lines that somehow fit our lives. It’s a bond we’ll always have.

My son, Mitchell, showed me that same kind of connection can happen through very different music.

I’ll never forget the first time he put Bullet for My Valentine on my speakers and the singer screamed, “LET’S GOOOOOOO.” My nervous system immediately went into fight-or-flight. But then he started explaining the lyrics, what the song meant to him, and suddenly I understood; there was emotion there, pain, strength, release and meaning. Just like the songs I loved when I was growing up.

Last summer, I loaned my car to him for the afternoon while his was in the shop.  Shortly there after, my daughter and I were out and about when she pointed out that my bass was cranked so high the mirrors were vibrating. We looked at each other and, without even saying his name at first, just laughed and said, “Mitchell.”

I grew up on AC/DC, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and yes, Metallica to name a few. In my humble opinion, the 80s and 90s were the best era for music — raw, emotional, and unapologetically real.

Recently, I started revisiting those old playlists to pump myself up on walks and workouts. When Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters came on, I expected motivation. Instead, I found myself listening — really listening — to lyrics I’d known for years.

That opening line “Forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters.”

Simple words, but they landed differently this time. I know the song was written about a long-distance relationship, but what I hear is something else entirely; trust yourself, take your own path, stay true to who you are, even when it’s hard, even when the world is loud.

These days my Spotify is all over the place. Country, rock, pop, the occasional 70s ballad. (Love that for me)  Because music isn’t just sound, it’s memory, emotion, healing, and release. Maybe the genre doesn’t matter as much as the message that finds its way to your spirit. The reminder that you’re allowed to feel, to be strong, to be vulnerable, and most of all, to trust yourself.

Two people can hear the same song and walk away with completely different truths, both valid. That’s the magic of it. Music meets you exactly where you are, and gives you what you need, even if the artist never intended it that way.

This post is for you, Mitchell. You’re turning 28 this week, and you’ve already lived through more than many do in a lifetime. Your resilience has always been there; sometimes loud, sometimes fierce, sometimes carried on a wave of bass and distortion — but always real. You’ve trusted your own rhythm, your own way of moving through the world, and that takes courage.

May you always keep trusting who you are, taking your own path, and knowing that even when the music is loud, the strength inside you is louder.