“Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” ~Maya Angelou
I used to believe that healing and personal transformation required a lot of effort—writing page after page in a journal or getting up at the crack of dawn to carry out a morning routine, to name a couple.
When I moved through a phase of numbness—or the tunnel of darkness, as I now call it—it was frightening, and there seemed to be no end in sight. But one song found me at the right moment and changed everything.
In under five minutes, it achieved what all the tools and knowledge I had couldn’t: it made me feel something.
That moment reminded me that healing and moving forward don’t always need rituals or words—sometimes, all it takes is the right sound at the right time.
Before that moment of awakening, my life felt like a loop. Day in and day out, everything was the same. My being was on mute—nothing resonated, and I walked through life hollow, flat, and disengaged.
Each day felt like the one before. I was disconnected but longing to feel something. I put pressure on myself to fix whatever this was. And when it didn’t work, I pushed harder and harder.
I tried all the things I had learned over the years: deep breathing, meditation that only amplified the noise in my head, journaling until my hand ached, lighting salt candles, and still, I couldn’t seem to connect with myself.
There was only stillness, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt strange and disorienting—a kind of stuckness. A sense of being that portrayed me not as a person anymore, but just a body moving through the motions.
Yet nothing changed. None of the knowledge I had made a difference. The tunnel seemed to cave in on me, leaving me feeling like I was nothing—like I’d never get anywhere again.
Then, one day, I pressed play on “Wild Flower” by RM of BTS. I can’t remember exactly how I found it, but I do remember being alone, just trying to de-stress.
It was one of those moments where you click on something without really knowing why—just a quiet, inner nudge. BTS had come into my life a few months earlier, and I was most drawn to RM. That day, something in me—the part that still carried hope—asked me to click on this song, this video. And within seconds, everything shifted.
In an instant, my body stopped and took notice. From the opening that hit me like a firework to the first notes and spoken words (in Korean, which I didn’t understand), I felt something again. I couldn’t believe it.
I went from numbness—from nothing—to goosebumps, tears streaming down my face, and tension leaving my body.
The emotion in RM’s voice, the chorus sung by Youjeen, and the sound of the music itself—it was the reminder I needed that I was still alive. Still here.
That song became the catalyst for me to open up, to feel again, and to realize there was a way out—a way back to myself.
At first, I didn’t understand the lyrics, and I didn’t even try, because it didn’t matter. What mattered was the rawness in the delivery, his voice full of emotion that anyone could understand. The longing, the ache, the release—all of it was enough.
Later, when I looked up the words, it only deepened the meaning. Sentences like “When your own heart underestimates you” and “Grounded on my own two feet” felt like direct messages to my soul. Like someone finally saw me—not for who I was pretending to be, but who I was beneath all the effort.
In that moment, I realized I didn’t need to do more. It was about opening up just a little more and receiving what this song was giving me.
I didn’t need to journal, dive deeper into personal development, fix myself, or hustle. That moment reminded me: just being with the music was enough.
While journaling gives me insight into myself and my life, music gives me the emotion I need to feel in order to start healing.
And then a quiet question rose up in me: “What if healing doesn’t have to be earned or hustled for?”
What if we don’t need to constantly work on ourselves to be okay? What if some parts of healing are actually about stopping, softening, and letting something bigger hold us, even just for a moment?
That one song became that moment for me. It cracked something open. And once it did, I didn’t fall apart. I began to come alive again, slowly, quietly, but surely.
I still love journaling—it’s a consistent part of my life—but now I know that healing can begin in silence, in sound, and in surrender.
Since then, I’ve had many other moments where music became the medicine I didn’t know I needed.
Sometimes it’s a gentle white noise—a crackling fire mixed with rain. Other times, it’s a beat that makes me move, cry, or sing.
But “Wild Flower” was the beginning, the song that reminded me feeling is possible again. That numbness isn’t permanent. And that sometimes, we don’t need to search for the right words. We just need to listen.
I encourage you to notice what songs find you and how they make you feel. Because maybe today, your healing begins with listening.
