After a long day — emails, meetings, unexpected curveballs, and the weight of everything in between — there’s one thing that helps me feel like me again: music. Not just background noise, not just something to fill the silence, but intentional, soul-filling music.
I love walking or running the trail behind our property, where the trees sway gently and the world seems to quiet down just enough for me to hear my own thoughts. It’s in those moments, with my earbuds in and the outside world tuning out, that I reconnect with myself. Music has always been more than just sound to me — it’s been a lifeline. It taps into a part of us that conversation sometimes can’t reach. It wraps around emotion, memory, pain, and hope all at once, delivering something deeper than words alone could ever express. That’s part of why I recently released my first musical album, Baptized in Regret — a deeply personal project born from trauma I experienced years ago at Wapping Community Church in South Windsor, CT.
That experience left emotional wounds I carried for far too long, quietly tucked away in the corners of my mind. Writing this album was a way to finally open those doors. The process helped me express years of buried pain, process what I’d been through, and transform it into something meaningful and healing. It’s one thing to tell your story — but music allowed me to feel it, to relive it with purpose, and to begin letting it go. Baptized in Regret helped me find calmness through my own story, and just as importantly, it’s allowed me to share that story with others in a positive, constructive way. Music runs deep. It activates memory, sparks emotion, and can instantly shift the way we feel.
Scientific studies back it up — music can reduce stress hormones, increase dopamine levels, and even improve brain function. But beyond the science, it’s the feeling that matters. That moment when a song seems to speak directly to your soul, or when a melody mirrors exactly what you didn’t know you needed to hear. Music validates us. It says, “You’re not alone. Someone else has been here too.” That connection, even with a stranger through lyrics and chords, is powerful. It helps us heal. It helps us grow. It helps us move.
So after a long day, when I hit that trail with my playlist on, I’m not just listening to music — I’m finding myself all over again. I’m remembering who I am beneath the roles and responsibilities. And I’m letting music guide me home.