Fasten your seatbelts, we're going in reverse—
At sixteen, I’m a bundle of contradictions: young enough to be dismissed, old enough to feel everything. Tonight, the New Orleans Arena thrums with an energy that matches my racing pulse. As roadies construct the stage, each clank and thud is a countdown to an unlikely dream: an AARP benefit concert.
Yes, that AARP — the American Association for Retired Persons.
It gets worse…I badgered my parents for tickets.
But I needed to see the headlining legends — Melissa Etheridge, Gladys Knight (with her lone Pip), and the ethereal Stevie Nicks — women who had spent decades commanding stages and defying expectations and remained unapologetically, wholly themselves!
To me, they weren’t just artists; they were sirens cutting through conformity, illuminating a new path. I yearned to witness firsthand the power of women who had transcended the need for approval, who wore their eccentricities not as armor, but as crown jewels. In their performances, I hoped to glimpse a future version of myself — one who could stand proudly in her own skin, weird and wonderful and unafraid.
Little did I know, as I perched on the edge of adulthood, that this night would turn into so much more. That it would be the first stitch in mending my gritty, bleeding heart — a heart destined to one day beat wild and free, much like the women who took the stage.
From my first steps, I moved to a peculiar rhythm. My parents still chuckle about my signature “swoosh” — the sound of my diapers heralding my arrival long before I appeared.
In high school, while my peers swooned over bubblegum pop, I was decoding Heart’s lyrical spells and channeling Howlin’ Wolf’s primal moans. I was the blues riff in a teenybopper anthem.
My weirdness wasn't a phase — it was the marrow in my bones, the electricity in my synapses. I wore it with pride. To the world, I was an enigma wrapped in vintage band tees and obscure vinyl records. Raised eyebrows and whispered comments rolled off me. Other people’s opinions were background noise, never strong enough to make me cower in the shadows.
For fleeting moments, I felt power sizzle within.
But that’s because the real war wasn’t fought in school hallways or on social media. It raged in my mind.
I knew myself to be an enemy, a traitor of the worst ilk. The voice in my head didn’t whisper doubts; it screamed them, drowning out even the loudest external criticisms or praise. This inner demon conducted a symphony of self-loathing, each movement a masterpiece of destruction. And my self-awareness was a double-edged sword: it cut through the illusions of fitting in but often left me bleeding on the altar of my own making.
Looking back, I’m shocked by the savage that roamed freely within me, a parasite feeding on my potential. Of how it coiled chains of self-doubt around my heart, squeezing tighter with each offbeat drum. Every time I tried to embrace myself, this inner beast would rear its ugly head, spewing flames hot enough to reduce my dreams to ashes.
A twisted form of self-protection: if I destroy myself first, the world can’t hurt me, right?
But here’s the thing about demons: they're lousy architects. The walls they build to preserve you inevitably become a prison, and the fire they breathe to keep others away only scorches you. I was simultaneously the dragon hoarding my potential and the knight trying to slay it, locked in an eternal battle where victory meant defeat and defeat meant growth.
But that night in New Orleans, as the final notes faded and the arena lights blazed to life, I clutched my ticket stub, a tangible reminder of the magic I’d witnessed. Each spin from Stevie, soulful run from Gladys, and electric riff from Melissa laid the foundation for a journey that would reshape my core.
Because in their honesty, I saw reflections of myself — a universal resilience transcending age or circumstance.
Their battles, so public and yet so personal.
Stevie navigated the male-dominated rock scene and overcame drug addiction, emerging as a twirling, shawl-draped goddess. Gladys, the “Empress of Soul,” fought racial barriers and contract disputes, never letting adversity dim her luminous voice. And Melissa? She shattered stereotypes, publicly coming out as gay, and later facing cancer with the same courage that flows through her songs.
Guides, each and all.
I couldn’t have known then how often I'd return to this moment, a touchstone. I had no idea of the path ahead, that a seed was planted, and its tending and growth would be the work of decades, not moments. That it would take years of introspection to realize that the demon never needed slaying — it needed taming. That the very fire threatening to consume me could, with time and understanding, fuel my ascent.
In that arena, I took my first steps towards becoming the person I needed most: myself, unleashed.
For me, the path from self-saboteur to self-nurturer wasn’t a straight line, but one of false starts and hard-won epiphanies.
It required more than just good intentions and powerful lyrics etched into notebooks over and over. It demanded grueling labor that often felt like excavating a pit with a teaspoon.
Each step forward, a rebellion.
Luckily, I learned that this healing wasn’t about silencing my inner critic, but about listening deeper. That this journey was never about conquering myself, but about making peace with all my parts, even the jagged ones that scare me most.
But peeling away layers of self-imposed trauma felt like dismantling a nesting doll of fear and shame, each layer smaller and more suffocating than the last. Unraveling was both terrifying and liberating. It meant confronting the lies I’d told myself, the potential I'd stifled, and the joy I’d denied out of fear.
This wasn't gentle. It was raw and painful, like ripping off a bandage that’s fused with a wound. But with each layer shed, I glimpsed my truest self — bright, fierce, and far more tenacious than I’d ever imagined. The girl who followed her soul's music was still there, waiting to breathe again.
Waiting for release.
I haven’t always been a safe harbor for myself. For years, I was the storm — unnecessarily bitter, unreasonably cruel. My body and mind weathering the brute force of my twisted perceptions.
I’ve gazed into the mirror and seen a monster. But now, I see something closer to reality — an imperfect amalgamation of all my past and all my future, packaged into a body that requests respect.
As I type this, I am fulfilling that request. I am at peace with myself (mostly), knowing that I am all that I own, all that I'll ever possess. I begin and end with the magical convergence of this body and this mind and this soul. Finally grasping the wise words of my yoga teacher: “Heaven is only as far away as the crown of our heads.”
And every Saturday morning, as another AARP email hits my inbox, I’m filled with joyous gratitude. It’s a reminder of that night in New Orleans, of three muses. And a reminder to be thankful for having always been delightfully warped.
And for the long, winding journey. And the people I love who’ve sacrificed and held me up along the way.
I’ve been on a tour of self-discovery, hitting every glorious, awkward note.
I see it so clearly now: weirdness is a superpower. It’s this side’s paradise.
And you know what? I'm rockin’! ✌️
**Public Service Announcement:** There are three reasons YouTube exists, and these three videos make my heart beat a little faster. For an instant infusion of glee into your bloodstream, treat yourself to one (or all!) of these musical miracles:
Witness Stevie Nicks in her element, unleashing her wild heart while casually getting glammed up for a Rolling Stone photoshoot. It's raw talent meets effortless coolness, and it's absolutely mesmerizing.
Experience the original "Hound Dog" as Big Mama Thornton tears it up, reminding us all where rock ‘n’ roll really came from. Keep your eyes peeled for a young, soon-to-be-legendary Buddy Guy in the background!
Bask in the pure magic that happens when Dolly Parton's angelic twang meets Melissa Etheridge's prowess. It’s a combination so perfect, that it’ll make you wonder why they don’t duet on every track.
If being a paid subscriber isn’t the right fit for you, that’s OK. I’m grateful for your presence in any and every capacity. You can always buy me coffee. It fills me with the excitement-induced energy I need to function as a human. Click below!
“We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.” - CS Lewis
Caroline, this is my favorite of yours and that’s high praise. Self discovery, spiritual imagery, old people jokes and the white witch? You’re cooking with gas! ps I love picturing little Caroline in New Orleans….were you jumping into second lines when you could walk?