There are moments when a song comes on and I’m no longer where I am. I’m somewhere else entirely-a different season, a different version of me, a different life. I remember what I was doing. Where I was standing. Who I was loving. What I was losing. It’s never just the song. It’s the memory wrapped inside it. For a long time, I wondered why this happens. Why certain melodies unlock entire chapters of my life without warning. Why my mind replays moments so vividly, like they’ve been waiting for permission to return.

What I’ve learned is this- our brains store memories next to emotion and music lives right there too. Songs don’t just remind us of the past. They carry it. Especially for people who feel deeply. For those who have lived through transitions, heartbreak, healing, and becoming. The mind doesn’t archive those moments quietly. It preserves them carefully. There were seasons when I thought I needed to suppress these memories to push the away so I could “move on”. But suppressing never worked. It only made the past louder. So instead, I’m learning to do something different.

I let the memory surface… and I don’t chase it. I remind myself: that the version of me did the best she could with what she knew. That chapter already gave me its lesson. That moment doesn’t need to be relived to be honored. Sometimes the memory brings grief. Sometimes gratitude. Sometimes relief that I’m no longer there. All of it is valid. What grounds me is returning to the present- to this version of my life that feels fuller, steadier, more aligned. I notice where I am now. Who I’ve become. What I’ve built

I don’t shame myself for remembering. I don’t rush myself to forget. Because these memories aren’t proof that I’m stuck in the past. They’re proof that I lived. And now, when a song plays and the past knocks, I quietly say… Thank you for what you taught me. I’m here now and that’s enough.

BSTORM