I’m gonna say it:
Songwriting isn’t cute.

It’s not all candlelight and twirling in your linen pants while the muse whispers lyrics into your oatmilk cappuccino.

Sometimes it’s ugly. Like scream-crying-into-a-voice-memo ugly.
And yet - it’s holy.

Because when you write the damn song, you reclaim the story.
You put your pain to work. You give your chaos a container.
And in a world built to distract and numb you, that’s a radical act.

I’ve seen too many brilliant, broken-hearted folks treat songwriting like a luxury.
“I’ll write when I’m better,” they say.

Nah. You write to get better.

You write when your voice shakes. When you just bumped into your ex’s new girlfriend. When the grief smells like your grandmother’s sweater.

That’s the moment you pick up the pen. Not later. Now.

Healing songwriting isn’t about sounding good. It’s about sounding real.

Write like that. Messy. Loud. Unapologetically you.

Here’s How to Start:

One Honest Line. Don’t try to write the chorus of the year. Start with a sentence you’d be too embarrassed to post online.
Don’t Edit Feelings. Your inner critic isn’t invited to this party. Let it be awkward.
Let the Song Teach You. Your subconscious knows more than your to-do list ever will. Trust it.

Songwriting isn’t therapy, but it certainly is therapeutic.
It’s not about performing your pain - it’s about processing it. And when you do that, your truth will resonate louder than any pop hook ever could.

So pick up the pen.
Turn the mic on.
Write the damn song.