I haven’t posted any new music for a while, so here’s a treat for y’all! I recorded these songs as presents for my partners but I’m just now getting around to putting them out into the world. Here’s a snippet of the two cover songs I’m releasing on May 17th. Let me know what you think!
Tag: Personal
The Chapter is Over, But the Story is Not
Imagine my surprise when I got this writing prompt today:
Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.
I’m writing this literally fifteen minutes after finishing my final music therapy session ever. As in, I will never lead another music therapy session again. I didn’t think I’d ever write those words. I thought I’d become a music therapist and do that forever until I inevitably die (probably while doing music therapy). I sunk my entire adult life into this career. I never pictured myself doing anything else.
I remember how giddy I was to move to Fort Wayne and start my internship. I have several past blog posts about my journey getting here and how excited I was to enter the professional world and make something of myself. The future seemed so bright. I’d won a scholarship for music therapy. I had all my professors watching me in anticipation of great things. Moving here was a huge risk — I had no money except my wife’s Christmas check from her parents and the stipend I’d been awarded, and I knew nobody in the area. But I was willing to take a chance and leap.
There’s an old quote that was plastered on the wall of my elementary school’s library, where I spent most of my lunches to avoid being pelted with ranch dressing packets (which is another story entirely). I still remember the little astronaut on the poster that read:
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.
Norman Vincent Peele
In a way, I feel like moving to Fort Wayne and starting this internship was my way of shooting for the moon. My biggest fear was missing it, but as I approached the moon, I realized the moon wasn’t really where I wanted to be. Maybe my place was among the stars, and maybe me taking that shot was the first step in getting there.
Music therapy is a beautiful thing, but it’s not where my heart is. Music therapy is very cold and clinical compared to how I approach music and people. I realized I’d rather make music that makes people happy and help other people make music that makes them happy. That’s what music is about for me.
I’m glad I got the experience in music therapy that I did, because now I feel better prepared for working with people of all ages and abilities. That’s what I want my studio to be — a safe space for people to make music that makes them happy regardless of how old they may be or what their diagnosis is. I’m also glad I moved to Fort Wayne because of the incredible people I’ve gotten to know. And had I not moved away from the Detroit area, I might have never left and gotten to see what else is out there.
This chapter of my life has been my “shoot for the moon” phase, and I’m about to enter the phase where I dance amongst the stars, where I truly belong. I don’t regret the blood, sweat, and tears that got me here. (Okay, maybe I do regret spending thousands of dollars on a degree I’m not going to finish, but whatever.) In a few short weeks, I’ll be moving to the South Bend area, where I plan to start my recording studio and eventually start the biggest project of my life — a family. I might not have ever done that if I never left my hometown.
So no, I don’t regret this chapter at all. I’ll see you in the stars.
Knowing When to Quit
I always said I’d be a music therapist even if it killed me.
To be honest, it almost did.
And I’m still not a music therapist. But I’m okay.
It’s been about a week and a half since I put in my two weeks at my internship. It feels surreal. It still is hitting me that the future I planned so carefully for myself isn’t coming to fruition. I had no backup plan. Being a music therapist was the only path I saw for myself, and the yellow brick road to the MT-BC title was ripped out from under my feet.
I was going to be a music therapist if it killed me. But what good is a dead music therapist?
I came home from work every day crying because I felt like I wasn’t good enough. It was like playing whack-a-mole with my weaknesses — I’d knock one out only to have three more pop up in its place. “You’re not empathetic enough.” “You can’t read people well enough to be a therapist.” “Feedback goes over your head — or maybe you’re too stubborn to listen to it.” “Oops, you shouldn’t have said that in a session.“ And the one that caused me to drop everything and leave:
“You’re causing more harm than you’re helping.”
Suddenly, I felt like the mole getting whacked.
I was so distraught, for a moment I considered driving my car off the bridge and into the fucking river. Don’t call the psych ward on me — I’m too scared of death to actually act on anything. But the fact that the thought even occurred was my signal that maybe this wasn’t right for me.
I blame a lot of my failings on my particular brand of neurospiciness. A lot of times it felt like my supervisors were speaking another language, and my clients were speaking a completely different language, and I was just this alien being trying to simultaneously decode the feedback I was getting and figure out how to react to what was happening in session in real time without a guidebook or translator. It became very draining for me, to the point where I couldn’t give it my all anymore and I was flailing.
There are neurodivergent music therapists — I’m friends with a handful I could name right here. But my brain just isn’t wired in a way that works well with the clinical mindset you need to be a music therapist, and I’m coming to terms with that. All of the academic papers I’ve written and scholarship-winning presentations I’ve put together and wordy books I’ve read couldn’t have prepared me for the work I had to do.
And that’s okay. Maybe I’m meant for something else.
I wish I hadn’t wasted all of my adult life (and thousands of dollars) on a career that ultimately ended up not being a good fit for me, but they say nothing that leads you to the path you should be on is a waste of time. Perhaps this twist in my story will take me to exactly where I need to be, and if that’s the case, I don’t regret a thing.
As of writing, I’m figuring out my next steps. My dream was to open a recording studio for people of all ages and abilities, but I don’t need some lofty certification to do that. I could start that studio without the MT-BC title, damn it, and just not call it music therapy. It’ll be my own thing. Sometimes when the path to what you want crumbles, you carve out your own path. And that’s exactly what I plan to do in my own time. In the meantime, I’ll fine tune my music production skills and probably teach guitar lessons for a living, at least for a while.
It’s funny, I’m writing this in a little artsy coffeeshop in South Bend, Indiana that has a piano for anyone to play. I sat down at the bench and just played my heart out for the first time in a long time, and it was freeing. There were no expectations, no degree to earn, no supervisors to impress. It was just me and the music (and the room full of coffee-drinking patrons minding their own business). After a while, a little girl came up to me and told me she liked my playing. I invited her to sit with me and I showed her how to play a basic chord, and her face just lit up. As she left, I smiled to myself. That special little moment didn’t need a degree or a certification to happen. It just needed the genuine human connection only music can create, and nothing can take that away from me.
With All My Soul
I’ll admit I haven’t been the best Christian this Lent. I didn’t give anything up, mostly because I know I’ll just slip up a few weeks in (great attitude to have, am I right?). I haven’t been to church because I’m too lazy to find an affirming church in Fort Wayne, and I haven’t even done my 40-day devotional every single day because, well…
But I had to learn a few worship songs for a client I have next week, and it got me in weirdly spiritual mood for once. So I decided to re-download my Bible app and pick a psalm at random, just for funsies. I was born at 1:08 pm (or was it 1:11 pm — I can never remember), so I picked 108. The opening verse hit me like a ton of bricks:
My heart, O God, is steadfast;
I will sing and make music with all my soul.
Psalm 108:1
And I cried. I cry at absolutely everything, but this cry was different. I cried because I think God was trying to speak something to me through that verse.
I am exactly where I need to be.
I was a bit discouraged this week about my music therapy journey. I had my worst session ever on Tuesday (which was my birthday, to add insult to injury). My supervisor had nothing good to say about it. No redeeming qualities. Nada. If I’d spent the entire session watching grass grow with my client, it would have been more productive. And it would be different if it were a one-off problem, but I’ve had ongoing issues with me just not being able to read client or parent behavior. I don’t talk when I’m supposed to, or I talk when I’m not supposed to, or I say too much. I’m positive it’s a neurodivergence thing, but it’s not very reassuring to realize that the problem is something inherently wrong with your brain wiring. I can’t fix autism and ADHD. I’m just sucking at this because I naturally suck at this.
As of writing, I’m at the annual music therapy conference of the Great Lakes region, and it’s disheartening to see all these certified MT-BCs that started their journey with me, or even after me. It took me twelve years to get where I am, in my internship, and during that time, all my cohorts went on to get their degrees and start their careers. I’m meeting people younger than me who are already established professionals. All of this, on top of the roadblock that was my Very Bad Session and my continual failing to people correctly, and it would be so easy for me to give up. I should just be a pharmacy technician, right?
But that’s not why I was put here. And that one little verse was the reminder I needed to keep going.
I wasn’t put on this planet to pass out Wellbutrin prescriptions. I was out here to make music, and more specifically, to heal the world through music. It’s in my blood. Music is as natural to me as breathing, and I want to use it to make the world a better place. Reading Psalm 108:1 was like the part in Moana where she remembers who she is and realizes her power. “And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me. It’s like the tide, always falling and rising. I will carry you here in my heart, you’ll remind me that come what may, I know the way.”
I will be a music therapist. There’s no other option. Just like Moana on her little boat, I’ve come too far to turn back now. I will sing and make music with all my soul, and nothing will get in my way.
Not even me.
Engaged and Poly: What It All Means
If you haven’t heard the news yet, I proposed to my long-term, long-distance partner Olivia last night at a house show, the two year anniversary of the show we met at.
I had it all meticulously planned out — I bought her a rose gold opal ring and played the song I wrote for her during the show and did the whole “down on one knee” thing. She cried. I cried. I think some random strangers cried. It was beautiful.
Now begins even more planning, venues and dresses and cakes and all that. We’re going to go through all the motions and do a spiritually binding ceremony of sorts. But here’s the thing — we can’t legally marry. I’m legally married to my wife, Crass. No, I’m not leaving her for Olivia. They know about each other and like each other a lot. In fact, we all plan to live together as a family.
That’s the joy — and pain — of polyamory.
It hurts that I can’t ever legally make Olivia my wife, but for all intents and purposes, she will be my wife. I plan to do everything in my power to treat her as an equal to Crass, from adding her to my will to making her legal guardian of my future kids (whom she will have a hand in making as the sperm donor). We’re fighting an uphill battle against a monogamy-centered world that doesn’t understand, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.
As a queer woman, I’m reminded of all the LGBTQ+ couples throughout history who never got to have their love validated by the government. I’m a romantic at heart, as much as I want to deny it at times. I don’t need a formal piece of paper saying we’re a couple. The greatest love stories of all time were never “sanctioned” by the government, all the queer and otherwise forbidden romances between folks of different races or socioeconomic backgrounds during a time when those relationships weren’t allowed. The Romeos and Juliets and the Jacks and Roses.
There’s a Bon Jovi song (of course) that reminds me of these relationships.
I was afraid to listen to it as a church-going kid because it mentioned sin and sin is supposed to be bad, right? But the message of the song is so much more beautiful than my child-mind could have comprehended. It’s about not needing the government or the rest of the world to validate your love. The young couple in the song maintains that it’s not legal marriage that makes a love, but the love itself.
Or is it right to hold you
Bon Jovi, “Living in Sin”
And kiss your lips goodnight
They say the promise is forever
If you sign it on the dotted line
Listening to this song as an adult through a queer lens, and especially as someone in a “scandalous” polyamorous relationship, it takes on a new, deeper meaning. I don’t know where we fit, the three of us, but I know I belong with my partners. I belong with Crass, and I belong with Olivia, and nothing can ever take that from me.
True love is a rare, special thing, and I was lucky enough to find it not once, but twice. That’s not something to take for granted.
Back in My Body
I never thought it would happen to me, but I should have expected it. I barely know any women it hasn’t happened to in some form or another. I always assumed if it ever did happen to me, it would be easy enough to get over. The moment ended, after all; you gotta move on sometime.
But when I was raped back in 2019, it stole so much from me. I remember falling into a deep depression that eventually led to the beginning stages of alcoholism. I stopped trusting people and started assuming everyone had bad intentions. And worst of all, it directly led to me dropping out of the music therapy program.
I still remember driving back from that music therapy conference with tears in my eyes, unable to wash the feeling of my assailant from myself. The aftermath left me feeling even more detached from my own body. I tried my best to poison it, and my drinking left it bloated and unrecognizable. I was a wreck, mentally and physically.
But as of writing this, I’m two years sober. I’m in the final stages of my music therapy degree. And perhaps most importantly, I feel at home in my own body again.
I was driving back to Michigan a few days ago for a brief visit when “Back in My Body” by Maggie Rogers came on Spotify. I’d heard the song before, but it never felt relevant to me until that very moment.
I don’t think Rogers intended the song to be a sexual assault recovery anthem (it’s actually about her time overseas), but to me, that’s absolutely what it has become. “This time I know I’m fighting, this time I know I’m back in my body.” I found myself screaming those words as I drove, finally feeling free from that moment that seemingly stole my future.
It’s oddly poetic that I ended up in Fort Wayne of all places. That’s where the last music therapy conference was held, where I finally overwrote the memory of sitting in a hotel rooftop bar next to the man who’d go on to defile me in such an vile way. This time, I went up to the hotel rooftop bar with a girl I love with my whole heart, who I trust with my life. That night when we made love, it was because I wanted it. And I felt safe.
My music therapy degree will be hard-won, and it’s almost finished. I have so much love in my life, between my partners and my parents and my closest friends. The damage that was done has been mostly reversed. The memories still creep in now and then, but I know I’m stronger now. He’ll never hurt me again.
I’m back in my body, and I’ve never been happier.
How My Parents Convinced Me to NOT Become a Doctor
I’m about three weeks into my internship now. I don’t know why I’m shocked. I guess I assumed I’d spontaneously combust before I got this far, but here I am, actually doing the damn thing.
It hasn’t been an easy road, but at least I don’t have to go it alone. My wife’s been so supportive and understanding, cheering me on from the sidelines (well, from the couch in our Airbnb). Sometimes when it’s especially stressful, she puts on kids’ shows to cheer me up. Today, she put on Bluey, which is her go-to for wholesome entertainment.
The episode she chose was “Dragon,” where the titular puppy’s family draws and narrates a fairytale adventure. The rest of the family is floored when its matriarch reveals her secret talent — she can really draw. While the dad struggles to draw a simple stick-figure donkey, the mom illustrates a beautiful horse companion for her character in the story. A flashback reveals the true reason she’s so good at art — her own mother encouraged her when she was a child.
“Doesn’t that remind you of us?” my wife said. “We’re good at what we do because our parents encouraged us too.”
You see, I wasn’t always going to be a music therapist. When I first signed up for college courses as a high school senior, I had my mind made up. I was going to be a cardiologist. I liked to tell people I was doing it because my dad had a heart attack and I wanted to help other people like him, but the real reason was because my boyfriend’s best friend’s dad was a cardiologist and he was like, really rich and powerful. So I decided I was going to be a pre-med student.
But fate had other plans.
The night I went to orientation and declared my major, my parents walked in on me practicing guitar. They sat me down and lovingly told me that if I went down the med school path, I’d be wasting my talents. They told me I had a future in music, be it as a therapist, professor, or rock star. Screw the money and prestige — they encouraged me to follow my passion instead.
So I called up the university right away and told them I’d made a mistake. And that’s how I ended up studying classical guitar instead of, I don’t know, anatomy and crap.
Music hasn’t been an easy road, and I almost gave up multiple times. There were the times I dropped out of the music therapy program. There was the time my own pastor told me I wasn’t a good enough guitarist to perform on stage. There was even a time I almost gave up on playing music entirely after my first real band broke up. But each and every time it got difficult, I went back to that conversation with my mom and dad, and I remembered why it is I was put on this planet — to make the world a brighter place through music. And I pressed on.
There will be times during this internship where I’ll want to give up. But I have so much support and so much love in my life. It’s why I’m able to do what I do. I still remember the pride in my dad’s eyes when he’d tell everyone he’d meet about how his seventh grader could write and perform her own music. That kind of stuff sticks with you. I want to make him proud.
I’m going to finish this internship and make it as a music therapist, even if it kills me.
I Just Can’t Wait to Be King
So I already fell off Bloganuary. Blame my internship. But I’m interrupting my radio silence because I have some exciting news to report to everyone!
I am going to start doing drag!
My wife and I have been frequenting the gay bar down here in Fort Wayne. It’s a little blip of queerness in an otherwise very cishet state. Drag is a huge part of the culture there, and as I watched the queens and kings work the crowd, I realized I was made to do this kind of thing. Dress up obnoxiously, wear a crapton of flamboyant makeup, and lip-sync to fun songs in front of a bunch of people?! It’s like they created a job description just for me.
At first I wrestled with whether I’d be a king or queen. After all, there are AFAB queens, also called “bio-queens,” which sounds very sci-fi, like some kind of alien insect queen.
But the thought of being a king is kind of exciting. After all, I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I’m bigender, or at least genderfluid in some capacity. As a kid, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be a girl. I felt like my voice was too deep and my mannerisms were too boyish. I found myself identifying more with Bon Jovi than Disney Princesses. As I got older, I settled into womanhood and actually became something of a girly-girl. In fact, I’m probably girlier than most women out there — I love makeup and dresses and being pretty! I’m at home with my femaleness, but I still feel like there’s a little man living inside me. And I think drag will be a fun way for me to get to know him.
So, meet Richie Styx!
He’s an ambiguously gay British rock star from the 70s. He’s very much inspired by the likes of glam icons Freddie Mercury and Marc Bolan, with a little Richie Sambora thrown in (which is who I named him for). I had a lot of fun creating my man-sona from bits and pieces of male figures I looked up to as a kid.
I’m still just a baby king. My first performance will be an open stage night next Thursday. I feel so cool and confident as Richie though, and I can’t wait to bring him to life with my act. I think that’s the beauty of drag — you can be literally anything. You can be a Disney Princess or an alien queen, or even the old-school rocker dude you always admired as a kid.
Call me Simba, ‘cause I just can’t wait to be king.
Bloganuary #2: Playtime
We onto day two, alright? So far so good!
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
I love this prompt because I’m a huge proponent of playtime, whatever that looks like to you. There’s something freeing about being silly and doing things you love in a society that pushes hustle culture and the mentality of “you have to be doing something productive every waking second of the day or else you are wasting your life.” I admit I’m prone to this thinking. For a long time, I didn’t want to play. Or rather, I wanted to, but it felt like a waste of time. What are you accomplishing by simply having fun?
Turns out, quite a bit!
According to Psychology Today, play can be a way for an adult to “reduce stress, promote optimism, and strengthen one’s ability to take on other perspectives.” It’s also a great for socializing, as anyone who’s ever been to a game night with family and friends will tell you. Play is one of my favorite ways to build relationships in my life, and I always end up feeling closer to the people I engage in it with.
As adults, we don’t leave a lot of playtime in our schedule. When we do have free time, it’s usually spent passively consuming media, which isn’t inherently bad, but like food that lacks nutritional value, can be detrimental in high doses. What happened to getting out a big sheet of paper and drawing stuff? Or going outside and playing a sport. Even playing a video game that requires you to use some brain cells is beneficial — research shows that gaming can have a positive effect on memory and attention.
In my personal life, I try to allot some time every day for play. One of my favorite ways to unwind is art. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the greatest artist ever (see: my potato-looking oil painting from my most recent blog post), but I find it relaxing and engaging. There’s a certain amount of freedom in doing something just for you. In the past, I’ve attempted to sell my works, but I’ve realized you don’t have to monetize everything you do. It’s okay to do something for fun!
Same with swimming. Back when I lived in Michigan, I had a membership to a gym with a pool, and I’d go every morning just to splash around and doggy paddle from one end of the pool to the other until I got tired. I wasn’t doing it to train for the Olympics or even just to stay in shape. I did it because I just liked it. I liked the feel of the water, the feel of floating, the way being in the pool took me back to an innocent time when I’d splash around in my backyard pool as a child.
And of course, I play video games. I typically enjoy simulation games like Stardew Valley, The Sims, and Animal Crossing, games where I can feel a sense of control over the world and everything that happens in it. People really underestimate the power of imagination! Using our uniquely human ability to create entire worlds is the closest thing we’ll ever experience to being God, and I think in a way, it brings us closer to the Divine, however that looks for you. I love creating characters and telling stories, which has been a human phenomenon for time immemorial. The ability to engage in imaginative play is what makes us, well, us.
These are just a few examples from my life, and I hope they inspire you to find your own form of playtime. How do you “play” as an adult? Feel free to tell me in the comments!
Bloganuary #1: ADHD and the Mythical Art of Follow-Through
I guess there’s a challenge to blog once a day, every day for all of January, with these fun little prompts to guide you. I’m great at doing challenges (looking at you, 75 Hard), so I thought I’d attempt this one. Just don’t expect this to be very consistent.
What are your biggest challenges?
I think my biggest challenge is exactly why I need a challenge like this one to kick my ass — I have exactly zero follow-through. Like, none. I’m great at getting excited about things yet terrible at seeing them through. You can see it all throughout this blog. I had so many neat ideas, so many it would be pointless to link to all of them.
And maybe like two of them came to fruition.
I write a lot about my ADHD. It’s kind of a big deal for me. It’s practically my entire personality. I know there’s some controversy about saying “she is ADHD” versus “she has ADHD” but the truth is, I freakin’ am ADHD. I’m three ADHD diagnoses in a trench coat cleverly disguised as a fully functioning adult.
It’s always been a part of me, ever since I was a hyperactive child spinning around in circles in the back of the classroom or pacing back and forth during dinner as I chewed my food. As a child, most people found that stuff endearing, and I got good grades and didn’t like, go around punching other kids, so nobody cared. But as I got older, it definitely got a lot harder to cope with. Suddenly, I found myself failing my courses. My first marriage crashed and burned. All of my stories remained unwritten and unpublished. I couldn’t commit to anything because I’d get bored and move on to whatever was sparkly and interesting to me at the time. Which is not a productive trait to have as an adult.
I don’t know if all my fellow ADHDers struggle with follow-through, but I know for me, it’s one of the defining features. I can’t focus my attention on something for an extended period of time, whether it’s a job or a relationship or my education or any creative endeavor. As soon as it becomes boring to me, I start looking for something else, and that becomes my new fixation until the next shiny object comes along. It’s an ugly cycle that leads nowhere.
It has gotten better. My medication helps a lot with motivation and I’ve learned skills for making sure I stay on task, like keeping a planner on my phone. But it’s still a challenge for me to accomplish big, long-term goals. That’s why the Dear Cadence series was such a huge deal for me. It was the first series I’ve ever actually finished, and the high I got from writing those last few sentences of the final chapter was one I’ll never forget. I want to chase that high again, but it’s the little hits of dopamine I get from having a brand new idea or opportunity that distract me.
I think in 2024, I’ll work on this. Maybe I’ll actually finish the Venona series (if I don’t scrap it and rewrite it altogether). Maybe this is the year I learn more about recording music and set up my studio finally. Maybe I’ll start my music therapy practice and not back down when things inevitably get tough. Maybe I’ll take up oil painting again and not give up when my subjects look like potatoes.
I have a feeling this will be the year I finally tame this part of myself. Here goes nothing.
JESSA JOYCE 