Sometimes you just have to find the strength to push play. — Kristian Libman

There are days that arrive uninvited—draped in gray, dragging their weight through every corner of our hearts. The world feels muted. Even the simplest tasks demand more energy than we have. And all you want is to disappear under a blanket, away from the noise, the pressure, and the ache of just being.

I’ve lived through those days—more than I can count. There was a season in my life when I broke quietly, far from the view of others. I reached a mental and emotional low that left me feeling hollow, terrified, and disconnected. I didn’t want anyone to know—not even the people I trusted the most. There’s something isolating about pain when you feel like you must carry it alone.

But something shifted. Not all at once, not like lightning—but like dawn breaking slowly after a long night. I realized healing wasn’t something I could outsource. People could love me, pray for me, cheer me on—but I had to want to live well again. I had to choose to fight for myself. So, in those quiet spaces where fear tried to reign, I began showing up for me.

Two things kept me grounded when everything else felt like it was falling apart: my faith in God and the healing power of music.

”my faith in God and the healing power of music”

Music has this extraordinary ability to reach into places no words ever fully touch. Where therapy stumbles, music seeps in. It doesn’t just speak—it sings over your sadness, whispers into your weariness, and reminds you: there’s still beauty left.

There are songs I now carry like sacred memories, each one tied to a moment when I needed to remember that I was not alone.

“I Didn’t Know My Own Strength” by Whitney Houston was one of the first. In a time when I felt like I had hit rock bottom, this song held me. “I crashed down and I tumbled, but I did not crumble… I was not built to break.” I remember listening to those words with tears in my eyes, realizing I had survived far more than I ever gave myself credit for.

“Jesus, Take the Wheel” by Carrie Underwood became my prayer on days when I couldn’t control the spiral. “I’m letting go, so give me one more chance…” It reminded me that surrender isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is admit you’re not in control.

“My Savior, My God” by Aaron Shust brought me back to trust. It echoed the questions I didn’t have answers for. “I am not skilled to understand what God has willed, what God has planned…” And yet, it reminded me to believe anyway. Even when I don’t see the whole picture, He does.

When I needed courage to keep going, I turned to “Fight Song” by Rachel Platten. It wasn’t just a song—it was a lifeline. “Starting right now, I’ll be strong…” reminded me that even in my most invisible battles, I could still reclaim my strength, one choice at a time.

“Brave“ by Sara Bareilles told me it was okay to feel again. To speak. To stop pretending. “Maybe one of these days you can let the light in…” Those lyrics felt like a mirror to the voice I had hidden for so long, waiting for permission to come out.

“Let It Be” by The Beatles has become a comfort in my storms. It’s a simple phrase, but a profound practice. When I find myself in times of trouble, I remember: sometimes peace doesn’t come from fixing everything—but from letting go.

And then there’s “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban—my anthem of being carried. “You raise me up to more than I can be…” reminds me that even when I can’t stand on my own, God sends strength—through faith, through love, through the very breath that fills my lungs.

There’s one more song I hold close: “Stand By You” by Rachel Platten. It’s for the one who never left my side—Jan Helge. “If your wings are broken, borrow mine so yours can open too…” You stood by me when I couldn’t stand alone. Even when I felt unlovable, you stayed. That kind of love is rare. And it healed more than I can ever put into words.

So, to anyone reading this—especially if you’re quietly battling anxiety, sadness, or the invisible heaviness that the world doesn’t always see—know this: you are not alone. Music can be your lifeline too. Let it carry you when words fail. Let it hold you when you feel you can’t hold yourself.

And if you have a song that lifts you, heals you, or saves you—share it. Let’s pass the light forward.

With love, music, and the quiet strength to press play again,
Anj 🤍