Music as a Lifeline: Finding Comfort During Transition

In 2020, I freed myself from being seen by others. transition That comes from his leadership position in the Army Reserve, his job at a private Christian university, and his complicated relationship to masculinity.

Growing up, I was often the “first girl” doing a lot of things and always achieving as much or more than the local boys.

In the isolation of the pandemic, I was looking for some soft comfort amidst global uncertainty. High School Musical A trilogy. The second song, “Bet On It,” reflects my confusion about how to exist in the world, but I was afraid that by changing my appearance or my name, I would lose the ability to retain certain aspects of myself.

In my time of crisis, I discovered artists like Nickelback and Daughtry. I needed music to get me through long work days sitting in front of a computer. I had their hits on my iPod since I was a child, listening to them on headphones when I needed them most. Nickelback sang about cutting his hair, changing his name and becoming a rock star. Daughtry claimed to “go to a place where love and feeling good don’t cost anything.” These rock stars made me cry over coffee before my 9am Zoom meeting. I started watching their music videos. I hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed by these would-be role models, even if the results centered on the all-too-common exploitation of women.

Instead, I found a series of stories, some as silly as Saturday morning cartoons, some as serious as finding family.

I eventually discovered Daughtry’s “As You Are,” in which the lead singer lovingly embraces his family while interspersing imagery from various relationships. This song was my solace and refuge from all the complicated emotions I experienced as I went through the transition process. This song still has the power to make me cry with happiness.

I lined up my favorite songs by these artists and went on drives while I waited for the testosterone to lower my voice. I felt at home in my body as I belted out the lyrics to “Photograph” and “Waiting for Superman.” My stereo was a gathering place for gentle singers whose questions about this new identity were answered with songs of heartbreak, regret, loss, love, learning, and reconciliation.

These albums were my faithful companions while I adjusted to living openly with my new self. These singers’ lullabies helped me endure and feel less alone. Their music continued to play regularly on my driving playlists, and I learned how many people found my “dad rock” ridiculous. I was unaware of the meme-ification that surrounded these men. People begged me to change the song, some of whom could not listen without cringing.

It was, in a way, a crisis of faith, confronting a community that loves to satirise my idol.

At first, I wondered if it was time to give up on this love or “go back in the closet” regarding this passion. Naturally, at a time when I was feeling alone with these doubts, “As You Are” came on in my car and made me laugh through the tears.

When I first began my transition, many people were eager to offer their opinions on men’s behavior and how I could “successfully transition.” It wasn’t long ago that some people emphasized the reality that men don’t cry. Perhaps what they meant was that anyone who cries is bound to get made fun of.

These artists showed us how beautiful it is to rock and roll with all the sentiment that hope demands of us.

I’ve tried many times to articulate just how great the emotional breadth of this music is, especially when someone confuses stoicism with the virtue of masculinity. I love laughing at Chad Kroeger’s desire to eat quesadillas, and if Daughtry is Christian rock, I love how this Witch Boy band weaves spirituality into their lyrics.

More than anything, I’m grateful that their music supports the ongoing creation of an identity that maintains nuance and emotion without compromise.

Micah Rensenberg is a writer who explores the need for tender compassion and the wisdom of youth. He is a transmasculine student at Harvard Divinity School. Micah has held many roles, from a military career to being a children’s pastor, but these days he spends his time learning to slow down. A San Diego native, he has fallen in love with winter and watching the leaves fall in Boston with his spouse and teddy bear kids.