If you Google anything about the power of music to heal, you will find hundreds of articles on the topic. The research is not thin. Music reduces stress, aids in pain management, improves mood, and supports emotional regulation. The National Institutes of Health has published extensively on it. I have been experiencing these effects personally for most of my life, long before I had the language to describe what was happening.
I Was a Lunchtime DJ in High School
At JFK High School, I had Pat Benatar, Madonna, Hall and Oates, and Prince on heavy rotation during the lunch period. I took that role completely seriously. Music has been personal to me for that long.
When my son was born in 1998, there was no streaming, no satellite radio, no Wi-Fi to speak of. In order to have music in the birthing suite, my then-husband lugged in a CD player with my well-worn Claude Debussy disc. Claire de Lune played, by my best estimate, about 400 times during a 15-hour labor. I did not mind once.
When my daughter was born in 2005, I had an iPod shuffle and headphones. I had meticulously curated a playlist for the occasion. The technology changed. The instinct to fill that experience with music did not.
What I Did in My Grad School Therapy Room
As a CSD graduate student in 2010, I played Debussy compositions on my cell phone as clients entered the therapy room. I had not consulted a music therapist. I had no research citation ready to defend the choice. I just knew that the lulling compositions were soothing and that the transition into therapy was smoother when they played.
I was right. Clients who were anxious or inclined to elope would frequently sit down at the little crescent table when we entered, put their heads down in their folded arms, and just be still for a moment. Not all of them. Not every session. But enough times that I kept doing it.
Graduate school therapy still had its share of screaming and running for the door and thrown manipulatives. But at least we had a soft start.
The Sound Drum
About a year and a half ago, I was gifted a sound drum. It is a round metal instrument with a series of tonal tongues that each produce a different note when struck. On the weekends, I sit in a fluffy down-filled armchair to journal, and I often play the drum before I write.
I close my eyes so I am surprised by where my fingers land and what tone comes up. The vibration travels through my fingertips and into my hands and wrists in a way that is grounding and calming in a way I find hard to describe. It is part of a larger healing practice for me: learning more about who I am outside of the titles of mom and SLP.
The Invitation
Close your eyes right now and think about a seminal moment in your life. A graduation. A loss. A drive you took when everything changed. A morning that mattered. I am willing to bet that if music was playing, you can hear it immediately. Music anchors memory in a way that almost nothing else does.
I encourage you to think about the soundtrack of your life. Not just the songs that played at big moments, but the ones you reach for when you are tired, when you need courage, when you need permission to feel something you have been holding at arm's length.
Pay attention to the music that has carried you. Play it often. Music is a balm to the spirit, and your spirit deserves tending.
I would love to know what songs are on your healing playlist. Come find me on Instagram and tell me.
