The Soundtrack of My Girlhood 🎶

Every now and then, I stumble back into an old album—like opening a dusty diary I forgot I had. Recently it was Teenage Dream: The Complete Confection. Suddenly I was twelve again, humming along in front of the TV, dreaming of a future where everything felt as big and endless as Katy’s fireworks. Then there was Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez, where pastel colors hid the ache of girlhood, teaching me that innocence and rebellion could live in the same body. And don’t even get me started on Badlands by Halsey—my anthem of teenage defiance, of wanting to run away and burn bright even if no one understood. And then, of course, Pure Heroine by Lorde, that soft-spoken soundtrack of suburban melancholy, making me feel less alone in wanting “something more” out of the world. Revisiting these albums now feels like revisiting the girl I once was. Each lyric is a breadcrumb trail back to a version of me that was dreaming, aching, searching. And when I listen again, I don’t just hear the songs—I hear the echoes of my own past: late-night walks, diary entries, the first time I dared to think, maybe my feelings aren’t too much. Music has always been more than sound. It was a compass. These albums didn’t just entertain me; they carved pieces of me. They taught me how to feel deeply, how to write honestly, how to stand in my own skin and say, “Yes, this is who I am.” And now, revisiting them as the woman I’ve become, I realize they weren’t just songs—they were prophecies. They shaped the very girl writing these words today.

• Music
• Nostalgia
• Becoming