You know… I didn’t think I’d ever write something like this. Music has always been my thing. My anchor. My way back to myself. The one constant that never asked too much of me.

And then one day… it just didn’t happen anymore that way.

I’d open Spotify, stare at the playlists I usually love, and then close it again. Not even skip — just close. Like my whole body went, “Nope. Not today.”

And honestly? It baffled me, it even scared me more than I expected.

I wrote a little about this in my last post, but I realised there’s more here to share and also something I wish someone had told me when I was in the thick of a heavy chapter of life. So I’m sharing it now, in case you’re in that place too — or if you ever find yourself there and wonder what’s going on.

What changed for me

It wasn’t dramatic. It was more like… a slow fade.

Music started feeling like noise. Sharp. Too much. Almost like someone scratching a whiteboard.

Even nature sounds — birds, wind, leaves — felt irritating at times. Which is crazy, because usually that stuff calms me instantly.

I found myself choosing silence. Or mindless TV noise. Chicago Med became my weird comfort show — not because I watched it, but because it didn’t ask anything of me. It was just… there. A soft hum in the background.

And my favourite songs? Nothing. No spark. No emotion. Just… blank…emptiness.

That blankness scared me.

What I noticed in myself

The questions started almost immediately:

• Why isn’t this helping?
• What’s wrong with me?
• Why does this feel like noise?
• Am I losing my connection to music?
• What if this is permanent?
• Why does my body feel so tense when I try to listen?

It felt like all my safety nets had been pulled away at once. Like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t want to fall into and in my case it presented itself as a deep, dark hole trying to suck me in.

And the fear wasn’t really about music — it was about what losing that connection meant.

How it felt in my body

My body felt… off. Tense. Uneasy. Sometimes numb, sometimes painful. Like I wasn’t fully inside myself.

Silence felt strange at first. Almost too easy and flowy. But then it slowly became comforting — like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.

Music, on the other hand, felt too alive. Too emotional. Too demanding.

I wrote this down at the time:

“Music felt too much and loud… which was something I haven’t experienced before and was a little scary.”

And that’s exactly how it was.

What helped me cope

Honestly? Stopping the fight.

I stopped forcing music on myself. I let myself sit in silence — especially after hospital calls or long days where everything felt heavy.

I cried when I needed to. I stared into space with a cup of tea. I let myself be a little undone.

I read things and pondered about them, slowly, trying to understand what was happening. And eventually I realised my body wasn’t rejecting music — it was protecting me.

When I did feel ready to try again, I didn’t go back to my usual playlists. I went backwards. Nostalgia. Old songs that felt safe and familiar.

Madonna’s Live to Tell was the first one that cracked something open again. I cried through it. Sang through it. Let it hold me without asking too much.

That was my way back in. Almost like I opened the door and said ‘honey, I am home!’

What I realised later

Looking back now, I can see things I couldn’t see then:

• It wasn’t absence — it was a shift.
• My nervous system needed quiet.
• Music wasn’t gone; it was waiting.
• I wasn’t losing my connection — I was protecting myself.
• My relationship with music was changing shape, not breaking.

I wrote this down at the time:

“It went quiet so I could survive.”

And that still feels true.

How I knew I was coming back

It didn’t happen in one moment. It was slow. Gentle. Almost shy.

Little things:

• feeling curious again
• one song feeling comforting
• less irritation
• more emotional space
• wanting music again — not out of habit, but because something inside me reached for it
• making a nostalgia playlist and letting myself feel everything

I wrote this during that time:

“Now that things start to calm down, I can slowly feel the volume being turned up again. Slowly.”

That’s exactly how it felt — like someone turning a dial inside me.

A soft truth to end on

If you’re in a season where music feels different — where it doesn’t reach you, or feels like noise, or asks too much — nothing is wrong with you.

You’re not broken. You’re not losing your love for music. You’re not disconnected forever.

You’re shifting. Your nervous system is asking for quiet. Your inner world is rearranging itself.

Music will wait for you. It always does.

And when you’re ready — even if it’s just one song, one moment, one breath — it will meet you where you are.

Just like it did for me….