Have you ever felt guilt so heavy it pulled at the very strings of your soul, guiding every step, every decision of your life?
I have.
You tell yourself you're the one walking. But in truth, you're only being dragged along, stumbling through a life that no longer feels like your own.
That was the first weight my mother ever placed on me.
Have you ever carried shame so deep it felt burned into your skin? Until every glance felt like exposure… every word like judgment?
That, I have too.
You try to hide it. To bury it somewhere deep where no one can see it. Yet it clings to you all the same. A burden that was never truly yours, yet somehow placed upon your shoulders.
And there is no letting go.
Have you ever carried something so heavy it bent your back… until even the smallest step forward felt impossible?
Once again, I have.
So you keep walking, pretending there is dignity in it, while the weight drags you down piece by piece.
It becomes a voice.
A quiet voice that once told you that you were never enough. That everything that went wrong… was somehow your fault.
Even though it wasn't.
Not your guilt to bear.
Not your shame to carry.
Yet the voice never disappears.
It follows you.
Quietly.
Until, without realizing it, that voice becomes your own.
Your own sins.
And still… you continue.
Day after day.
Trying to make the most of this strange thing we call life.
At some point, I'm sure you've asked yourself the same question I once did.
Why?
Why keep going?
Is it hope?
Hope that things might one day get better? That tomorrow might be brighter than today?
I once had hope.
Music.
It made the shouting bearable. The hurt easier to endure. If I could sit at the piano for just one hour a day, everything felt… manageable. Even when the rest of the world seemed to be falling apart.
In that one hour, I felt free.
I felt like myself.
Music was my escape.
My refuge.
Looking back now, there was a time when music held my life together. When things felt as they should be.
But just as quickly as it appeared, it slipped away.
And with it went my hope.
That small glowing ember was extinguished. My heart broke. My mind fractured.
And my love for music… disappeared.
All because of my mother.
She was cruel.
Every word she spoke cut deeper than the one before it. Every look, every lesson made me feel as though I didn't deserve to exist.
And I carried that with me.
I carried it for so long that I forgot something important.
It had never truly been mine to carry in the first place.
Even so… I couldn't end things.
At the time, I believed it was because I lacked the courage.
Or perhaps I simply didn't want to give her that satisfaction.
Not then.
So even in numbness, I continued.
And luckily, I did.
Because if I hadn't… I wouldn't be standing here before you today.
Nor would I have met the woman who gave my life purpose.
My wife.
And you know what?
I see you.
Each and every one of you.
I'm here to help you so that you don't have to walk this path alone.
Because I am one of you.
That much, at least, is certain.
Someone you can rely on. One thing in your life that will not change, whatever may come.
Remember this. The fact that I can stand before you and speak of my past means I have overcome it. And you will too.
My name is René.
I will be your music therapy teacher for the next six months.
"I'll see you here again tomorrow," I said as the clock struck ten.
"Get home safely, everyone."
One by one, the handful of young men and women gathered their things and left the room, their footsteps fading into the quiet hallway.
I leaned back against my desk and let the silence settle around me.
And my thoughts drifted.
To the past.
To the paths I had chosen, and to the ones I couldn't.
To the decisions I had made, and the ones I had hesitated to make.
And to the part of my story I could never say aloud.
The story left untold.