I still remember where I was when I connected with Taylor Swift for the first time. I was sitting in my dorm room at 20 years old; I was studying abroad, and a boy had just broken my heart. A friend sent me a link to the “White Horse” music video.
“You need to see this,” he said. My friend was right. Taylor Swift‘s ballad of heartbreak and broken promises filled my heart. It was everything I’d ever felt but never been brave enough to say. “White Horse” was my gateway Taylor. From there, it was only a short time before I became a fanatic.Taylor and I are close in age. She was born only a year after me, which meant that we were growing in about the same ways at about the same time. We also seemed to suffer from a similar ailment: a fear of vulnerability that prevented us from getting what we wanted and left us feeling rejected (see: “You Belong with Me). Her ballads of unrequited love spoke to deep pain I had hidden in shame. Hearing Taylor allowed that shame to transform into righteous indignation. I understood why other people mocked her, but she always seemed to know exactly where I was in my life and the relationships that I needed to get out of but couldn’t (see: “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”). Taylor’s albums were a road map for the pains I endured when I was young. They helped me feel heard so that I might heal. And eventually, I grew up.
The thing is: she didn’t.
My heart had been broken enough times, and I made enough mistakes that I was finally able to forgive people. I learned to look outside of myself. I was not the center of the universe. I also learned to cop to my privilege, to recognize it, and to work as hard as I could to grow past it. Taylor has had a couple of hiccups in her career, and my default was to give her grace. Who doesn’t screw up while growing? Plus, this is the girl whose music had helped me through countless…
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