I Turned My Truth Into a Song—And I’m Finally Sharing It
In 2024, I did something I had long feared—but always knew I’d one day have to face.
I moved my mom out of the home I grew up in—the one she’d lived in for 43 years—and brought her to live with me in Tennessee.
It meant stepping in to separate her from my sister, who’s been struggling with addiction for a long time. The two of them had been caught in an addict-enabler cycle for years—and it wasn’t just hurting them. It was hurting me, too.
I tried to keep my distance. I told myself maybe I could stay uninvolved. But my mom couldn’t make it through even one month without asking for help to cover basic bills. I was already carrying the weight, just from the sidelines.
Eventually, I had to stop avoiding what my heart had long known: I needed to act.I needed to help my mom find safety. I needed to surrender to the unknown and trust that what we needed would be revealed—one step at a time.
And somehow, it was.
It was emotional. Exhausting. Complicated. But also, quietly beautiful.
I walked through my childhood neighborhood with new eyes. I stood in familiar spaces and let them speak to me. I breathed in the trees I grew up under. I gave myself space to feel it all.
And while I was there, I reconnected with someone incredibly special to me—my guitar teacher and mentor.
We’ve known each other for years from my time living in Chicago, and now meet regularly over Zoom. But this time, we were back in the same city—and I had the chance to record a song that had been building inside me throughout the entire experience.
We hired a cellist and recorded it in a four-hour studio session. It was incredibly beautiful. Sacred, even. One of those rare moments where grief, creativity, and healing all share the same breath.
The lyrics came from the deepest parts of me—the part that wanted to help but couldn’t fix it… the part that longed for peace, for harmony, for home. And the part that knows—deep in my bones—that love leads the way.
There are still parts of this story that remain unresolved. My sister is still struggling. I can’t control what happens next—and I’m learning, day by day, to let go. To surrender. To keep choosing love, even when the path ahead isn’t clear.
This 90-day journey—to be seen—has stretched me. It’s asked me to show up more honestly than I ever have before.
And this moment right here? This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been with you.
Ninety days ago, I wouldn’t have had the guts to share this song. But now I know:
Being seen isn’t about being perfect. It’s about telling the truth.
🎵 Click Here to Listen to Take Me Home
This song holds my grief. It holds my surrender. It holds my truth. And it’s grounded in the knowing that love does, in fact, lead the way.
Journaling Prompt
What’s one part of your story you’ve been afraid to share—even with yourself? What would it look like to gently let it be seen?
Mini Challenge
Create something this week—not for anyone else, but for you. Let it hold your truth. Write, sing, paint, cry, dance, whisper. Let it be messy. Let it be real.
And if it feels right, share it with one person who can receive it with care.
Thank you for walking this journey with me.In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more reflections and lessons from these 90 days—what changed me, what surprised me, and what I hope to carry forward.
But today, I just want to say thank you—for seeing me. And for letting me be seen.
With gratitude,
Monica
Monica Stevanovic