Meaning-Making, Music, and Words Help Us Survive Life’s Hardest Moments
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
I didn’t encounter that line in a quiet library or a moment of calm reflection. I was a high school student, sitting in the middle of a crowded classroom, surrounded by friends—while my home life was quietly and dramatically falling apart.
I read those words for the first time and something inside me shifted.
That line didn’t erase what was happening. It didn’t minimize the pain or pretend things were okay. What it did was something far more powerful: it gave me agency. It told me that even when I couldn’t control my circumstances, I still had the right to decide how I met them. No one else was going to determine my fate for me.
In that moment, I felt alone—and suddenly, alive. Held by language. Connected to something bigger than my own fear.
The Power of Meaning-Making
Looking back, I understand now what I was doing instinctively: making meaning.
We all do this. We grab onto phrases, mottos, affirmations, lyrics—anything that helps us survive the moments that feel too heavy to carry alone. Research supports this. Studies in psychology and neuroscience show that affirmations and personal mantras can reduce stress, improve emotional regulation, and strengthen resilience—particularly during times of trauma or uncertainty (Creswell et al., 2013; Sherman & Cohen, 2006; Southwick et al., 2014).
A mantra isn’t about denial. It’s about grounding. It’s about reminding ourselves that we still have choice, still have movement, still have voice.
That Hamlet quote eventually found its way into my therapy work, too. It taught me how to help others loosen their grip on being “stuck.” It showed me that even in our gravest moments, light can still find a way in. We don’t forget what happened—but we can reframe it. We can find silver linings without minimizing pain. We can grow lives so full that the darkness no longer takes over.
Nothing is erased. It is reimagined—into something that drives us forward.
Songs That Held Me Together
For me, music was another lifeline.
There were two songs I held onto like anchors:
“Round Here” – Counting Crows
(YouTube: Counting Crows – Round Here)“Bitter Sweet Symphony” – The Verve
(YouTube: The Verve – Bitter Sweet Symphony)
Those songs understood something I couldn’t yet put into words—the ache, the searching, the noticing of “the crumbling difference between wrong and right”, and the strange beauty of surviving. Music has a way of saying you are not alone without ever speaking directly to you. “I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.”
And it wasn’t just those songs.
I still have the “All Alone on the 401” CD a best friend in high school gave me. We sang endlessly into the night, driving nowhere in particular, chasing laughter that came from the deepest part of our bellies. We were young. We were hurting. We were alive.
It turns out it’s not just teens who do this. Across the lifespan, people create soundtracks for their lives—songs that carry them through grief, growth, love, loss, and becoming. Music helps regulate emotion, process trauma, and create connection (Koelsch, 2014).
Again, it’s not the object itself—it’s the meaning we make of it.
Words to Hold Onto
Here are a few trauma-informed, reaffirming quotes that many people find grounding. Maybe one of them is yours today:
“You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
“I am allowed to take up space.”
“This is hard, and I am still here.”
“Even now, I am becoming.”
“I can’t control everything, but I can control my next choice.”
We use these techniques across our lives—sometimes without even realizing it. A phrase. A song. A memory. A line from Shakespeare read at exactly the right moment.
What’s Yours?
So I’ll ask you the question that matters most:
What’s the saying you need today?
What do you reach for when things get heavy?
What helps you get through this moment—this hour—this life?
We don’t forget the darkness. We don’t pretend it didn’t shape us. But we don’t let it define the ending, either.
We make meaning.
We carry forward.
And sometimes, we do it with nothing more than a single line that reminds us we still have a choice.
References (suggested):
