Six months ago, a recording and mix engineer was driving past John Lewis on the M40 with his wife and stepdaughter when Raye's I Know You're Hurting played on the stereo. It was the third time he had listened to the song, but the first time he really heard it. The lyrics seemed to speak directly to him: “I can see you standing on the edge … You give when you have little left to give.”
A lifetime of hidden struggle
The engineer, who has worked in music since he was 21, said music had made him emotional before, but only ever because of the melody, arrangement or orchestration. As a professional, he would listen to a song all day, taking it apart to improve it, and after 200 listens it lost its meaning. Over the years, he became desensitised to music's power. This time, for the first time, it was the lyrics that brought him to tears.
He had been struggling with his mental health for two decades, but hid it, scared to admit it to his family or even himself. As Raye sings: “And you hide it so well, you do.” The last few years had been especially difficult with Covid, a divorce, becoming a stepfather to teenagers and turning 50. He had invested heavily in his career, working 80-100-hour weeks at its peak, but questioned what his legacy would be. He would sit in silence, a face of thunder, wallowing in self-pity.
From reluctance to acceptance
He had tried cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) many times, but found he would talk without acting on the steps. When his wife suggested speaking to the GP about antidepressants a couple of years ago, he was reluctant, fearing it would kill his creativity. I Know You're Hurting unlocked something in him, however. Hearing his pain articulated by Raye allowed him to accept that he was struggling and gave him permission to admit it. Two months later, he made an appointment with the GP, who prescribed antidepressants. He also decided to start music therapy, which he found more effective than CBT.
In her lyrics, Raye urges the listener to “stop trying to be so strong all alone”, and “If you need two more arms to hold these burdens, I'm here”. He realised he did not have to struggle on his own.
Music as medicine
A couple of weeks ago, he got a tattoo to commemorate the song's impact on his life. The line “close your eyes and let this music get to working” summed up for him the way music can be medicine. He messaged the producer, who sent him the score, and he had the musical notes of that line tattooed on his forearm as a reminder that he is not alone.
Around that time, his music therapist suggested he write a song. The lyrics poured out of him in an hour. He now has an urge like never before to make music. He feared antidepressants would kill his creativity; instead, they opened up the space for him to access it.
Raye's song told him it was going to be OK, and he still returns to her album This Music May Contain Hope in moments when he needs reminding that hope can be found. One of the final tracks is called Joy, which feels fitting because that is where he has ended up.
Impact on daily life
Four months into taking antidepressants and starting music therapy, he argues less and lets things go more. He says he is a better husband and father to his son and stepdaughters, and his family have noticed the change, often saying how much happier he seems.
In the UK, the charity Mind is available on 0300 123 3393 and Childline on 0800 1111. In the US, call or text Mental Health America at 988 or chat 988lifeline.org. In Australia, support is available at Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, Lifeline on 13 11 14, and at MensLine on 1300 789 978.
