Music, Grunge Girls + Jackson Guitars

It’s funny how every relationship left me with a guitar — a love token turned time capsule. Each one had a deeply rooted story, a sound and a little piece of heartbreak tangled up in the strings. Ibanez', Gibson's, Jackson's.

I cherished every single one. Even when the love that gave it to me didn’t last, because those guitars held something real — a vibration, a frequency that hummed between who I was and who I was becoming, but over time, I realized those instruments weren’t always mine.

They came wrapped in someone else’s idea of who I was supposed to be. Beautiful — but burdened. Like the ghosts of promises that never played out and eventually, I wanted a sound that didn’t come with someone else’s echo.

This Year, I Plugged Into My Own Power

So this year, for my birthday, I did something radical — I walked into Long & McQuade and bought my own guitar.

No reason, no excuse. Just me saying: this time she's all mine.

I must’ve spent a few hours going back and forth between two models, feeling the necks, admiring each one in different ways—but one just kept calling me back and that was it. That moment when the energy of a guitar magnetizes you, that's when you know it's yours. The rest is easy.

I grabbed the perfect pink flower strap, a padded case for protection and a 1-year warranty on the house! Guitars deserve maintenance too.

I knew what I wanted and I got it. No hesitation and no overthinking, because you don’t need a reason, an explanation or even a budget for the things your soul calls for the loudest.

Why I’ll Always Be a Jackson Girl

There’s just something about Jackson guitars that hits completely different. They’re not shy, they’re not soft and they’re not made for background players. They were built for those who want to be heard.

Some facts for the gear heads:

• Jackson was born in the metal boom of the early ’80s — rebellion and precision.

• Their signature shredding necks and high-output pickups make you feel every single note with power.

• Played by legends like Randy Rhoads, Marty Friedman, Adrian Smith (Iron Maiden) and Phil Collen (Def Leppard) — each one left a permanent mark on rock history.

• Jacksons are built for volume, emotion and velocity — perfect for players who crave control and chaos at once.

  
  

It’s a signature statement. Jacksons are bold, unfiltered and a little dangerous. Just like the women who play them.

Music Therapy: The Healer

Ever notice how artists seem to write their best work during heartbreak? That’s not just pain — that’s alchemy.

When you play or write music, your brain releases dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin — the feel-good trifecta that literally repairs your nervous system. Studies show that playing an instrument can reduce anxiety and depression, stabilize mood and even regulate your heartbeat.

According to the American Psychological Association, music can lower cortisol (your stress hormone) by up to 65%, and research from the Journal of Positive Psychology found that people who engage with music daily report higher life satisfaction and stronger emotional resilience.

So when artists say they bleed their pain into their art — they’re not exaggerating. That friction of the strings, that spark of emotion when your fingers meet the frets — that’s energy transforming.

It’s the heartbreak turning into harmony. The static becoming a song. It’s welcoming the frequency of the unknown + the what's next.

The Sound of My Comeback

Guitars are never just wood and wire. They are declarations and an extension to your body. It’s reclaiming every version of yourself that played quietly so someone else could feel louder. It’s realizing you don’t need another person to give you the rhythm — you are the rhythm.

Each chord you hit feels like an affirmation:

I am my own muse. I am my own sound. I am the electric pulse that keeps the song alive.

So I’ll always be a Jackson girl, because she doesn’t beg to be heard. She owns the room — unapologetically, fiercely, with every note demanding to be felt and not just listened to.

Not because I’m louder, but because I’ve learned to play in my own tone — to take up space without flinching, to let my energy hum at full volume without turning it down for anyone’s comfort. There’s a confidence that comes when you stop waiting for someone else to hand you the spotlight and start realizing you were born holding it.

Every time I pick her up, it’s a reminder that I don’t have to ask for permission to exist loudly — to create, to take risks, to be powerful and soft all at once. That’s the thing about finding your instrument, your art and your voice—it reflects you back to yourself in ways words never could.

So yes, my Jackson might own the stage — but the woman behind her owns herself.

Happy Birthday to me. Completely. Beautifully. Unapologetically.