Last Friday, through a string of unexpected events, I found myself at the Taylor Swift concert in Vancouver. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a Taylor Swift fan, so I felt more like an observer of the Taylor Swift movement than a participant. This was exacerbated by the fact that I bought a no view/behind the stage ticket, so I could not actually see Taylor Swift, aside from what was on the Jumbotron.

As we entered the stadium, I saw droves of women dressed in their favorite sequin outfits. Many wearing clothes that were nods to their favorite era of Taylor. You could tell they’d been waiting years for this moment to see their idol. As we walked past the long merch line and waited in another line for the bathroom, I noticed something. A more somber undertone to all this excitement. What is this undertone in the air? Insecurity? No, that’s not quite right. This was a much different vibe than other shows I’ve been to recently. A feeling that for many of the women at this concert, Taylor Swift literally is their hero. A voice to their truth. An answer to their prayers for change. A window into who we all want to be, if only we could be so brave.

As I got to my seat, I noticed the same sort of undertone around me. Yes, excitement. And also, something else. A night to escape. A night to forget everything else going on in our lives and just enjoy the three hours of Taylor Swift. But still, there was some layer of sadness beneath it all. As soon as the countdown got closer to zero, everyone stood up. The stadium lights turned off, our wrist bands lit up (this was cool), Taylor came out, and the crowd erupted. The current of energy from the crowd rushed through me. Tears came to my eyes.

What is going on here?

Oh…It’s the weight of our collective conditioning that I’m noticing here.

Fast forward to Sunday. I took my kids to the McDonalds PlayPlace because it has food they will reliably eat, it’s fenced in, and I can sit down. (I’m pretty much always 3-on-1 when I have my kids, so energy conservation is an important part of my parenting strategy.) After we ate our food, I was sitting in a corner booth, vaguely watching my kids as they played in the PlayPlace when I noticed another parent struggling with his kids. His kids were misbehaving, I guess, and he kept going over to the PlayPlace to correct them. Eventually, frustrated and defeated, he looked at me and said “your kids are great.” This was after a very difficult 24 hours at home. After a day of really not feeling like a good mom. A day of deconditioning, essentially.

The thing is, my kids are able to (mostly) be good kids in public because I let them go all out behind closed doors. On Saturday, this meant essentially unlimited screen time. Meals on the couch or in bed. Later-than-I’d-like bed times. A trip to Fred Meyer to buy more toys than I’d like. A lot of wild jumping and rough playing. And a LOT of screaming and not listening to me.

I see that my kids are going through a lot. They don’t always have the words to express what they are feeling, so my focus has been to help them learn to regulate themselves and get their pent up grief, sadness and rage out. In whatever way it has to come out. And to show them that I still love them no matter what. Even when they are yelling “I hate you mommy” from across the room. Once we get it all out and clearly establish that our love is unconditional, we will figure out a better working model. But there’s also another reason why I offer my kids so much freedom when I can. They are already told to follow rules and behave in so many hours of the day. I am letting them explore their wants, needs, and desires as widely as possible so they can deeply know themselves. I want them to go for it. Whatever it is for them.

What I observed at the Taylor Swift concert was the undertone of suppression. Taylor Swift gives a voice to our collective experiences as women. A window to a better future. Hope. But many women are still suppressed. Held back. Told to behave. Some of this is inflicted by others, and some of it is self-inflicted when we hold ourselves back based on our conditioning and our low self-esteem. We often don’t even realize we are holding ourselves back. We naturally let everyone else go first. And we’re trapped in a society that no longer really serves most of us, not just the women. We are all playing roles in this made up ecosystem that we don’t really like. Something is wrong around here. Deeply wrong. We bob our heads to Taylor Swift, her words resonating. We quietly wish we could build up a stronger voice within ourselves. A voice like hers. We start feeling a little more brave, so we try to be a little louder, thinking the women’s empowerment movement is on our side. We ask. We demand. We force. And we’re told that we need to calm down. That we are too dramatic. Too much. Unacceptable. We only like women’s empowerment when it’s cute. Not when it looks hysterical (which is usually part of the healing process. Healing is messy). Not when it means real change. So we quiet back down, and we wait for people like Taylor Swift to save us.

Taylor gives us a brief window into who we want to be. Who we would be if nothing constrained us. If just for a moment. Or 3 hours. That glimpse through the window is enough to remember that another version of us does exist beneath all this armor. The root of who we are. But then the clouds of life come back, and we sink back into our collective stuckness. So how do we change the ratio such that our lives are more window, less clouds? I made this little app that illustrates the process I’ve followed, and it’s essentially the same process I follow with my kids.

The answer (I think) is to go inward so we can release the traumas that bind us and become the most authentic and genuine versions of ourselves. To shine our own lights as brightly as possible. So bright its blinding. To explore, trigger ourselves, release, and grow. I want everyone around me to blow me away with their light. Because with the brightness comes true joy and softness and surrender and peace and unity and all the things we dream of at our cores. And I believe this is the path to our collective healing. This is what drives true change, across the divide we seem to have gotten ourselves into. To a world where we can sing Taylor Swift songs and FEEL, truly, deeply, like we belong. Not just for one night. But every day.