I am not, and have never been, what anyone would consider a Swiftie. While I’ve always been a casual fan of Taylor Swift, it wasn’t until the COVID-19 pandemic, and the twin releases of Folklore and Evermore, that I truly loved any of her work. But her newest release, Midnights, has been resonating deep, right into my almost-40 heart. Swift has always been an incredible songwriter, and with her latest songs, she has nailed the grief, regret, and pain that comes with reflecting onto the mistakes made in youth, and the hurt we experience along the way to adulthood.
Maybe it’s because I’m not a diehard Taylor Swift fan, but before Midnights, the number of songs she’d written which made me cry were few and far between. (Although, come on, I don’t think anyone could have been dry-eyed listening to Epiphany and Marjorie.) But this album hit me hard. I related so hard the feeling of being alone, like I was a screw-up with no hope of redemption, like I was doomed to ruin every relationship I’d ever be in. Songs like Karma and Vigilante Shit brought all those angsty feelings from my early 20s flooding back, as if I was right there in my solo apartment again, seething over the people I felt had wronged me, luxuriating in the thought of how I’d prove them all wrong one day, how I’d get my vengeance. But there were a few songs from Midnights in particular that, judging by my social feeds, has hit us middle-aged (ugh) women really, really hard.
Many moms have experienced pregnancy loss; I’m one of them. Is Swift a member of our secret little club? There’s no telling, and frankly, it’s her decision, and hers alone, if she wants to share that or not. But I, along with many other moms, can’t help but feel like the lyrics to “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” relates specifically to experiencing a miscarriage. I remember feeling so conflicted about my grief; my miscarriage was so, so early. How could I be so heartbroken over something so small, something I never really had? But there I was, sobbing my heart out — both then, and now. Bigger Than the Whole Sky encapsulated those feelings so perfectly; the loss and the regret, the thought that somehow, I had done something to cause this. Somehow, losing my baby was my fault. If I had prayed more, been a better person, done things the “right” way, would my baby have stayed? Logically, I know the answer to that is no. But emotionally, it’s hard to dismiss those nasty little thoughts.
Then there’s Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.
God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be
The tomb won’t close, stained glass windows in my mind
I regret you all the time
I can’t let this go, I fight with you in my sleep
The wound won’t close, I keep on waiting for a sign
I regret you all the time
If clarity’s in death, then why won’t this die?
Years of tearing down our banners, you and I
Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts
Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first
Y’all, I was not prepared for this song — at all. I know, just from reading about the Taylor Swift discography, that she’s written plenty about her relationships as a young teenager with older men; it’s something we have in common. At 18, literally fresh out of high school, I made the idiotic decision to get into a relationship, one which eventually became abusive, with a 30-year-old man. Now, 20 years later, the pain isn’t really there anymore, but it destroyed me for much of my 20s, long after the relationship ended. And the thing that kills me now, as a grown woman, is the knowledge that Swift points out over and over again in this song — that he should have known better. Yes, I was technically an adult, like Swift was. But there is something wrong with someone in their 30s preying on a literal teenager. I didn’t know, as an 18-year-old, about the idea of power imbalances in a relationship. But I do now, and Swift’s pleas for her ex, assumed to be either John Mayer or Jake Gyllenhaal, to give her back her girlhood, how she should have been left wondering, are exactly the problem with relationships like these. You cannot have a healthy relationship between unequal partners, and someone who is, in so many ways, still a child can never be equal with someone who is older, established, and in a position of power over them.
I wasn’t expecting Midnights to have this kind of insight into the mistakes and regrets of my youth — I don’t know, I suppose I was expecting more juicy digs at Kim Kardashian and dreamy love songs about Joe Alwyn, but here we are. With Midnights, Taylor Swift appears to have firmly entered adulthood — she’s younger than me, but not by much — and has offered not only a window into our painful pasts, but a balm to help us heal. Because for me, these songs, and the distance the years have brought me, have helped bring a certain clarity to it all. Yes, our pasts are painful, but they’re what made us into the people we are today.
And the best thing? As parents, we have a second chance in our children. My painful past can serve as a roadmap for my children’s hopeful future.
