Pop Punk Therapy (Kristen’s Version) Kristen Rosasco I. THIRTY, FLIRTY, AND DEEPLY UNWELL
They told me thirty would feel likefreedom—like a crisp Chardonnay in an overpriced glass,like a mortgage,like knees that don’t audibly crackwhen you squat down to pick up the crumbsof your twenty-something mistakes.
But I’m here in my room—a room that is covered in crumbs even though there is a strict no food upstairs rule,A room that eerily resembles my teenage bedroom that thankfully still only lives in my memoryWell, sort of… *gestures vaguely*I’m still having a mental breakdown in my underwearMascara coated tears still streaming down my cheeksand since being a mom doesn’t leave much room for literally anything else I’m still standing in front of a dusty mirrorwearing a t-shirt that says“I PAUSED MY ANIME FOR THIS?”staring at my reflection and screaming—
“If you could see that I’m the one who understands you!”
with the emotional stabilityof a raccoon in a thunderstorm.
(Because even I don’t understand myself anymore…)
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II. THE SACRED RITUAL OF REGRESSION
There’s a method to the madness.First, I light a candle that smells like“Cozy Cabin”(a lie. I live in messy, stained suburban hellascape with a leaky faucet,two major appliances that don’t work,and 3 tiny roommates who call me cringe).
Then, I open Spotify like it’s the Ark of the Covenant,search: TAYLOR SWIFT OG ERA,and prepare to summonmy inner dramatic-ass teenwho thought wearing Converse to promwas an act of social rebellionon par with the Boston Tea Party.
You Belong With Me begins.And suddenly, I’m fourteen again,mad at a boy who never looked at me,even though I definitelywrote him a very subtle poem called “your eyes are like the apocalypse but hotter.”
I press play. I ascend.I time travel via bridge.
“She wears short skirts / I wear depression”or whatever the lyric is.Same vibe.
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III. THE DANCE FLOOR IS LAVA (AND ALSO CARPETED)
Cue the chaos.
My body moves with the graceof a drunk muppet.Arms flailing like I’m signalinga plane to land in my driveway.I knock over a glass of LaCroix—R.I.P. key lime,you were too carbonated for this world.
And yet,in the disarray,something holy happens.A divine possession.Like I’m being exorcisedof all the garbage thoughtsthat say,“how’s married life treating you,”“when are you having more kids,”“your LinkedIn is embarrassing,”“your mom thinks poetry isn’t a real career.”
And in this sacred movement,this messy, definitely nowhere near middle-aged interpretive flailing,I am not behind.I am not broken.I am not a punchlineat the Thanksgiving table.
I am the main character.I am the moment.I am her.
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IV. EXISTENTIAL BRIDGE
But then, inevitably,the song ends.The silence creeps inlike a landlord on the first of the month.
I sit on the floor,wrap up in an old blanket that smells likedespair and dry shampoo,wondering whydancing to a pop songis the closest I’ve come toinner peacein four fiscal quarters.
Maybe it’s becausewe were raised onrom-coms and repression,so we have to self-soothewith bridge-builds and chorusesto remember who we are.
Maybe Taylor Swiftis cheaper than therapyand twice as effective.
Maybe healingdoesn’t look like yoga retreatsand perfectly curated morning routineswith matcha and “Daily Stoic” readings—maybe healing isblasting blondie at full volumewhile ugly-crying in a bath towel,because the only personwho really understands youis 2009 Taylorand the backup vocalsyou sang into your hairbrushwhen you still believed in magic.
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V. CLOSING CREDITS: A MIDLIFE MELODRAMA
So yeah.I’m thirty.I still don’t eat my vegetables and I cry at commercials.I’ve googled “how to get your life together”more times than I’ve called my dentist.I still feel like I’m fifteen.
But tonight,I danced.I shook off the shame.I made peace with my ghostsin four-four time.
And if that makes me ridiculous—a grown womanin mismatched socksfinding salvation in a pop song—
then so be it.
Because somewhere out there,someone’s blasting All Too Well (10 Minute Version)with a bottle of Merlot and a full-on breakdown.And I salute them.And I join them.And I press repeat.
More from Kristen Rosasco ↓
- @poetryandpatchouli on Instagram
- Her upcoming anthology, Poetry and Patchouli, is out soon
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