Off Key

I wrote this back in January, when I was being flooded with memories and clarity about the different things said and done during my last relationship that turned out to be manipulation, redirection, and image and reality curation. I'm not sure why I didn't publish it then, but it is an important part of reclaiming the narrative so I am sharing it now.

This is the story of how music was used to shape my belief in the life I was living with him, and who he was as a person.

Off Key

I’ve written a lot recently about some of the memories that have been resurfacing.

Specific moments. Specific instances.

They’ve been coming out as I process the tail end of what I experienced with him. It’s wild how my brain is handling all of this—because it’s happening months later, and these memories aren’t arriving with hurt or heartbreak or rage.

Not even tears.

They’re coming back with something else entirely:

Simple recognition.

Naming. A kind of neutral clarity.

I say some of the things that happened, because it’s definitely not everything.

But enough.

I’ve written before about how he used music—how it helped curate our environment and quietly shape my beliefs about him.

We would sit together on the love seat or lay together in bed listening to different songs he wanted me to hear. Often reading the lyrics together, letting their meaning land.

I shared about Bruce Springsteen’s song Stones.

That one hit like a punch to the gut,

and it’s the one I quoted when I mailed him accountability.

I also shared about Marry Katherine—how it opened the door to a specific possibility. What’s interesting is that when it happened, I asked a few of my guy friends about it. Every single one of them said some version of the same thing:

There is no way I would play that for a woman unless she meant something to me.

There were others.

True Companion— He would play it and tell me that is what he has always wanted.

He would play me a Billy Joel song about spending the day apart and coming together again in the evenings. I think it was Until the Night, though I’m not entirely sure of the title.

They were sweet.

Romantic.

They made me feel chosen.

Special.

Like he loved me.

And then there were the others.

Songs that framed him a certain way—

especially when it came to women and cheating.

There was one song he played for me a couple of times. I’m honestly sad that I don’t know the artist or the title, but I remember the premise clearly: a man gets into an argument with his partner, leaves the house, cheats on her, and then tries to justify it by saying something like, She looked like you. It made me think of you. So it doesn’t count, right?

My ex would talk to me about how unbelievable the song was.

How absurd. How gross.

Who thinks this is okay?

he’d say.

Why would someone write about it like it’s funny?

Legit reaction. Absolutely.

Except—he was lying, cheating, and withholding information from me from the very beginning.

So no. It’s not funny now.

Now it’s just… revealing.

There were also comments about other songs and the artist Chris Isaak.

About how he doesn’t treat women badly.

How he respects them.

How he wouldn’t want his daughters treated that way.

Meanwhile—we know the rest of the story.

Music didn’t create anything on its own.

But it helped build a narrative.

A tone.

An emotional scaffolding.

It was like the lighting and sound design for an elaborate production.

Supported by a strong script, excellent blocking, and an actress who embraced her role completely while never knowing she was in someone else's play.

And now, months later, I can look back and say:

I see what was being curated.

I see what I was meant to believe.

And I see what was actually happening underneath it all.

No drama.

No collapse.

Just clarity.