Last night, I went to a concert that moved me to tears.

Katie Noonan was performing Jeff Buckley’s Grace — the entire album, start to finish. And from the very first note, I felt something in me begin to crack.

This album has been the soundtrack to my entire adult life. I first discovered it in the last two years of high school, when I’d play it over and over in my bedroom, dreaming about the world beyond the four walls of my teenage life. Then came the share house years — Grace played loud as we danced, laughed, drank, and pretended we were grown-ups. It came with me in cars, trains, and planes across Australia and overseas. It’s played at dinner parties, during heartbreaks, and even softly in the background while I rocked my babies to sleep.

Every song on that album is a time capsule. When one pops up randomly on a playlist, I’m immediately transported — back to who I was, what I felt, and all the versions of me that this album has held through the years.

So seeing Katie Noonan — one of the best voices Australia has ever produced — perform Grace live was always going to be emotional. But this week, it hit me differently. I think I needed it.

It’s been a big, heavy, anxiety-filled week. The kind where everything feels a bit too loud and too much. I’ve got some big, hairy, scary stuff bubbling away in my subconscious at the moment — things I know I need to face, process, and deal with — sitting on top of the usual load of parenting teens, running a business, and just trying to keep my head above water while riding the unpredictable waves of perimenopause.

It’s a lot.

And sometimes I don’t even realise how much I’m holding until something cracks me open.

Last night, standing in that crowd, I felt the music hit a nerve that’s been quietly throbbing for months. My chest tightened, my throat burned, and then — tears. The kind that come from somewhere deep, the kind that don’t ask permission.

It wasn’t just about the music. It was everything I’ve been carrying — the worries, the frustrations, the sadness I’ve shelved because there’s always something more urgent to deal with. The unspoken fears and unfinished emotions that have been quietly stacking up in the corners of my mind.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? The older we get, the more we collect. Experiences, memories, responsibilities, and feelings we never quite get around to processing. We tell ourselves we’ll deal with it later, when things calm down — but “later” never comes. So the feelings build. Layer upon layer, year after year.

Until one day, something cracks the surface — and the flood comes.

For me, it was Katie Noonan singing Hallelujah. For you, it might be a movie, a song, a conversation, or a quiet drive home where the silence gets too loud to ignore.

And maybe that’s not something to fear. Maybe it’s the body’s way of saying, “Thank you. Thank you for finally letting me feel.”

Because we can’t think our way out of feelings. We have to feel them — even when it’s inconvenient, messy, or unexpected. Especially then.

Last night reminded me that crying doesn’t mean I’m falling apart. It means I’m human. It means I’ve lived and loved and carried a lot — and that it’s okay to let it spill out sometimes.

So if you find yourself suddenly overwhelmed by emotion at something that doesn’t make logical sense — let it. You might not just be crying for that moment, but for all the moments you didn’t have time to.

And that release, that surrender, might be the most healing thing you do all week.

And if you need a bit of help unlocking those trapped and unprocessed feels, please grab your Let it Go blend and safely release what you might need to release.

Love Alisha x

Last night, I went to a concert that moved me to tears.

Katie Noonan was performing Jeff Buckley’s Grace — the entire album, start to finish. And from the very first note, I felt something in me begin to crack.

This album has been the soundtrack to my entire adult life. I first discovered it in the last two years of high school, when I’d play it over and over in my bedroom, dreaming about the world beyond the four walls of my teenage life. Then came the share house years — Grace played loud as we danced, laughed, drank, and pretended we were grown-ups. It came with me in cars, trains, and planes across Australia and overseas. It’s played at dinner parties, during heartbreaks, and even softly in the background while I rocked my babies to sleep.

Every song on that album is a time capsule. When one pops up randomly on a playlist, I’m immediately transported — back to who I was, what I felt, and all the versions of me that this album has held through the years.

So seeing Katie Noonan — one of the best voices Australia has ever produced — perform Grace live was always going to be emotional. But this week, it hit me differently. I think I needed it.

It’s been a big, heavy, anxiety-filled week. The kind where everything feels a bit too loud and too much. I’ve got some big, hairy, scary stuff bubbling away in my subconscious at the moment — things I know I need to face, process, and deal with — sitting on top of the usual load of parenting teens, running a business, and just trying to keep my head above water while riding the unpredictable waves of perimenopause.

It’s a lot.

And sometimes I don’t even realise how much I’m holding until something cracks me open.

Last night, standing in that crowd, I felt the music hit a nerve that’s been quietly throbbing for months. My chest tightened, my throat burned, and then — tears. The kind that come from somewhere deep, the kind that don’t ask permission.

It wasn’t just about the music. It was everything I’ve been carrying — the worries, the frustrations, the sadness I’ve shelved because there’s always something more urgent to deal with. The unspoken fears and unfinished emotions that have been quietly stacking up in the corners of my mind.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? The older we get, the more we collect. Experiences, memories, responsibilities, and feelings we never quite get around to processing. We tell ourselves we’ll deal with it later, when things calm down — but “later” never comes. So the feelings build. Layer upon layer, year after year.

Until one day, something cracks the surface — and the flood comes.

For me, it was Katie Noonan singing Hallelujah. For you, it might be a movie, a song, a conversation, or a quiet drive home where the silence gets too loud to ignore.

And maybe that’s not something to fear. Maybe it’s the body’s way of saying, “Thank you. Thank you for finally letting me feel.”

Because we can’t think our way out of feelings. We have to feel them — even when it’s inconvenient, messy, or unexpected. Especially then.

Last night reminded me that crying doesn’t mean I’m falling apart. It means I’m human. It means I’ve lived and loved and carried a lot — and that it’s okay to let it spill out sometimes.

So if you find yourself suddenly overwhelmed by emotion at something that doesn’t make logical sense — let it. You might not just be crying for that moment, but for all the moments you didn’t have time to.

And that release, that surrender, might be the most healing thing you do all week.

And if you need a bit of help unlocking those trapped and unprocessed feels, please grab your Let it Go blend and safely release what you might need to release.

Love Alisha x