thefirstinline

Your Music. Your Passions. Your Stories. We Get It.

We curate your stories about your favorite music memories and your favorite music moments. Have you ever stood first in line for hours waiting to get into a concert or to buy tickets? We want to hear your story. Have you ever met your favorite musician? We want to hear your story. We also would love to interview you and we can write your music-story for you. Share your music passions. Share your music stories.

Laura's Story: Finding Her Music Again

Laura Probert loves classic rock and knows full well the healing power that music can have. Unfortunately, she also knows the desperate fear of being a woman alone in the pit of a rock show. But her past experiences have not kept her from passing on her love of music to her children or being able to crank up the radio.  {Warning: this story contains some stuff- some really real adult stuff.}

I am a healer. Music for me is an expression of energy and vibration that connects with my soul leaving me in a heaping, hot mess on the floor- if I am lucky.

As soon as I was old enough to drive, I bought tickets to see Van Halen in a really big stadium in Oakland, CA. I love music and classic rock is my era. It’s something that still makes me happy as I listen to my kids’ favorite music and hear the words, “Your booty don’t need explainin’,” way too many times to count.

For me, being sixteen was a continual challenge of hormones, emotions and fierce battles for independence. Music matched my intensity and passion. It felt like I felt inside- hot, crazy and desperate to be loved for “me.” I would do anything to feel wanted- sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll included.

I didn’t care that Eddie Van Halen already had Valerie Bertinelli. I still screamed like life wouldn’t be worth living without him.

Standing neck deep in sweating fans, I heard the sound, the crowd, and my own voice- a desperate one- aching for Eddie to look my way. I just wanted one second of recognition. Sadly, that felt like my life in general- a continual cry for validation and worth.

“There aren't very many other girls here,” I remember thinking. The two guy friends I came with disappeared as we all got sucked into the crowd that was slowly getting thicker as we inched closer to the stage. I was afraid all of a sudden and balanced on my tip toes to find my friends, using my forearms to hoist me up off of my intruding neighbors. I couldn't see them. I heard the music but it was so loud it was hard to enjoy. And I was alone.

Strange fingers reached in from the swarm and held my crotch. They knew right where to land and I couldn't move away- blocked from all sides, getting tighter like the walls closing in on Luke and Leia in that scene in the dumpster. My body fought hard to move. I struggled and pulled my pelvis away, but couldn't get my hands down to protect myself. I couldn't see who it was. It was dark and I still couldn't move. I felt a body behind me and he was hard.

At that point, there was no music. No concert. No excitement. No Eddie. As that all went on around me- the rock star lights, sound and gyration- I sat pinned in the middle of the swarm terrified, on the verge of tears, wishing I hadn't lost my friends.

I am short but strong. Leaning on my soccer legs, I forced myself backward through the maze and against the flow of people still squeezing themselves into me and toward the stage. “Hey, watch it!” I heard and every few feet I smelled a hint of fresh air. People realized I was moving away from the stage and they let me pass while they moved in to fill the space I left. There was more air. And more. Finally, I was free of rubbing body parts and I found a cement wall to lean back on- sweaty, exhausted, terrified and pissed all at the same time. I wanted to scream, but I cried instead. My friends found me.

“Can we please go home?” I begged.

The huge, primal scream I needed to make sat in a knot just behind my chest and throat for about thirty years. Instead of being healed by it, I was disempowered by the music that night. Everything about it that I loved became an assault- another reminder that being me was not okay.

I reach over and turn the radio down after my daughter turns it up. I haven’t listened to music in a really long time. I don’t remember when I stopped; it wasn't right after Van Halen. I went on to see The Scorpions, ZZ Top, Madonna and a few others, but never again ventured into the pit. I taught aerobics in college and spent hours mixing my tapes to teach by. It was somewhere between kids, I think, overloaded. No time for music.

“Can we listen to music?” my daughter asks, like she does every single time we are in the car.

“Sure,” I reply. “But not too loud, okay?” And then when one of our favorite songs comes on, I spin the volume up and she turns her head and smiles at me.

“But I thought you said…,”

“I know,” I interrupt, “But I like this song!”

Laura Probert, MPT is a healer, a writer and a poet who lives in Bethesda, Maryland. She owns Bodyworks Physical Therapy and Soul Camp, LLC. Find out more about her healing, writing and kicking passions here: www.bodyworksptonline.com

Disclaimer: We are not a "file sharing" site, peer to peer or otherwise; and we in no way support or endorse illegal copying of music. All the media (video and audio) is, to the best of our knowledge, being shared legally. If you see something that doesn't look right, please let us know.