There’s a moment we’ve all lived through: you’re lying on your bed, the room dimly lit, and your heart feels heavier than it should. You press play on Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 Minute Version) and suddenly, it isn’t just your heartbreak anymore — it’s a collective ache, one that feels less lonely because she’s carrying it with you. That’s what I call the catharsis playlist.
We don’t give music enough credit for the way it holds us. Sometimes I reach for a song not because I want to feel better, but because I want to feel seen. Sabrina Carpenter’s Nobody’s Son has all the girlies down bad, because we’re all out here feeling as though third-wheeling is our fate. There’s something oddly comforting about belting it out, even when the details of her story don’t quite mirror mine.
When grief arrives, music becomes gentler. Arijit Singh’s Channa Mereya isn’t just a song; it’s a hand on your back as you cry and picture your ex getting married to someone else (side-eyeing far too many people at once). Jab Tak by Amaal and Armaan Malik feels like the memory of a love you can’t quite let go of—a bittersweet ghost that lingers long after the person has left. Painful, yes, but it also reassures you that at least it was a love worth having. And then there’s Swift’s My Tears Ricochet — grief crystallised into melody. These songs don’t demand that you move on. They whisper: it’s okay to stay here for a while (we’ve all been here).
But catharsis isn’t only about sadness. It’s about every emotion that refuses to be neatly tucked away. It’s in Harry Styles’ Matilda, when you catch yourself reflecting on the strange distance between you and your parents. It’s in anger, in longing, in joy. And no one does fury quite like Olivia Rodrigo. Good 4 U is rage wrapped in glitter, a permission slip to slam your door and scream into your pillow. Anger is rarely pretty, but music makes it bearable — it gives us a rhythm to rage to, so we don’t drown in silence.
And then, of course, there’s love — the messiest emotion of them all. Love songs are the reason we risk heartbreak in the first place. It’s dedicating Swift’s Slut! to someone worthy, someone who makes your heart skip more than one beat. Carpenter’s Feather turns even the smallest crush into a cinematic moment. And Bollywood has its own timeless archive of devotion — Jab Mila Tu still makes you believe in grand, sweeping romances that can weather a thousand storms.
The truth is, music gives us space. Space to rage. To grieve. To adore someone so much it terrifies us. The catharsis playlist doesn’t demand closure — it offers release. It tells us that every emotion deserves its own corner, however messy, inconvenient, or overwhelming it may be.
That’s why I’ll always defend the so-called “sad playlist”. Because it’s not sad — it’s survival. Proof that even when life refuses to hand us tidy answers, we’ll always have songs to help us shoulder the weight. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
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