Good Grief at Radio City

What Sara Bareilles taught me about holding grief and joy in the same hands

I realized recently that I haven't been very active on the blog, and there's a good reason for that: I've been busy living my best life.

Over the past three weeks, I had an experience that still feels a little unreal. By some miracle, I was able to see my favorite musician of all time, Sara Bareilles, three weekends in a row. Not only did I get tickets to see her in New York, Chicago, and St. Louis, but I also somehow convinced three different adult friends with jobs, responsibilities, and actual lives to join me, one concert at a time.

Sara Bareilles at Radio City Music Hall, New York, September 18, 2026

The fact that all of those logistics came together feels nothing short of miraculous. The tickets, the travel, the schedules, and the willingness of friends to share in something they knew meant so much to me all aligned perfectly.

I thought I would make my first blog post about the New York concert.

I was fortunate enough to see Sara Bareilles at Radio City Music Hall, a venue that had somehow eluded me despite several previous trips to New York City. I'd walked by it, admired its history, and seen countless photos, but this was my first time actually stepping inside.

The theater itself is remarkable. Large enough to create the excitement and energy of a major concert, yet intimate enough to feel connected to the artist on stage, Radio City strikes a balance that few venues can achieve. There is something deeply nostalgic about the space. It feels like a place where stories have been told for decades, and that sense of history seemed to fit perfectly with the evening that unfolded.

Before I go any further, this is my official spoiler alert. If you're planning to attend one of her upcoming concerts and want to experience everything for the first time yourself, you may want to stop reading now.

What struck me most throughout the evening was how beautifully her newest album, Good Grief, captures the complexity of being human. The album explores loss in many forms, from the grief of losing friends to the heartbreak of infertility and other deeply personal struggles. Sara has always had a gift for writing honestly, and this album may be one of her most vulnerable yet.

But here's what I found so remarkable: despite the heaviness of some of the themes, the concert never felt depressing.

There were moments that brought tears to my eyes. There were songs that invited reflection, sadness, and remembrance. Yet those moments were intentionally woven together with humor, hope, gratitude, and joy. Just when you found yourself sitting with something difficult, she would gently guide the audience somewhere lighter. Then, when everyone was comfortable and laughing, she'd invite us back into deeper waters.

At one point during the concert, I turned to my friend, whom I've known since junior high and who had traveled from St. Louis to attend the New York show with me, and said, "This whole concert is trauma-informed."

That may sound like a strange observation to make in the middle of a concert, but as a therapist, it was impossible not to notice.

The pacing felt incredibly intentional.

The experience reminded me of how we approach difficult emotions in therapy. You don't simply throw people into the deepest parts of their grief and leave them there. You move between activation and regulation. You help people access painful emotions, then reconnect with safety, joy, humor, movement, and hope. You create an experience that allows people to feel without becoming overwhelmed.

That's exactly what this concert felt like.

Sara Bareilles at Radio City Music Hall, New York, September 18, 2026

One of the clearest examples was when Sara launched into a cover of Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody."

The placement of that song felt brilliant.

The audience had spent considerable time reflecting, feeling, and sitting with the emotional weight of several songs. Then suddenly the familiar opening notes began, and thousands of people sprang to their feet.

For a few minutes, nobody was processing grief. Nobody was analyzing lyrics. Nobody was reflecting on loss.

We were just dancing.

Strangers were smiling at each other. Friends were singing at the top of their lungs. People who had been quietly wiping away tears moments earlier were laughing and moving. It created a physical release that felt almost therapeutic.

As therapists, we talk about how healing doesn't happen through words alone. Sometimes people need movement. They need connection. They need moments of pleasure and joy. They need reminders that life still contains beauty.

That song served exactly that purpose.

The concert wasn't asking us to ignore grief. It was reminding us that grief exists alongside joy.

The entire evening seemed built around that principle.

There was space for sadness.

There was space for laughter.

There was space for stories.

There was space to remember.

There was space to dance.

Most importantly, there was space for all of those things to exist together.

Why the Dancing Mattered: Music, Movement, and the Nervous System

As I reflected on that moment when thousands of people jumped to their feet to sing and dance to I Wanna Dance with Somebody, I couldn't help but think about what was happening beyond the entertainment.

As a therapist, I spend a lot of time talking about nervous system regulation. Most people think regulation only happens through deep breathing, meditation, or sitting quietly. While those can certainly help, humans have been regulating their nervous systems through music, rhythm, movement, singing, and community long before therapy offices ever existed.

Research suggests that both listening to music and actively making music can influence the autonomic nervous system, the system responsible for shifting us between states of stress, danger, rest, and connection. Music has been shown to affect heart rate, breathing patterns, and the balance between sympathetic activation and parasympathetic calming responses.

What struck me about Sara's concert was that she seemed to intuitively understand this process.

She invited the audience into deep emotional experiences through songs about grief, loss, infertility, and change. Then, before the weight became overwhelming, she brought us back into our bodies through laughter, storytelling, movement, and connection.

That transition into Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance with Somebody felt like more than a fun cover song.

It felt like regulation.

The audience wasn't being pulled away from grief. We were being reminded that joy still exists alongside it.

Everyone was standing. Moving. Singing. Smiling at strangers. Sharing an experience with thousands of other people. For a few minutes, our bodies were doing something that therapists often encourage clients to do: reconnecting with safety, connection, and aliveness.

Emerging research grounded in Polyvagal Theory suggests that activities such as rhythmic movement, breathing together, and singing can support feelings of safety and social connection while promoting healthier autonomic regulation. Group singing, in particular, has been associated with improvements in emotional well-being and social engagement.

In other words, there is a reason it feels good to sing at the top of your lungs with thousands of other people.

Your body is participating in the experience, not just your mind.

A Few Simple Nervous System Regulation Ideas

The concert also reminded me that regulation doesn't always have to be complicated. Some of the best tools are surprisingly ordinary:

• Put on a favorite song and sing along, even if you're off-key.

• Dance in your kitchen while making dinner.

• Take a walk while listening to music that matches the emotional state you want to move toward.

• Attend a concert, worship service, choir rehearsal, or community event where people sing together.

• Create playlists for different needs: calming, energizing, grieving, celebrating, or remembering.

• When you're feeling overwhelmed, try gentle movement before asking yourself to think differently.

Sometimes the goal isn't to talk yourself out of an emotion.

Sometimes the goal is simply to help your body remember that it is safe enough to feel it.

That's what I experienced that night at Radio City Music Hall.

Not an escape from grief.

A reminder that grief and joy can dance together.

The more I reflect on the evening, the more I realize that Good Grief isn't really an album about sadness at all. It's an album about being fully alive. It's about making room for heartbreak and hope, loss and gratitude, tears and laughter, all at the same table.

By the end of the night, I didn't leave feeling drained by the emotional moments. I left feeling fuller because of them.

In a world that often demands that we choose between acknowledging pain and embracing joy, Sara Bareilles offered a different invitation. She reminded us that the richest life is not one without suffering. It's one where we learn to hold grief and joy in the same hands.

For three beautiful hours at Radio City Music Hall, that's exactly what she helped thousands of people do.

And I feel incredibly grateful that I got to be one of them.

Sara Bareilles at Radio City Music Hall, New York, September 18, 2026

References

• McCrary, J. M., & Altenmüller, E. (2021). Mechanisms of Music Impact: Autonomic Tone and the Physical Activity Roadmap to Advancing Understanding and Evidence-Based Policy. Frontiers in Psychology.

• Ellis, R. J., Koenig, J., & Thayer, J. F. (2012). Getting to the Heart: Autonomic Nervous System Function in the Context of Evidence-Based Music Therapy. Music and Medicine.

• Fox, E. (2025). Polyvagal Theory in Trauma-Informed Music Therapy Practice. Music Therapy Perspectives.

• Wünnenberg, E., & Baumann, N. (2025). Group Singing Through the Lens of Polyvagal Theory. PLOS ONE.

The Psychology of Shared Music: Concerts, Connection, Fandom, and the Case for Letting People Love What They Love

There is something profoundly human about gathering in a room full of strangers and feeling, even briefly, like you all belong to each other. Concerts are not just entertainment—they are emotional ecosystems.

As a therapist, I spend my days helping people regulate their nervous systems, repair attachment wounds, and reconnect with parts of themselves that have been silenced or forgotten. And increasingly, I find myself pointing to something deceptively simple as part of that healing process:

Go experience music with other people.

My face of pure joy watching Sara Bareilles at the Hollywood Bowl!

The Mental Health Benefits of Concert Attendance

1. Social Connection and Belonging

A robust body of research confirms that social connection is foundational to mental health. Live events—including concerts—offer a unique environment that facilitates both bonding with close others and meaningful connection with strangers.

Unlike many structured social interactions, concerts create a shared emotional experience where participants are synchronized in attention, movement, and affect. This phenomenon, often referred to as “collective effervescence,” produces a sense of unity and transcendence that contributes to lasting well-being.

In simple terms:
We feel less alone because, for a moment, we are literally in it together.

2. Emotional Regulation and Stress Reduction

Music engagement—especially in live settings—has been shown to reduce anxiety, improve mood, and enhance emotional well-being.

Research also indicates that listening to music in group settings can decrease stress hormones such as cortisol, offering measurable physiological relief.

Additionally, shared music experiences stimulate neurochemical processes associated with bonding and safety, including the release of oxytocin—the hormone linked to trust and connection.

For many individuals, especially those navigating chronic stress or trauma, concerts function as a nervous-system reset—accessible, embodied, and deeply regulating.

3. Identity Formation and Meaning-Making

Music does not simply accompany our lives—it organizes them.

Research suggests that engagement with music contributes to identity development, mood regulation, and meaning-making processes across the lifespan.

Songs become markers of time. Lyrics give language to experiences we may not yet fully understand. Albums hold entire seasons of our lives.

The Psychology of Fandom: When Loving Something Is Good for You

Reframing “Obsession” as Connection

The term “obsession” is often used pejoratively, particularly when describing fans—especially women—who express deep affection for artists or creative work.

However, contemporary psychological research offers a more nuanced perspective.

Most fans exist within what researchers describe as the “entertainment-social” or “intense-personal” range, both of which are considered normative and often beneficial. Only extreme, boundary-violating behaviors fall into clinically concerning categories.

Fandom, in its healthy form, provides:

• Belonging and community

• Identity scaffolding

• Emotional expression and validation

• Motivation and inspiration

In fact, parasocial relationships—those one-sided emotional connections to public figures—can serve as “valuable social resources” that reduce loneliness and provide comfort.

These bonds are not inherently pathological. They are human.

Fandom as Social Identity

Fandoms operate as communities, shaped by shared values, language, and rituals. Participation in these communities contributes to social identity and self-concept.

For individuals who have felt marginalized, misunderstood, or isolated, fandom can become a space of recognition:

A place where you don’t have to explain why it matters—because everyone already knows.

Why We Should Stop Shaming People for Loving What They Love

Despite the evidence supporting the benefits of fandom, cultural narratives continue to dismiss or ridicule people—especially women and adolescents—for their enthusiasm toward artists or bands.

This is not benign.

Research consistently demonstrates that belonging is a core psychological need. Disrupting or dismissing a source of belonging can have real emotional consequences.

Moreover, fandom communities are often described as supportive environments that allow individuals to express themselves, develop skills, and experience social connection.

When we shame someone for loving something that causes no harm, we are not correcting behavior—we are invalidating joy, identity, and connection.

In some cases, we are reinforcing the very isolation we claim to be concerned about.

A Personal Reflection: On Being a “Super Fan”

As both a clinician and a human being, I would be remiss not to acknowledge my own place in this conversation.

I am, without hesitation, a Sara Bareilles super fan.

Her music has been woven through the fabric of my life for years. Each album represents a different season—different versions of myself, different thresholds of growth, different moments of grief and becoming.

There are songs that held me when words failed.
Songs that gave me courage when I needed to speak.
Songs that reminded me who I was when I felt disconnected from myself.

My only tattoo is a song title—written in Sara Bareilles’ own handwriting.

That is not incidental.
That is integration.

From a clinical lens, this is a clear example of how music can function as a relational anchor—a consistent, meaningful thread woven through shifting life experiences.

From a human lens, it’s simply this:

Her work has mattered to me.

A few years ago, I attended a Sara Bareilles concert at the iconic Hollywood Bowl, and what unfolded that evening was a near-perfect example of what research describes as collective effervescence—that sense of unity, emotional synchronization, and belonging that emerges in shared musical spaces.

From the moment we arrived, the experience was relational.

We spread out a picnic—sushi, charcuterie, a bottle of wine—settling into a setting that felt both intimate and expansive, surrounded by the unmistakable magic of a California evening. The weather was perfect. The atmosphere was alive. The Bowl itself—layered in history and meaning—felt like a sacred space for connection.

And then something subtle but profound happened.

I felt instantly connected to the strangers sitting around us.

No introductions necessary. No background context. No social posturing. Just a shared understanding: we are here because this matters to us.

This is the psychology of concerts in real time—barriers drop, and what remains is a shared emotional language.

The Experience of Shared Meaning

The evening opened with Renée Elise Goldsberry—known to many as Angelica from Hamilton—whose performance set the tone for what would become an emotionally expansive night.

Then, Sara took the stage.

She moved seamlessly between beloved songs and selections from her work in musical theater—reminding us that music is not only entertainment, but storytelling, identity-building, and creative expression all at once.

At one point, she debuted two new songs, including one from the upcoming musical The Interestings, which premiers this January. There is something uniquely powerful about witnessing art in its becoming—it invites the audience into the creative process, deepening both connection and meaning.

Midway through the show, she transitioned off the stage and into the audience—performing just a short distance away from where we sat. In that moment, the boundary between artist and audience dissolved. It became less about performance and more about presence.

Emotion, Regulation, and Permission

I had not seen Sara Bareilles perform live since 2019, though I’ve had the privilege of seeing her perform in Waitress and Into the Woods in New York City.

And yet, this experience was different.

More personal.
More emotional.
More integrated.

For a significant portion of the show, I found myself crying—freely, openly.

Not just out of sadness. Not just out of joy.

But both.

This is something I emphasize often in clinical practice:
All feelings are valid—and often, they coexist.

Live music creates a space where emotional expression is not only permitted, but normalized. You don’t have to explain why a song matters. You don’t have to justify your emotional response.

You just get to feel it.

Music as a Lifeline Across Time

When I say that Sara Bareilles’ music has “saved me,” I do not mean that metaphorically.

Her music has accompanied me through multiple chapters of my life—grief, growth, identity shifts, moments of quiet resilience and profound transformation. Each album holds a story. Each song carries emotional data that has helped me process experiences I did not yet have language for.

This is consistent with what we know clinically:
Music becomes an emotional container, a regulation tool, and a continuity anchor for identity.

It links who we were, who we are, and who we are becoming.

Clinical Implications

For therapists, educators, and caregivers, the implications are clear:

• Encourage shared music experiences as a form of relational connection

• Validate fandom as a legitimate source of meaning and identity

• Assess for balance rather than intensity when evaluating fan engagement

• Challenge internalized shame around passion, joy, and enthusiasm

And perhaps most importantly:

Recognize that what may appear trivial from the outside often carries deep psychological significance on the inside.

Conclusion

We live in a culture that often encourages detachment while quietly longing for connection.

Concerts offer connection.
Music offers regulation.
Fandom offers belonging.

And joy—unapologetic, enthusiastic joy—is not something we should be teaching people to suppress.

If something is meaningful, life-giving, and causes no harm, we do not need to pathologize it.

We may, in fact, need more of it.

And if you ever find me in a crowd, singing every word of a Sara Bareilles song with complete emotional commitment—know that from both a clinical and personal perspective…

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

References

Becker, A. S., et al. (2026). Musician presence and its effects on physiological and psychological well-being in live versus livestreamed concerts. Scientific Reports.

Brenner, B. (2025). The psychology of parasocial relationships: From fandom to healthy boundaries. Therapy Group DC.

Dingle, G. A., et al. (2021). How do music activities affect health and well-being? A scoping review. Frontiers in Psychology, 12.

Godman, H. (2024). Do parasocial relationships fill a loneliness gap? Harvard Health Publishing.

Wiedeck, C. (2025). 14 surprising health benefits of attending concerts. Festivaltopia.

Jackson, M. M., & Thompson, A. (2024). Psychological impacts of fandom culture. Ohio State University analysis.