Kimberlee K.

Among Taylor Swift’s 31 (!) new songs released on her new album, The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology, is “thanK you aIMee.”

Regardless of who it is speculated to be about, it is a message to a person and/or experience in the past which you’ve found a way to heal from and, in some ways, be grateful for.

The first chorus goes:

All that time you were throwin’ punches, I was buildin’ somethin’

And I can’t forgive the way you made me feel

Screamed, “F*ck you, Aimee” to the night sky as the blood was gushin’

But I can’t forget the way you made me heal

I’ve never been bullied, never been the intended target of a take down, but I’ve been hurt. I’ve been blindsided by those close to me and had words flung at me that cut straight to the core. I’ve had my heartbroken and been leveled by experiences I didn’t know to prepare for. I have felt abandoned and betrayed and confused, and sat on the floor, too heavy with emotion to stand up, and wondered how I was supposed to start over. Again.

I think we all have a list of wounds that we keep, that we poke at—sometimes intentionally, sometimes unexpectedly.

I know I’ve held on to past hurts as evidence of why I am the way I am, perhaps in the hopes that someone will ask a question and I can open up that trifold presentation and say, “See!! This is where it all went wrong. This is why I can blame ______ for not being where I’m supposed to be, not having what I wanted to have, not living the life I was supposed to live.”

But as time passes and we grow and change and learn more about the world, as we gain perspective about others that we didn’t previously have, as we see the unexpected benefits to the paths we never wanted to take, and as we allow ourselves to see the part we played in past hurts, we are given the opportunity to forgive, to heal, and to move forward.

We find ourselves at a crossroads: to hold onto the grudge that has kept us company, to cling to that familiar excuse for our stagnation, victimhood, or destruction, or to notice what we’ve learned—gained even—from the hurts we initially thought would ruin us.

There is a song on Taylor’s previous album, Midnights, where she says, “everything you lose is a step you take,” which I’ve always liked because it turns on its head the feeling I get when I lose something or someone—that I am stuck, that I am moving backwards, that I am lost—and instead reminds me that, though I might not see it at first glance, and though I might not ever appreciate that loss, I can accept that it will take me somewhere new.

And I think that is the message of “thanK you aIMee.”

The song is not a proclamation that the wounds never existed or never hurt, that her world wasn’t torn from its axis and life didn’t feel like it was over—it is an agreement, perhaps only with herself, that she has decided to accept what happened, and appreciate the unexpected good that came in the aftermath; to thank that person, who hurt her deeply, for inspiring her to find strength she didn’t know she was capable of, and to climb a peak she never knew she could hope to get to.

It is so easy to cling to those past hurts, to let them fuel us on our darkest days, to hand over blame for everything that has gone wrong in our lives, no matter how small.

But at the end of the day, it is our choice to cling to that resentment, that bitterness, that sting. It is our choice to let the present pass us by because we are so focused on the past. It is our choice to turn our heads from open windows in favor of staring at closed doors.

It is our choice whether to let words and wounds nail us to the floor, or to use them as fuel to drive us forward. To take us, perhaps not in the direction that we expected, wanted, or ever imagined, but in a direction more fruitful than we knew to hope for, more than we knew we were capable of finding, especially in the aftermath of heartbreak.

The last chorus says:

All that time you were throwin’ punches, it was all for nothin’

And our town, it looks so small from way up here

Screamed, “Thank you, Aimee” to the night sky and the stars are stunnin’

‘Cause I can’t forget the way you made me heal

May we all thank our (tangible and intangible) Aimee’s and move forward. May we all retire that trifold presentation for good. May we all stop poking at old wounds just to show others that they still bleed. May we all find the strength and courage to forgive so that we can finally heal.

And may we all pursue the perspective that allows us to grow and learn from the ways we’ve been Aimee’s to someone else. May we forgive ourselves, and hope that somewhere out there, they’ve forgiven us too.