A lot of us weren’t allowed to be sad as kids. So we made playlists. We found lyrics that said what we couldn’t. And now, as adults, we’re unlearning the shame that came with feeling everything. This is what therapy for emos looks like.

Healing for millennial emos looks like: Not texting back immediately Feeling the emotion without explaining it Saying “no” without apologizing Knowing your worth without needing to bleed for it That’s progress. Not selfishness.

You’re not too emotional. You were just raised in a culture that taught you silence was strength. Now you’re finally learning to name things out loud and that’s terrifying. But also: that’s healing.

So many millennial emos learned to love people who hurt them because that’s what intensity looked like. We confused chaos for chemistry. Now we’re relearning what love feels like when it’s actually safe.

You don’t have to outgrow your emo self to grow emotionally. You just need better tools. Scream-sing your heart out then use your coping skills. We’re not shedding our past. We’re integrating it.

When your childhood taught you to suppress emotions, adulthood feels like learning to walk with your actual limbs. Therapy isn’t about “fixing.” It’s about reintroducing you to the parts of yourself you had to exile just to stay safe.

If you grew up in chaos, calm will feel like boredom or danger. You’re not addicted to drama. You just never learned how to trust peace.

“Therapist” was never supposed to be my job title. I thought I’d be on tour forever mic in hand, screaming out the things I didn’t know how to say in real life. But somewhere between the van breakdowns and the quiet moments after shows, I realized: It wasn’t the music that

The Panic in the Applause I had a panic attack during a standing ovation. Not backstage. Not when I was alone. Right in front of hundreds of people clapping for me. And the wild part? I didn’t feel proud. I felt exposed. Because the applause didn’t feel like it was for me— It

Crying in Private, Smiling on Stage Tour taught me how to cry in silence and smile in public. I was breaking down in hotel bathrooms, then walking on stage 30 minutes later like nothing happened. You don’t get “off days” out there. You get green rooms. Call times. The unspoken

Is this thing on?

If you need to hear this: You're not broken. You're burnt out, overworked, overstimulated, and emotionally overdue for a real pause. Take it. Guilt-free. You’re allowed to need what the world never taught you to ask for. 👉 Follow for more reminders that actually meet you where

“Things I wish someone told me when I was still touring full time…” You’re not weak for needing rest Drinking to survive the day doesn’t mean you’re okay Therapy isn’t “too late” if the damage already feels done You're allowed to miss it and still be glad you're home

Touring isn’t just hard on your body…” Touring isn’t just hard on your body. It’s hard on your identity. Your relationships. Your ability to feel like a full person when you stop moving. That’s not failure. That’s impact. And it deserves to be worked through.

Signs you might be more emotionally intense than you realized” You feel everything deeply, even things you “shouldn’t” You replay convos from 8 years ago You crash hard after big social days You hate small talk but crave deep connection You want so much from life it

“What people don’t see about touring life” They see the lights. The adrenaline. The highlights.They don’t see: The panic attacks in venue bathrooms The FaceTime calls you missed The sleep you sacrificed The person you lost while keeping the show alive 📌 This is why I coach

Just trying to be Chris Fronzak therapist

Hey T E L L E whats up with that Boston show??? Would love to come hang