Finding My Way Isn’t What I Thought

I’ve loved Malala Yousafzai for a long time.

I remember when she first entered the news. I watched her documentary, I read I Am Malala, and I was deeply moved. Especially by her relationship with her father. The way he didn’t clip her wings. The way he helped her fly. He even named her after a woman known for courage through voice.

That resonated with me immediately.

I was moved by a father who protected and elevated his daughter’s voice, because in my own life, I experienced something different but just as defining. My dad lost his voice, and in doing so, helped me find mine — not in speaking, but in music. In expression. In the place where feeling turns into sound.

There’s a refrain in my song Hummingbird that says, “I’ll be the voice you need, your wings can carry me.”

The voice. The wings. The father. The freedom to express. It wasn’t abstract. It was personal. It all hit something deep in me.

So when I wrote my song Malala in 2016, it didn’t feel like something I had to figure out or force. It just… came out. It felt like my heart talking. Those are my favorite kinds of songs to share; the ones that don’t feel like effort, just truth moving through.

There’s even a part of me that feels like my dad had a hand in it too. When I was a little-little, he used to play the guitar and have me sing “la-la-las.” Just simple, open sound. And when I wrote this song, I could feel that energy again — like that same innocence, that same permission to just let something come through. So in a way, it wasn’t just about Malala. It was about where my voice came from in the first place.

🎧 Listen to Malala →

Fast forward to earlier this year.

I was traveling for my uncle’s memorial and I brought Malala’s new book, Finding My Way, with me. The title alone spoke to me — Finding My Way. That’s what I feel like I’m always doing.

As I read it, something unexpected happened.

There were parts where she talked about being thrust into a life she didn’t necessarily choose. About how people, even with good intentions, can project things onto her that don’t actually reflect her full truth.

And I had this real moment where I thought:

Oh no… am I one of those people?

Did I take her story and turn it into something that served me instead of honoring her?

Did I cross a line?

It made me seriously consider quietly pulling the song down.

Like maybe the most respectful thing I could do was pretend it never existed.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat with the discomfort and the questions.

I sat with my own intention.

And when I really checked in, not with fear or optics but with that same place the song came from, I knew:

The song was never about taking anything from her.

It was about being moved by her. Inspired by her. Reflecting something that genuinely touched my heart.

So I left it.

And about a week later — seven years after I released it — the song started getting real traction for the first time.

Like a ripple making its way outward from the answer I found within.

Like the thing I made from a real place was finally finding its way to other people.

And that’s when something clicked for me.

Finding your way isn’t about never questioning yourself.

It’s not about always getting it right the first time.

It’s about being willing to pause when something feels off…

and then having the courage to return to your truth anyway.

Even after doubt.

Even after fear.

Even after asking yourself, “What if I got this wrong?”

Because sometimes the way forward…

is actually the path back to yourself.

🎧 Listen to the song Malala →