Survivors’ Anthem Series # 56: “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac

When the Same Song Finds You in Different Seasons of Your Life

Some songs stay with us because they remind us of one specific moment.

Others seem to grow alongside us.

We hear them at sixteen and they mean one thing. We hear them years later and suddenly the same words reach somewhere entirely different.

For me, “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac, written and sung by Stevie Nicks, has always been one of those songs. It has followed me through different seasons of my life. Through feeling misunderstood. Through trying to figure out who I was when so much of my identity felt shaped by other people. Through learning how to build a life that actually belonged to me.

And recently, this song found me again. Except this time, it wasn't about my past.

It was about someone I love.

When a Song Changes With You

I've always been fascinated by how music does this. The song doesn't change.

We do.

Our experiences change. The people beside us change. The things we're afraid of change. And suddenly, a song we've heard hundreds of times sounds completely different.

When I was younger, “Landslide” spoke to the parts of me that felt misunderstood. I spent so much time trying to understand where I fit into a life that often seemed built around everyone else's needs, emotions, choices, and expectations.

When you've experienced trauma, it can be difficult to separate who you truly are from who you learned to become in order to survive. For a long time, parts of my life felt like they belonged to other people.

Healing has meant slowly asking:

What belongs to me?

My voice.

My boundaries.

My dreams.

My story.

My future.

Those things are mine.

And as I've changed, this song has changed with me.

Then Life Shifted Again

Recently, someone very important to me has been dealing with medical issues. There are still questions. There is uncertainty. And uncertainty has a way of creating its own kind of emotional exhaustion.

You can move between hope and fear so quickly that you barely have time to understand one feeling before another arrives. One moment you're optimistic. The next you're scared. Then you're trying to be strong. Then you're angry that any of this is happening. Then you're grateful for an ordinary moment. Then you're terrified of what might come next.

It really is an emotional roller coaster. And there isn't always anything you can do to stop it.

The Dinner I'll Remember

Recently, after receiving some difficult news, my family went out to dinner together. It could have been just another dinner with food and conversation. Everyone gathered around a table.

Then “Landslide” started playing. And I noticed this person singing along. I didn't say anything. I just watched. And suddenly, everything around me seemed to slow down.

Here was this person I love, singing along to a song that had meant so many different things throughout my own life. And surrounding them were people who loved them. Family. People showing up. People sitting beside them in the uncertainty. People who couldn't necessarily fix what was happening but could make sure they didn't have to experience it alone.

I just took in the moment. And the tears came to my eyes.

When an Ordinary Moment Becomes Everything

There are moments in life when you become painfully aware that you're going to remember something. That dinner became one of them.

Nothing extraordinary was happening from the outside. But inside me, everything was happening at once.

Fear.

Love.

Gratitude.

Sadness.

Hope.

Uncertainty.

I wanted to freeze the room. Freeze the song. Freeze everyone around that table. Because sometimes when life reminds you how uncertain tomorrow can be, an ordinary moment suddenly becomes incredibly precious.

You stop thinking about everything else. You just look around and think:

We're here.

Right now.

Together.

And right now matters.

When You Can't Fix It

One of the hardest things about loving someone is accepting that love doesn't give us control.

I wish it did.

When someone you love is facing something frightening, every instinct tells you to do something. Fix it. Find the answer. Take away their fear. Take their place if you could. But sometimes there isn't anything to fix in that moment.

Sometimes there are questions that don't have answers yet. And sometimes loving someone means sitting beside them inside that uncertainty. Going to dinner. Laughing when you can. Listening when they need you. Being quiet when they don't need words.

Letting a song play. And being present enough to recognize:

This moment matters.

The Landslides We Don't Choose

Survival doesn't belong exclusively to one kind of experience. That's something this series has taught me again and again. I've written about surviving childhood abuse. Domestic violence. Trauma. Mental health struggles. Relationships. Finding your voice. Reclaiming your body.

But people survive so many different kinds of landslides.

Illness.

Grief.

Loss.

Caregiving.

Uncertainty.

Family crises.

Heartbreak.

Life-changing news.

And sometimes simply the fear of not knowing what comes next.

There isn't one definition of what it means to be a survivor. Sometimes survival means rebuilding after everything has already fallen. And sometimes it means standing there while the ground beneath you still feels uncertain.

Stevie Nicks and a Song That Keeps Finding Me

There is something timeless about Stevie Nicks.

Her voice carries vulnerability without losing strength.

And “Landslide” has an extraordinary ability to meet people wherever they happen to be in life.

Maybe that's why I've carried it through so many chapters of mine. I heard one song when I was younger. I hear another now.

And maybe years from now, I'll hear something entirely different again. That's the gift of music. A song can become a container for whatever we're carrying when it finds us.

What “Landslide” Means to Me Now

Right now, this song means presence. It means recognizing that life can change. It means admitting that change scares me. It means accepting that I don't have every answer. It means allowing myself to feel the entire roller coaster instead of pretending I'm handling everything perfectly.

But most of all, it means remembering to look around the table. To notice the person singing. To notice the people surrounding them. To notice the love in the room. Because when life feels uncertain, sometimes we become so consumed with tomorrow that we forget we're standing inside a moment we'll someday wish we could visit again.

That night, I didn't want to miss it. So I listened. I watched. I loved. And I let myself feel all of it.

Why “Landslide” Belongs in the Survivors’ Anthem Series

This series has never been only about songs that make us feel powerful. Sometimes the music that helps us heal is quiet. Sometimes it doesn't tell us to fight. Sometimes it simply sits beside us while we feel.

“Landslide” belongs here because it can speak to so many different kinds of survival. Maybe you're healing from trauma. Maybe you're watching someone you love struggle. Maybe you're grieving. Maybe your life is changing faster than you're ready for. Maybe you're trying to figure out who you are after spending years living for everyone else. Maybe you're simply afraid of what comes next.

Whatever your landslide looks like, music can remind us that someone else has stood inside change and tried to make sense of it too. And sometimes that connection is enough.

For the Person at That Table

I won't tell your story because it belongs to you.

But I will tell you this:

I saw you.

I saw you singing.

I saw the people surrounding you.

I felt how much love existed around that table.

And in a moment filled with so much uncertainty, I felt something else too.

Gratitude.

Gratitude that we were there.

Gratitude for dinner together.

Gratitude for music.

Gratitude for an ordinary moment that suddenly didn't feel ordinary at all.

Whatever comes next, I hope you always know how deeply you are loved. And I hope you know you don't have to walk through the uncertainty alone.

🛡️ Survivor Support & Safety Awareness

Throughout the Survivors’ Anthem Series, I talk a lot about emotional healing, finding our voices, and reclaiming our lives.

But for survivors of domestic violence, feeling physically safe matters too. That's why I'm proud to collaborate with Hootie Personal Safety Alarms as another part of my advocacy for survivors.

💜 For every 4 Hooties I sell, 1 is donated to a domestic violence shelter.

That means your purchase isn't only about adding another personal-safety tool for yourself or someone you love, it also helps us work toward putting one into the hands of a survivor rebuilding their life.

Visit gethootie.com and use my code JANE for 10% off.

Every purchase through my collaboration brings us closer to another donated alarm. Because whether someone is surviving abuse, rebuilding after leaving, or simply learning what it feels like to move through the world with a greater sense of security, everyone deserves to feel supported.

Safety. Support. Empowerment. One Hootie at a time. 💜

💜 Continue the Journey

56 songs. 56 stories. 56 reminders that survival doesn't have just one soundtrack on the Survivors' Anthem Series

🎧 Listen to the Survivors’ Anthem playlists on Spotify and YouTube and discover more of The Music That Helped Us Heal.

📖 Read the International Impact Book Award-winning Because of Jane and discover the story behind so much of this journey.

📚 Because of Maddie: The Girl Who Said, “ENOUGH” releases October 3, 2026, continuing the Because of Series.

🦋 Explore The Jane Project and add your own thread of strength to our growing web of resilience.

And this week, I want to leave you with a question:

Is there a song that has followed you through different seasons of your life, and somehow meant something different each time?

For me, one of those songs will always be “Landslide.”

Because sometimes the song stays the same.

We're the ones who change. 💜