Survivors’ Anthem Series # 58: “Yesterday” by The Beatles

When Yesterday Felt Safer Than Today: Childhood Memories, Trauma, and the Music That Stayed With Me

Some songs become part of our lives long before we understand just how deeply they will affect us. They become attached to people. Places. Memories. Moments we wish we could relive.

And sometimes, moments we desperately wish we could escape.

For Survivors’ Anthem # 58, I'm choosing a song that has followed me through so many different chapters of my life.

“Yesterday” by The Beatles.

I've loved The Beatles for as long as I can remember. Their music is woven into my childhood, my family, and so many memories of long car rides.

But this particular song has always carried complicated emotions for me. Because when I was younger, yesterday wasn't just a day that had passed. Yesterday was sometimes the last place I remembered feeling safe.

The Long Rides to Massachusetts

Growing up, I remember listening to The Beatles during those long drives to Massachusetts. Their music became part of the soundtrack of those journeys.

I can still associate their songs with being in the car, watching the scenery pass, and traveling between different parts of my life. But not every destination was somewhere I wanted to go.

When I had to visit my stepfather, those drives carried a weight that was difficult to explain. I knew I was heading somewhere bad things had happened to me. Somewhere I didn't feel safe. Somewhere I desperately didn't want to be.

And as the miles passed, I remember wishing I could somehow turn back time. Not by years. Not even by weeks. Just one day. I wanted yesterday.

The day before I had to go. The day before the fear returned. The day before I had to walk back into a place where I knew what could happen.

For a child, that kind of dread is an enormous thing to carry. And sometimes music was the only place I could put it.

When Yesterday Meant Safety

There's something heartbreaking about looking back and realizing that, as a child, I wasn't necessarily wishing for something extraordinary.

I wasn't wishing for a vacation. A present. A special occasion. I was wishing for an ordinary day when I didn't have to be afraid.

I wanted to stay where I felt safe. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with the people who made me feel protected. I wanted the clock to stop before I had to leave.

That's what “Yesterday” meant to me during those years. It wasn't simply a beautiful, melancholy song. It reflected a feeling I carried but couldn't always explain. I wanted to go backward because moving forward meant returning to something frightening.

And no child should have to feel that way.

When My Mind Took Me Somewhere Else

When I was there, I often coped by dissociating. At the time, I didn't have a name for what I was experiencing. I just knew there were moments when I mentally went somewhere else.

My body was physically present, but my mind tried to create distance from what was happening. I could retreat into thoughts.

Memories.

Imaginary worlds.

Music.

Places where I didn't have to feel everything around me.

Looking back now, I understand that dissociation can be a response to overwhelming trauma. It wasn't something I consciously decided to do. It was one of the ways my mind tried to protect me when I felt powerless.

And when I think about the child I was, I feel tremendous compassion for her. She should have been worrying about school, friends, and ordinary childhood experiences. Instead, she was trying to figure out how to get through visits she dreaded.

Sometimes that meant mentally escaping to somewhere safer. Sometimes that somewhere was yesterday.

The Words That Meant Something Different to Me

One of the things I find most remarkable about music is how a songwriter can create something with one meaning, and a listener can carry it into an entirely different experience.

There's a moment in “Yesterday” that reflects confusion, separation, regret, and longing.

For many listeners, it's a song about lost love. But for me, those emotions became connected to childhood trauma.

I thought about the separation between where I wanted to be and where I was being made to go. I thought about the things I couldn't control. I thought about how badly I wanted to return to the day before.

As a child, I couldn't always articulate why those words affected me so deeply. I just knew they did. And sometimes I wondered why life had to be so complicated. Why I couldn't simply have an ordinary childhood. Why I had to carry experiences other children around me didn't seem to understand. Why the place I was supposed to visit could make me feel so afraid.

The song gave those feelings somewhere to exist.

The Beatles and My Family Memories

What makes The Beatles especially meaningful to me is that their music isn't connected only to painful memories. Quite the opposite. Their songs are also deeply tied to people I love. I associate so much of their music with my mom, her husband, and the long drives we shared.

Those memories are part of my personal history too. And that's something I've come to appreciate more as I've grown older.

The same song can hold both comfort and pain. I can hear The Beatles and remember the anxiety of traveling somewhere I didn't want to go.

But I can also remember being in a car with people I loved. The familiarity of the music. The comfort of knowing the songs. The feeling of being connected to something bigger than the fear I was carrying.

Both memories can be true. Both can belong to me. And neither cancels out the other.

When Trauma Changes the Meaning of Time

I've thought a lot about how trauma affects our relationship with time. When you're experiencing something frightening, the present can feel unbearable. You wish you could go backward.

Or you wish you could fast-forward. Anything to escape the moment you're in. For me, yesterday represented a time before I had to face what was coming.

But as I grew older, the meaning of the song changed. Sometimes yesterday became the childhood I wished I could have had. Sometimes it represented relationships that had changed. Sometimes it reminded me of people I'd lost. Sometimes it brought nostalgia for simpler moments.

And sometimes it reminded me how far I'd come.

Because the older I get, the more I understand that while I cannot change yesterday, I can continue deciding what I want tomorrow to look like.

The Girl Who Wanted to Go Back

If I could sit beside that little girl on one of those drives today, I would want to hold her hand. I would tell her that I understand why she didn't want to go.

That her fear made sense. That she deserved to feel safe. That she wasn't responsible for the things happening to her. And that she shouldn't have had to mentally disappear just to endure them.

Most of all, I would tell her:

Someday, you won't have to keep wishing for yesterday. Someday, you'll have a home where you can feel safe. You'll have people who love you.

You'll find your voice.

You'll write your story.

You'll create a life beyond the things you survived.

And someday, you'll hear those same Beatles songs and remember more than just the fear. You'll remember the people who helped you through it.

You'll remember the music.

You'll remember that you made it.

Reclaiming the Music

One of the beautiful parts of healing has been discovering that I can revisit music from my childhood and experience it differently.

The songs haven't changed.

But I have.

I can listen to The Beatles now and appreciate their extraordinary songwriting, harmonies, and the memories attached to their music.

I can think about my mom.

I can think about her husband.

I can think about those long drives.

And I can acknowledge the painful associations without allowing them to erase the beautiful ones.

That's an important part of reclaiming my story. Trauma affected so many aspects of my childhood. But it doesn't get to own every memory. It doesn't get to take every song. And it doesn't get to decide what those songs must mean to me forever.

I get to make new memories with the music that once accompanied my hardest ones.

Thank You, The Beatles

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr created music that has touched generations.

And “Yesterday,” written by Paul McCartney, remains one of those songs that can reach people in completely different ways.

For some, it represents heartbreak.

For others, grief.

Nostalgia.

Regret.

Longing.

For me, it has represented all of those things at different points in my life. But most importantly, it reminds me of the little girl who wanted to go back to a safer day.

And the woman who eventually found the courage to move forward.

Thank you for creating music that has become such an important part of my family's history and my own.

Why “Yesterday” Belongs in the Survivors’ Anthem Series

Not every survivor anthem is loud. Not every song that helps us heal is about fighting back.

Some songs are quiet.

Reflective.

Melancholy.

Some give us permission to grieve.

To remember.

To acknowledge that there are parts of our lives we wish had been different.

“Yesterday” belongs in this series because survivors often carry complicated relationships with their pasts.

We may miss people. We may miss places. We may long for the childhood we deserved. We may remember moments of happiness that existed alongside trauma. And we may find ourselves wishing we could return to a time before everything changed. But healing also means recognizing that we deserve something beyond constantly looking backward.

We deserve a present where we can feel safe.

We deserve a future that belongs to us.

And we deserve to remember our past without being forced to live inside it forever.

What This Anthem Means to Me Today

Today, “Yesterday” means something very different from what it meant during those childhood drives.

It still brings memories.

Some beautiful.

Some painful.

Some complicated.

But now, instead of only remembering how badly I wanted to escape the present, I can recognize how much my life has changed. I no longer have to be that frightened child counting down the hours until I can leave.

I can make choices.

I can establish boundaries.

I can tell my story.

I can surround myself with people who make me feel safe.

And I can listen to the music of my childhood on my own terms.

There will always be moments when I wish I could go back and change what happened. But I also know that I have built a life my younger self could barely imagine. Yesterday holds my memories. But it no longer has to hold my future. And perhaps that's the most meaningful transformation this song has undergone for me.

🛡️ Survivor Support & Safety Awareness

As we continue through Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to remind people that the effects of abuse can reach far beyond the moments when it occurs.

Children who experience or witness domestic violence may carry those experiences into adulthood through memories, emotional responses, relationships, and even associations with familiar places or music.

That's why survivor-centered support, education, and access to safety resources matter so much.

I'm proud to collaborate with Hootie Personal Safety Alarms as part of my advocacy work.

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

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

A personal safety alarm is one possible tool, not a substitute for individualized safety planning. Every survivor deserves access to resources and the freedom to make decisions about their own safety.

Because everyone deserves to feel safe, not just yesterday, but today and tomorrow too.

💜 Continue the Journey

58 songs, and 58 stories on the Survivors' Anthem Series. And another reminder that music can hold memories we haven't always known how to put into words.

🎧 Explore the Survivors’ Anthem Series: The Music That Helped Us Heal on Spotify, YouTube, and my blog.

📖 Read my International Impact Book Award-winning memoir, Because of Jane, told through the eyes of the stitched doll who witnessed my childhood journey through abuse, survival, and healing.

📚 Continue the story with Because of Maddie: The Girl Who Said, “ENOUGH!”, now available on Amazon and through local bookstores. This time, experience the story through Maddie's own eyes as she finds the courage to reclaim her voice.

🦋 Visit The Jane Project, where survivors can share the people, objects, songs, and memories that helped them feel safe, heard, or comforted when life felt beyond their control.

And I want to ask you something:

Is there a song that reminds you of a specific place or time in your childhood, one whose meaning has changed as you've grown older?

For me, “Yesterday” will always bring back those long rides, the music of The Beatles, and the complicated memories of the little girl I once was.

But it also reminds me of something important.

I spent so much of my childhood wishing I could go back to yesterday. Today, I'm grateful I finally have a tomorrow that belongs to me. 💜