I’m Writing Children's Music for Medical Spaces—Here’s Why.

My grandmother and grandfather in 1958

I think my love of music started with my grandmother, Thelma. She was determined, headstrong, and kept a baby grand in her living room. Every visit meant an afternoon of me hammering the keys with absolutely no talent. She never made music about talent, though. It was about the love of music and that idea stayed with me. In college, when I discovered music therapy, something clicked. The pull grew louder. It finally felt like a place where all the pieces fit, where my love of music could be used with purpose to support real people in real situations.

However, in my training something was missing. There was little direction when it came to pediatrics and almost no preparation for medical settings in my undergraduate education. In my internship, I felt that gap immediately. It was both the clinical knowledge but also the emotional complexity of this work, the culture of hospitals, the pace, the language, and the weight families carry. Many new music therapists, myself included, were left piecing things together from scratch. We were trying to learn how to speak the language of medicine while staying grounded in what we knew music could do. I remember wishing someone had already built a roadmap.

So I started building one.

Over the past decade, I have poured myself into pediatric music therapy. I built hospital program from the ground up, collaborated with incredible teams, and sat alongside patients and families in unfathomable situations. Each musical moment over monitor beeps, each song written with a patient in the middle of chemo, each quiet victory when a patient made it through a procedure taught me things textbooks never could.

Parenthood brought it all into sharper focus. After years of infertility and IVF, my husband and I now have a three-year-old whirlwind named Phoebe and a four-month-old angel named Caleb. When Phoebe was two, she needed ear tubes. It was routine and low-risk compared to what I see at work, but handing her to the surgical team while she screamed and reached for me cracked my heart wide open. What patients and families endure every day is extraordinary.

Not to sound dramatic (although I often am), but it truly feels like all these types of experiences, clinical and personal, led me here. The longer I work at the bedside, the more I see needs that stretch beyond any single hospital room. The preschooler who needed a song to understand why her hair was falling out. The dad who wanted lyrics he could play on the way to treatment. The brand-new therapist searching for a way to explain sedation in words a child might actually understand. All of them deserve music that meets them where they are.

My goals for Pediatric Music Therapy, always revolve around these principles.

Music is a tool. Music therapy isn't just feel-good music. It is functional, intentional, and clinically informed. These new songs are written to support regulation, encourage participation, reduce anxiety, and increase understanding. They are tools you can use at bedside, during a procedure, or in the moments when a child needs to know what is happening next.

Children deserve clarity. Medical settings are full of language that can confuse or scare even the most talkative child. “Port access,” “sedation,” “flush.” What adults say and what kids hear are often worlds apart. Children are capable of understanding what is happening if we meet them where they are. These songs use developmentally appropriate language to explain procedures in ways that feel honest, clear, and empowering. They also give kids words to advocate for themselves, including, “Can you say that a different way?”

Feelings are valid. In hospitals, kids are often praised for being “brave” or “strong,” but that can leave little room for feeling scared, angry, or sad. Real bravery is not about hiding feelings. It is about showing up with them. These songs make space for emotional truth without trying to fix, distract, or gloss over what is hard. Whether it is fear before a scan or sadness about missing home, the message is simple. You are not wrong to feel this way.

Families are the constant. Their presence alone can shift the entire tone of a medical experience. Parents and caregivers are the steady ground beneath everything. These songs and resources are for them too, because feeling helpless is real, and so is their capacity to comfort. Whether it is singing softly over the monitor beeps or finding the words to explain sedation to a toddler, I want caregivers to feel more confident and less alone.

Every little moment matters. There is no such thing as “just a bedtime” or “just a dressing change” in a hospital. Every beep, every new word, every touchpoint adds up. I believe in meeting the in-between moments with care. I write songs for the late-night beeps, the quiet nurse footsteps, the scan prep, and the after. Those small moments are often where kids form their beliefs about what the hospital is and who they are inside it.

I am not leaving my original mission of this space. I am opening the door wider. This upcoming series of songs, "Medical Melodies" is the first of many offerings you will find here. Songs kids can hold onto when everything feels overwhelming. Songs parents can hum when their hearts are aching. Songs clinicians can trust and use in real clinical care.

My hope is to create a library of music-driven moments. A soundtrack for IV starts and quiet recoveries, for small wins and big feelings, for everything that happens in between. Whether you press play as a therapist, a caregiver, or a child trying to make sense of it all, I hope you hear one thing clearly. These songs were written for you.