Growing up takes time & effort


I outgrew my story. I’ve outgrown my songs and books and path and dream. You outgrow bands and loves, people and cities and that’s okay. I’m learning that part of growing up is learning how to leave things behind that no longer belongs to you. Behaviours and values, but also interests and passions. You might find yourself in an in between phase, where you’re outgrowing your path but still don’t know where to enter your new one. Or you might find yourself having outgrown your passion, without having found a new one. Your dream, it does not belong to you anymore. The butterflies are gone and the glory of the finish-line seems more like a grey cloud, something you no longer aspire to reach. This is okay. The most impactful moments of my life have been the clean ones. The clean streets in the early AM hours—the town is mine to own. The blank pages—no story yet written. The new friendship, the new name, the new two eyes starring into mine and I can be whoever I want from now on. 


Growing up takes time and effort, lessons and heartache, and I am proud to have been documenting my questions and attempt to answers since my teenage years. I created something, a character of sort, but she seemed as real as me and maybe I tried to become like her. Maybe I wanted to be like her. Maybe I tried to live up to the image I drew, the pure unworldly consciousness of ”The Glass Child”. Maybe it was a dream. Someone I aspired to be seen as. Someone I turned to for guidance. ”What would The Glass Child do”. Maybe it was a cape. A costume of magical colors I could hide my shattered identity under, so as not to feel so detached. To not have to explain myself. Who’s Charlotte? Who cares, this is ”The Glass Child”. I felt no responsibility because The Glass Child didn’t have to answer. She just did. Half alive. Half person, half fiction. She thought and felt and wrote and sang but did not live. Maybe it was everything I could never be. Maybe it was everything I ever could be. 


But I am a few miles more travelled. I am a few years wiser. My heart has been running and beating, stopping and fighting and now I find it calm. Beating like a steady clock on the wall, tick / tock, knowing it’s stubborn ways because I tried to fight it for so many years but it kept on beating and now I respect it. I thank it. I respect my people, because I never took care of them. I never kept in touch, only left and took for granted and I’ve been selfish and angry, at everyone and everything because I’ve felt useless and hopeless and I wanted someone’s attention, someone to tell me ”YOU DID IT! I SEE YOU! I ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR STRUGGLE AND PRAISE YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS AND I NO LONGER LOOK DOWN ON YOU”! 


but people have their own stories and no one cares as much as you do. People get bored. I get bored too, of myself and my name and The Glass Child became like the costume I had to wear because I created it and I wore it with pride some days, others with embarrassment. I had to fall into detours. A few rounds back and forth, trying this and failing that. Maybe I could be this and maybe I could do that. I tried many jobs, many careers, many people. Left many interests but explored many too. And all this, all the missteps and years of feeling failed and underaccomplished I can see, now, coming through in my music. My voice has changed. The melodies it creates. The chords that intrigue me. And for the very first time in many many years I write songs that make me feel proud. For simply creating it. I sit back and feel ”this is it. That’s it. This thing. It’s IT”. Maybe I only felt it once before. The very first times I wrote songs, back then, over 10 years ago. I felt that. I created my songs from pure innocence and it made me feel real. Then it went missing but I kept on going but now I feel myself faceless with no expectations because I’m nobody and have no name to live up to and I write songs with eyes closed and I sit back and feel ”this is it”. What’s my name? Band name? Brand name? website? who cares, this is my song. this is how I sound and this is how I look. I can sing it to you, here and now, and I won’t need any effects or a band because this is it and I have a voice. Yes? no? I’ll sing anyway. you can leave if you want to, I’ll be here singing because that’s what I do. now. after all these years. turn the mic off I’ll sing anyway. 


Growing up takes time and effort, but it’s a wonderful journey and I’m proud to have taken on the challenge. I’m embarrassed for things I’ve said. I’m sorry for people I’ve left. But I’m determined to be better. To turn myself into someone good. A woman of integrity. I no longer want to act out of naiveté or anger, I want to live up to this ”The Glass Child” I could never be, but from a new light. A less fictionalised one. I real one. This is me, in every way I can ever be. The Glass Child is in me, I think. She came from me. But there is also a little more here now. Not so empty. A little more ... real. 

I still have hope in who I am becoming.





- Snowfall by Idealism  >>>

- Sappheiros >>>

- Time, It Goes by The Glass Child (moi) >>>


Behind The Glass

with Charlotte Eriksson



I’m a completely independent artist, living all by myself with no other support than yours. If you find any comfort or hope in what I do, my music or my writings, please consider supporting me, in order to be able to keep doing this. To keep learning, creating, growing and sharing what I learn. Everything matters, between a coffee to a donation for my next album. 

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drunk on someone else’s love,
or couch,
and I’ve never felt more at home.

I fled myself,
from the life I’ve built
because I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for.

Inhabiting skin I’d rather shed
but still took on
like a soldier serving his country,
for that’s what they told me to do.
But I was not
or wise,
but young and foolish,
for what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance,

and I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls
with clean blood
and organised drawers.
I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests
at night when no one else is alive,
or awake,
however you choose to see it,
and I live in my own flames.
Sometimes burning too bright and too wild
to make things last 
or handle
myself or anyone else
and so I run.
Run run run,
far and wide
until my bones ache and lungs split
and it feels good.
Hear that, people? It feels good,
because I am the slave and ruler of my own body
and I wish to do with it exactly as I please,
and living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times,

because I never volunteered to take this on.

The daily sacrifice of heart over mind,
the forever on going task of explaining this and that,
and why I don’t want to look like this and
be like that
but still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work.
If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work.

So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way. To newer lands and uncleaned streets
for I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.
Enough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that,

and I never meant to please anyone but myself
and you can call me selfish,
throw words like knives in the dark but I will not listen,
for not listening to sharp words brought me to where I am today
and I believe in the path I’ve been given. If my only task in this life is to walk it,
I surely will walk it
prouder than anyone else.

If this is the path I’ve been given, I will walk it
prouder than anyone else,
for no one else can.

// from my book You’re Doing Just Fine ☾

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