There are moments in life when something clicks so deeply inside you that it quietly changes the direction of everything that comes after.
I am writing this while sitting in an airport, waiting to board a flight for a solo trip to see the Backstreet Boys at The Sphere. Even now, decades later, that same familiar mix of excitement, calm, and gratitude washes over me. It reminds me why this story still matters. For me, that moment came on Halloween night in 1997, the day I met the Backstreet Boys. I was painfully shy back then, carrying low self-esteem and a constant feeling of being invisible. But in that moment, I felt seen. Really seen. And I have carried that feeling with me ever since, and it has become what fills my cup back up when life has depleted it.
From Fan to Finding My Voice
What started as fandom slowly unfolded into something much deeper. Loving their music gave me courage in ways I did not fully understand at the time. It nudged me to travel beyond my comfort zone, to meet new people, and to say yes to experiences I once would have talked myself out of. Little by little, that confidence grew into something solid enough to stand on.
Because of them, I pursued a career in the music industry, spending ten years of my life in my twenties and early thirties immersed in a world that once felt completely out of reach. Along the way, I found my way behind the camera. Photography became another language for me, another way to tell stories when words were not enough.
One of the most surreal, full-circle moments of my life came when my first photograph was published in Popstar! Magazine. The image was of Nick. Holding that magazine in my hands, seeing my work in print, I felt something settle inside me. I was no longer just watching life from the sidelines. I belonged there. I was a professional. A creator. Someone brave enough to put her perspective into the world.
That creative spark never left me. Even now, as my life looks very different and my body carries limits it did not before, photography and creativity remain part of my healing. On the days when pain is loud and energy is scarce, creating reminds me that I am still here. Still capable. Still connected to the parts of myself that dream, notice beauty, and tell stories.
That path would never have opened if I had not first learned to believe in myself through something I loved.
Over the years, I have never once felt unappreciated or dismissed for my support of them. And maybe that is because I do not just see them as the Backstreet Boys. I see Brian, AJ, Nick, Howie, and Kevin. I see them as human beings who carry grief, stress, and real life struggles just like the rest of us. They have children who act out, marriages that require work, bad days, heavy seasons, and private battles no one else sees. Yet when they step onto that stage, they give one hundred percent of themselves every single time.
For those two hours, everything else fades away. The pain. The stress. The weight of chronic illness and disability. The noise of the world. In those moments, I feel whole. There is something incredibly powerful about watching people achieve their dreams and then turn around and pour that joy and energy back into a crowd. Whether someone is seeing them for the first time or attending their twentieth show, you can feel the happiness they bring. It is tangible. It is shared. It is healing.
I have been fortunate enough to know each of them off stage in different settings, and that has only deepened my respect for them. They are kind, grounded, and never stop showing up for their fans or for each other. That consistency matters, especially when life feels anything but stable.
Finding What Fills Your Cup
I know some people think it is silly to see the same artist over and over again. But here is what I want you to hear. Find what fills your cup. Find the thing that makes you feel whole again, even if it is only for a few hours, especially if you live with disability, chronic illness, or chronic pain. Joy is not frivolous. Passion is not childish. These moments of escape and connection are part of the healing journey.
You deserve something that makes the world fall quiet. You deserve something that reminds you who you are underneath the pain. For me, that thing has always been music. And more specifically, five voices that once helped a shy girl believe she mattered.
As I sit in this airport, preparing to travel alone to see them again, I am reminded that courage does not always look loud or dramatic. Sometimes it looks like trusting yourself enough to move through the world with a disability, to make accommodations without shame, and to say yes to something that brings you joy anyway. Solo travel has become an act of self-trust for me, it’s what fills my cup. Proof that even with limits, my world can still expand.
This weekend, as the lights go down, I will take my seat, and for a couple of hours, everything else will fade away. And I will feel full again. That is the power of finding what fills your cup, and giving yourself permission to keep choosing it.
If you’re interested in learning more about my personal story and journey, I share it in My Invisible Disability Story | Choosing Life Beyond Limits .
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