There was a time I was so excited that someone liked my song enough to sign it, I didn’t vet the publisher. At all. I was just thrilled someone believed in me.
Turns out, this guy wasn’t just sketchy, he was flat-out predatory. Emotionally manipulative. A bit unhinged. And once I signed, he had access to parts of my career I really wish he didn’t.
Another time, I spent a ridiculous amount of money mailing out hundreds of CDs. I wrote a one-size-fits-all cover letter, stuffed each one in a padded envelope, and mailed them to people I’d never even spoken to.
No relationship. No introduction. Just blind hope and postage stamps. I thought I’d get “discovered.” But all I got was a very expensive lesson in building connection first. I literally got ZERO response.
And there was that long-distance collaboration where I was told we had a “whale” investor ready to bankroll our songs. I bought in, eager for the break.
But the whole thing was a facade - a bunch of smooth-talking scammers preying on wide-eyed writers who didn’t know how to ask the hard questions. That one stung. I questioned my instincts for a long time after that.
But here’s the thing.
I’ve also worked with so many women — incredibly talented, seasoned, soulful artists like you — who carry their own quiet shame.
Maybe you blew your entire savings on an album no one heard.
Maybe you stayed in a toxic band way too long because it was easier than starting over.
Maybe you sunk time and money into “opportunities” that turned out to be all pitch, no substance.
And if that’s you, I need you to hear this: mistakes don’t disqualify you. They prepare you.
What we call failures are actually the fees we pay to learn how the industry really works. You can’t know what to avoid until you’ve been through something hard.
That’s not a weakness. It’s part of the dues.
And if you haven’t made any of these “wrong” moves yet? There’s a good chance you’re playing it safe. You might be hiding out in your home studio cacoon, endlessly writing and recording, afraid to step into the wrong thing...so you’re stepping into nothing.
That paralysis is its own kind of pain. You avoid shame but you miss out on growth. You stay unscathed, but also unheard (which in my opinion is a much worse fate for musicians like you who are purpose-driven).
Let me offer this reframe: the mistakes you’ve made aren’t like seedy back alleys. They’re doorways. But only if you walk through them.
What matters isn’t whether you got it “right” every time. What matters is whether you’re still willing to put your heart back on the line, with the wisdom you’ve earned, the instincts you’ve sharpened, and the story you now get to tell.
So today, I want you to forgive yourself.
Write it down if you need to. Say it out loud. Let go of the shame, and grab hold of the lessons. Your experience is not something to hide. It’s your edge.
Every misstep taught you something that no book or course ever could.
Those hard-won lessons are what will protect you the next time around, and make you the exact kind of artist your audience will trust and follow.
You don’t need a clean slate. You need the strength to face your blunders head-on and say, "Thank you.".
I'm the first to admit this is much easier said than done. Honestly, I still flash back to some of the gut-wrenching scenes I mentioned above and feel a twinge.
But I've managed to cast off the shame, transforming them into "things that happened" that led me here, and lessons I learned that inform my future and can help others.
Always in your corner,
​<3 Bree
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