I’m Breezy

A song about arriving in Chicago, claiming your name, and becoming louder than the life you left behind.

When I first moved to Chicago, I had this strange mix of terror and adrenaline running through me almost all the time.

I’d left Watseka, which was the place that had shaped me, frustrated me, protected me and boxed me in all at once. Suddenly I was in Logan Square with Mila, surrounded by noise, trains, late-night food, music venues, strangers, basement shows and people who seemed to know exactly who they were. I didn’t feel like I knew who I was yet, but I knew I didn’t want to keep being the girl who waited for permission.

Someone told me Breezy is what a strong Chicagoan woman is called - I’m pretty sure that is BS and it was just a shitty pick-up line that didn’t work. But hey, I wrote a song about being that sort of a woman.

At first it was almost a joke, a nickname, a way of making myself sound more confident than I felt. But then it became useful. Breezy was the version of me who could walk into a room without apologising for existing. She could flirt, talk back, get onstage, make mistakes, laugh too loud and survive being seen.

I’m Breezy is not really about already being fearless. It’s about deciding to act like freedom belongs to you until one day it actually starts to feel true.

I think that’s why the song still matters to me. It catches that first wild moment of reinvention, when you’re not fully changed yet, but you can feel the old version of yourself starting to loosen her grip.