The song

For years, music has been my outlet, but lately, it’s become something more—a calling.

It started with moments I couldn’t ignore. A loved one, once vibrant, now struggling in silence with the invisible weight of trauma. A longtime friend, carrying the ache of a loss no parent should endure, shared words from his heart—words he hoped could become something more, something lasting. Recent struggles among family and friends brought mental-health and suicide crises to my doorstep, and after honing my craft I could finally give those stories the care they deserve.

I began writing these songs now—not years ago—because the need finally met the moment. These weren’t stories I read in a headline: they were experiences and voices close to home, reminding me that pain doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it whispers. Or fades quietly into the background of everyday life until someone takes the time to truly listen.

That’s what these songs are: my way of listening, of reflecting, of offering a bridge where others may find their footing again.

I didn’t write them years ago because I didn’t yet understand how close this issue truly was. But now I do. And I couldn’t stay silent. Today, stigma has lifted, resources are plentiful, and technology lets independent artists launch music and donate proceeds directly to the nonprofits that save lives. If these songs can reach even one person—offering them a moment of comfort, a chance to speak, or the courage to stay—then their purpose has been fulfilled. With partners like 2morrowNeedsYou and data-driven campaigns around Suicide Prevention Month, each track is more than a song—it’s a lifeline wrapped in melody. WeSeeYourSigns is where those lifelines live, turning personal pain into public hope, one listen—and one helping hand—at a time.

These weren’t stories I read in a headline: they were voices close to home, reminding me that pain doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it whispers. Or fades quietly into the background of everyday life until someone takes the time to truly listen.

That’s what these songs are: my way of listening, of reflecting, of offering a bridge where others may find their footing again.

I didn’t write them years ago because I didn’t yet understand how close this issue truly was. But now I do. And I couldn’t stay silent. If these songs can reach even one person—offering them a moment of comfort, a chance to speak, or the courage to stay—then their purpose has been fulfilled.