11/10/2025
https://www.facebook.com/share/1CNYXcrbFY/
“My dad left me. I was mocked for my body. And yet, I filled stadiums singing about the very things that once broke me.”
I grew up in a poor neighborhood in Tottenham, London.
My mum was a teenager when she had me — she worked tirelessly as a cleaner just to keep food on the table.
My dad… he simply walked away. He disappeared.
For years, every time I saw a friend with her father, a deep emptiness grew inside me — a pain sharper than hunger.
When I was 9, I discovered that my voice was different.
By 14, I was writing songs to heal what tears couldn’t.
I never fit the “perfect” mold the music industry wanted.
I was told I was too big, that I couldn’t be sold, that my image didn’t work.
Once, a producer told me straight to my face: “You’ve got the voice, but you don’t look like a star.”
I swallowed that pain whole.
I’d cry locked in the bathroom… then walk out with new lyrics, stronger, fiercer.
I wrote my first album with a broken heart, and my second with a shattered soul — and both became massive successes.
But not everything was a fairytale.
I lost my voice mid-tour and had to undergo vocal cord surgery.
I was terrified I might never sing again.
Then came heartbreak, panic attacks that stole my breath, and nights where I felt I might drown in my own silence.
I found refuge in my son, in therapy, and in music.
I didn’t rebuild overnight.
I rebuilt by singing — note by note, tear by tear.
“Feeling broken doesn’t make you weak. What truly matters is what you do with those pieces.”
— Adele
