I didn’t expect a country album to crack me open. But Whirlwind did. It didn’t just soundtrack a season—it rerouted my internal compass. Lainey Wilson gave language to something I hadn’t yet admitted: that I’m a tumbleweed. Rolling, drifting, searching. Not lost, but not anchored either. And maybe that’s okay.
“Middle of It” hit me like a mirror. I don’t know where I am in my journey. I don’t know what chapter this is. But Lainey reminded me that being in the thick of it—confused, tender, hopeful—is still part of the story. That the middle matters.
This album made me feel seen. It made me feel like my softness wasn’t weakness. That my longing had a rhythm. That my restlessness was holy. Every track felt like a hand on my shoulder, or a boot in the dirt beside mine. She sings like she’s lived it. And I believe her.
We need to give credit where credit’s due. Lainey Wilson is the queen. Not just of country, but of emotional truth. Of grit wrapped in grace. Of storytelling that doesn’t flinch. Whirlwind didn’t just change my playlist—it changed my posture toward the world.
I carry it with me now. In the way I write. In the way I show up. In the way I let myself be a little more wild, a little more windblown, and a lot more honest.