Beauty in the Broken Glass
Ever have a song get stuck in your head and realize it’s not just the melody that’s haunting you, but the feeling behind it?
“Soda Pop” from K-Pop Demon Hunters was the song that everyone else had stuck in their heads.
“Golden” has spent months in the number one spot on Spotify.
But…
“This Is What It Sounds Like” was the song from the movie that resonated with me the most.
Sometimes the songs that linger do so because they speak to something our bodies already know… the ache of wanting to belong, the relief of being seen, and the recognition of our own story in someone else’s voice.
When a song loops like that, it isn’t random (whether you’re neurodivergent or not). Your brain holds onto patterns that feel familiar, and sometimes that includes emotional ones. Music activates the same systems involved in attachment and memory, which is why certain songs don’t just play in your head… they live there.
For many of us, especially those from chaotic or unpredictable families, movies become more than entertainment. Movies give us a chance to feel connection safely, and sometimes they offer the comfort we didn’t get elsewhere.
A safe place to feel without consequence, to witness resolution we may have never experienced firsthand. We get to watch characters struggle, grow, make mistakes, and repair relationships, and our brains learn from it, not just what connection looks like, but what safety can feel like.
In therapy, I often use cinematherapy to explore these bonds. It’s easier to say, “I relate to Rumi, because…” or “That moment when the group finally comes back together, reminds me of…” than to dive headfirst into our own family stories. But our brains respond in similar ways whether we’re empathizing with someone real or fictional.
K-Pop Demon Hunters tells that story loud and bright, but underneath the neon light, it’s really about what it costs to hide the parts of ourselves we’re afraid to show.
It brings that dynamic to life through characters shaped by shame, loyalty, and the search for acceptance. Each member of Huntrix carries their own story of loss, shame, and survival.
Rumi hides behind perfection, terrified that her demon heritage makes her unlovable. Zoey radiates energy and humor to keep everyone close, hoping no one notices how afraid she is of being “too much.” Mira stays composed and sharp-edged, holding her pain in quiet, practiced control. Each of them learned a different way to protect themselves, and together they form a kind of emotional ecosystem, three survival strategies learning how to coexist.
Their song “This Is What It Sounds Like” feels like a turning point, not just for them but for anyone who’s ever tried to earn love through hiding. Rumi’s confession, “I broke into a million pieces, and I can’t go back,” isn’t a moment of weakness. It represents a moment of honesty and the vulnerability that’s attached to her shame. Zoey and Mira meet her there, letting their own walls drop. When they sing, “Show me what’s underneath, I’ll find your harmony,” it feels like the moment honesty replaces performance and, when connection finally feels safe enough to be real. The moment they stop performing perfection and start sharing truth, they become a family by choice, not circumstance.
