The Night a Song Brought Me Back to Myself

I didn’t watch the special for the spectacle. I watched because I needed to hear the song again.

Not the version from the movie trailer or the TikTok clip. The one that lived in my bones—the one I’d hummed under my breath during chemo, during layoffs, during the long winter after my divorce. The song that said: It’s okay to be different. It’s okay to fall. It’s okay to rise anyway.

I’ve never been to Broadway. I’ve never worn green face paint or belted “Popular” in a dressing room. But at 28, sitting alone in my dim apartment, I played a grainy YouTube clip of two women singing “For Good,” and I sobbed like I’d known them my whole life.

That’s the quiet magic of this story—not the glitter or the green, but the permission to be imperfectly brave.

Last week, when the special aired, I didn’t tune in for the reunion or the behind-the-scenes reels. I waited until midnight, poured cheap wine into a coffee mug, and turned on the screen just as the first notes of “Defying Gravity” began.

I didn’t need to see their faces. I just needed to hear that voice—the one that says: You don’t have to be liked to be worthy. You don’t have to fit in to belong.

I thought of my sister, who came out at 17 and wore a green ribbon in her hair every day for a year. “It’s my armor,” she’d said. I thought of my high school friend who sang Elphaba in the spring play and got bullied for it—then stood on stage opening night and sang like she had nothing left to lose.

That’s what this music does. It doesn’t just entertain. It witnesses the parts of us we keep hidden.

I lost my job last year. The day they walked me out, I sat in my car and played “No One Mourns the Wicked” on repeat—not for the irony, but for the truth in it: What if the monster is just someone the world refused to understand?

In a world that rewards conformity, this story is rebellion. It says: Your sharp edges are not flaws. Your questions are not weaknesses. Your green skin is not a curse—it’s your compass.

That night, as the final notes faded, I didn’t check social media for reactions. I didn’t look up streaming details or re-air dates. I just sat in the quiet and whispered: Thank you.

Because the real magic wasn’t on that stage in Los Angeles.

It was in every living room, hospital room, and dorm where someone heard those words and thought:

Maybe I’m not broken. Maybe I’m just… different.

And maybe that’s enough.

I still don’t know all the lyrics by heart. I still can’t hit the high note in “Defying Gravity.” But I know this:

On the nights I feel invisible, I hum those first few bars—and for a moment, I remember I’m not alone.

That’s why we return to this story—not for the spectacle, but for the sanctuary it offers.

Not for the stars, but for the spark they reignite in us.

And as the screen went dark, I did something I hadn’t done in years:

I stood up.

Walked to the mirror.

And sang the last line—softly, shakily, but all the way through.

Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let yourself be seen—even if it’s just by you.

#Wicked #Broadway #HumanConnection #DefyingGravity #SelfAcceptance #HopeFor2026 #Theatre #RealMoments #YouAreNotAlone #Storytelling

Disclaimer

Written by Kamran Ahmad from personal reflection and lived experience.