“The world has always needed authenticity, but I feel like today, with how social media is shaping perception — and especially with where AI is headed — it matters even more.” That’s what JOURNEYGLO tells us in our recent exchange — one that reveals itself somewhere between honesty and hesitation, between the desire to express and the desire to understand. We spoke about creativity and its timing — is it something that comes only in melancholy, or does it require joy to truly come alive? What do we actually seek when we make music — to express something inside ourselves, or to offer comfort, reflection, maybe even quiet companionship to others?
“At bus stops waiting, cigarette smoke burning my brain,” she sings on her new single, an image that clings to the mind like a scene from a half-forgotten dream — vivid, disoriented, and tender. “There’s a quiet kind of strength in that vulnerability,” she says, and it shows — in the way her words hover just shy of resolve, in the way her melodies hold space for grief and softness at once.
Based in Dallas, Texas, JOURNEYGLO began her musical path in the faith-based world before slowly and thoughtfully moving into a more ambient, cinematic, and secular indie sound. Her debut full-length album Limp By Your Side was written in the thick of that transition — in the space where clarity wasn’t guaranteed, and the answers hadn’t arrived yet. The title track, premiering today exclusively on C-Heads, is a love letter to those who show up imperfectly, and to the beauty of still choosing to walk beside someone — even when you’re limping.
We talked about all of it — letting go of perfection, learning to trust your own pace, and how sometimes the most powerful thing you can say through music is simply: I’m here too.
photography by Bare Studio
Hey! (smiles) Let’s start with your album title “Limp By Your Side.” What does it mean?
The title “Limp By Your Side” came from the first single I wrote for the album, and it ended up capturing the entire heart of the project. It speaks to what it means to show up for the people you love — even when you’re not whole, even when you’re in pain.
I used to think I had to be fully healed or emotionally composed to be there for someone. But this album was born out of realizing the opposite: it’s OK to be limping. There’s a quiet kind of strength in that vulnerability. Sometimes just being there, even imperfectly, is what helps others heal. And sometimes, being there for someone else is what ends up healing you too.
You’ve spoken about writing from “in-between” spaces — what’s something you’ve learned from sitting in those unresolved moments?
To me, the “in-between” is an emotional, liminal space where you’re not who you were but not yet who you’ll be. Writing from that place has taught me to slow down and listen to the situation at hand, to others, and maybe, most of all, to myself.
I grew up as a pastor’s kid, and I’ve also spent years in the corporate world — both places where resolution is the goal, where discomfort or tension often gets smoothed over quickly. But the more I write, the more I’ve had to learn to unlearn (haha) that instinct to “fix” everything.
Sitting with the unresolved has given me perspective I never would’ve found if I’d rushed toward answers. Some of my favorite songs on this album don’t tie things up neatly. They just hold space for what’s real, even when what’s real is messy or unfinished. My inner goody two-shoes pastor’s kid and my polished corporate self had to die to embrace who I’m becoming. And I believe I’m becoming more and more who I was always meant to be.
The shift from faith-based music to a more secular indie sound must have been a big step for you, right? What did you gain — or lose — in that transition?
Yeah, it is a big shift! Not just musically, but emotionally and culturally too. I’ve wrestled with faith-based music and the expectations that often come with it. There’s clarity and purpose in that space where the goal is usually to uplift, inspire, or point to something higher. And while I value that, I found myself wanting to write into the gray areas that life often brings — like doubt, grief, tension, desire — all the spaces that don’t resolve neatly.
I’ll be honest in that there was part of me that wanted to make this album completely secular. But the very last track is faith-based. I debated leaving it out. I had to die a little to how I’d be perceived, especially by people who don’t share my beliefs, or even more so, people who do. But in the end, keeping it in felt like the truest thing I could do. If this album is about being present while being wholly myself, then omitting that song would’ve betrayed that.
I think what I’ve gained is a deeper sense of what artistry means to me. I’ve let go of the pressure to please a certain audience, and I’ve leaned into the belief that people are hungry for something honest. That integrity of being true to my full self feels more sacred to me than staying in anyone’s box.
I think what I’ve lost is maybe a sense of belonging in a space that no longer fully fits.
“Will the algorithm like it? I’ve decided I don’t care.”
Your titular single “Limp By Your Side” feels deeply personal. Who do you hope hears that message the most?
I wrote this song right after some hard conversations with people I really love. It came out of this deep desire to be present, even though I was struggling myself. There was someone specific I had in mind when I wrote it, but I think the heart behind it resonates with a wider group of people. It’s for people who are hurting but still choosing to love, still choosing to stay soft.
You mentioned not wanting to “feel boxed in.” Totally feel that. Are there other genres you want to explore in the future?
This album is a mix of indie folk, indie pop, singer-songwriter, and alternative sounds — which are all genres I genuinely love. I’ve also been experimenting more with electric guitar and beat-driven ideas lately, and that’s opening up a whole new world for me.
I’ve always leaned heavily into lyricism. I’m drawn to poetry and tend to start with words. But I’ve been wanting to grow in writing for feeling. Like, how do I evoke something sonically, not just lyrically? That’s a muscle that I’m continuing to grow. I’m constantly writing, and while I don’t know what genres my future songs will fall into, I do know I want to stay curious. Maybe not everything is for me, but I’m open to exploring sounds that help tell the truth of what I’m feeling — wherever that leads.
How do you take care of yourself while writing songs that deal with heavy topics?
It really depends on what I’m processing. Sometimes, writing actually is how I take care of myself. One of the songs on the album called “1:27 a.m.” came out of a moment where I genuinely wasn’t sure if I could keep going. Writing that song helped me survive something that could’ve been a final wall in my life.
But there are times when I’m writing from discipline — trying to carry out a vision or finish something I’ve started. And that’s when I really have to check in with myself. Sometimes the healthiest thing is to pause. For me, that looks like hanging out with friends and eating good food. Cooking. Painting. I love slow Saturday mornings when I can make myself a nice breakfast and read a book. Those rituals remind me I’m a person first, not just a songwriter.
“The wrestle is where so much clarity and growth begin.”
Someone told me recently never to be creative when feeling sad — only when happy. Is that something you could ever consider for future songs? (smiles)
I think happiness deserves just as much space in creativity, and I hope to make more room for that in my work. But truth is, a lot of my creativity has been born out of tension and sadness. It’s rarely about choosing to write when I’m sad. It’s more that writing becomes a way to move through it.
If I took that idea literally, it would mean I’m only “allowed” to create from one emotional register. And I don’t know if that’s fully honest. I think the heart of artistry is about telling the truth of what you’re feeling — wherever that lands on the spectrum.
The world has always needed authenticity, but I feel like today, with how social media is shaping perception — and especially with where AI is headed — it matters even more. If we’re only creating or sharing from a place of happiness, I think we’re missing out on something much deeper. That is, the beauty of honesty.
Your Instagram is almost empty — which is pretty rare these days. Is that something you do on purpose? How do you feel about sharing your work or life online?
(Laughs) … yeah, it’s intentional. I actually used to have a lot more content on there, but over the past year or so, I archived almost all of it. A lot of it was faith-based content from an earlier chapter of my journey, and as I shift into this new season as an artist, I wanted to start fresh.
I’ve struggled with social media ever since my teenage years, honestly. The idea of building a kind of shrine to yourself has always made me uncomfortable. I try to stay conscious of not walking down that path or contributing to content that makes others feel less-than.
That said, I will be sharing more soon — especially around the album. I’m excited for that, and I want to be intentional about how I do it.
When it comes to sharing my personal life, I think the through-line here is that I want it to feel true to who I am. Not just a polished version. But I also believe in curation. Like how museums curate artwork with care and skill — and there’s a kind of intentional polish in this that I actually admire. It’s not fake, but it’s thoughtfully framed. That’s the kind of presence I want to cultivate online. Will the algorithm like it? I’ve decided I don’t care.
And I see you love nature a lot. Is that where you feel most inspired?
Yes, absolutely. There’s something about being around things that aren’t man-made that slows me down and brings me back to myself.
That said, I also really love the city. I was recently in New York and completely fell in love with the energy. But even there, I still found myself gravitating toward the little pockets of stillness — like parks, the random patches of green, pushing to watch a cute tiny chipmunk peacefully eating a nut. I think I’m always searching for those moments no matter where I am.
I especially love nature in the spring and fall — the in-between seasons. Fitting, no?
And finally: What has been the most important life lesson for you so far?
That it’s OK to wrestle with things. I grew up in an environment where it was easy to be spoon-fed — not just what to believe, but how to view people, situations, and even myself. For a long time, I didn’t feel like I had the freedom to question anything. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized the wrestle is where so much clarity and growth begin.
It’s how you learn what’s really yours — what you truly believe, what you actually want, who you’re becoming. It’s definitely a journey. But it’s one I’m learning to welcome.
Follow JOURNEYGLO for more:
www.journeyglo.co
www.facebook.com/JOURNEYGLO
www.instagram.com/journeyglo
