Hannah Rand doesn’t frame abandonment issues as healing. She opens on electric guitar and goes straight for the admission: “I’m getting good at hiding demons.”
No build-up, no emotional cushioning. Where indie folk often treats vulnerability as a breakthrough, Rand sits in the quieter reality where awareness changes nothing.
Released as the first single from her upcoming EP Late 20s Life Crisis, It plays less like a single and more like a mission statement.
Rand has described abandonment issues as a reflection on the fear of being fully seen, the fear of being abandoned for who you are, and the quieter danger of abandoning yourself.
She isn’t waiting to be abandoned. She’s tracing the ways people start editing themselves long before anyone else leaves.
Her writing stays blunt. “I’ve got abandonment issues, full body scar tissue / a heart that’s been misused, a wall you can’t get through.”
There’s no poetic disguise here, just a direct accounting of damage and defence.
Lines like “Close the door and act like everything’s all right” capture the tension at the centre of the song: honesty feels risky when connection already feels fragile.
Vocally, she avoids dramatic peaks. The delivery stays steady, letting phrasing carry the weight rather than volume.
Harmonies sit just behind her lead, adding closeness without pushing the song toward theatricality.
It sounds practiced, almost rehearsed, as if these thoughts have been lived with for a while.
The arrangement follows suit. Electric guitar sets a reflective tone while the percussion keeps a measured, mid-tempo pulse.
Nothing rushes. Nothing overreaches. Co-produced with Will Honaker, the production stays lean enough to let every line land without distraction.
The bridge cuts deepest: “So afraid of you walking away / I’m abandoning pieces of me.” That’s the real pivot.
Abandonment stops being something done to her and becomes something she participates in, trimming herself down to avoid rejection that hasn’t even happened yet.
What makes abandonment issues linger is the lack of a breakthrough moment waiting at the end, no sudden shift toward closure.
Rand leaves the pattern exposed and unfinished, capturing the uneasy space where understanding exists without transformation.
That mix of warmth and ache keeps the song hovering in a bittersweet spot, the kind that makes you stay with it long after you realise there’s no easy resolution coming.
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