Music as an Attachment Figure

Jo Oxley • 29 June 2025

๐ŸŽต The Healing Power of Music: When a Song Becomes a Secure Base


“In the absence of a secure attachment figure, music can act as an emotional surrogate, facilitating affect regulation and providing a sense of presence and containment.”

 — MacDonald, Hargreaves & Miell, 2012, p.87


I don’t know about you, but I’ve often found myself transported by a song to a memory, a mood, or sometimes a place inside me I didn’t even know needed a visit. A single chord can unlock tears I’ve been holding in for weeks. A lyric can feel like it was written just for me, in a secret language only my nervous system fully understands. Sometimes, it’s not even about the words — it’s the feeling of being accompanied of not being alone.


When I lost my Dad, music took on a whole new level of meaning. The songs chosen for his funeral were carefully selected. I wanted them to tell his story. Each song held a thread of him — the man he was, the humour he carried, the values he lived by. There was something deeply comforting about using music to honour his life. It felt like a language we had shared, silently, over the years. As the notes filled the space, it was as if they created a bridge between us, between memory and presence, between grief and celebration. In fact, Elvis Presley’s Bridge over Troubled Waters was one of the songs.


And long after the service, those songs became emotional anchors for me. They still do. I only have to hear the opening bars and I’m right there again — not just at the funeral, but with him. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I smile. But always, there’s that strange, sacred ache of being connected to someone who’s gone, through something that lives on.


Music gave me a way to keep a thread of attachment alive — not in a stuck way, but in a very human, very healing way. It helped me feel him, contain the grief, and stay present with all the feelings that came.

As an attachment-based therapist, I’ve spent years discussing with clients the vital importance of safe, attuned, and consistent relationships. We talk about secure bases, affect regulation, containment, rupture and repair. We talk about people as the medium of healing. And yet, often, what brings a client to tears in the room isn’t a relational memory involving a person. It’s a song.


“Music was my parent,” someone poignantly reflected. “It raised me when no one else did.”


It made me think of the above quote, nestled quietly in an academic paper, but shouting out a truth many of us have known intuitively for a long time. Music — in the absence of secure human attachment — becomes something of a stand-in. Not a poor substitute, but a true emotional surrogate. A way of being held.


Music as an Attachment Figure


When we think about attachment figures, we typically consider people — a parent, caregiver, partner, or therapist. Someone who “gets us,” who responds to our emotional cues, who shows up over time. Someone who soothes, who helps us learn how to make sense of our internal world.


But if you didn’t grow up with someone who could offer that? Or if your attachment figure was inconsistent, frightening, absent, or emotionally unavailable, your developing self will still seek out something to help you regulate. Human beings are wonderfully creative in that way.


And music? Oh, music steps in. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t tell you you’re too much. It doesn’t get overwhelmed by your sadness or your anger or your longing. It’s there, day or night, whenever you need it. And crucially — it’s predictable.


When a child lacks predictability and attunement in their human relationships, their nervous system is constantly on high alert. Hypervigilance and internalised shame often replace comfort. But music offers a pattern. Rhythm. A melody that knows where it’s going. An emotional journey that is held safely, not abandoned halfway through.

It’s not hard to see how this becomes a kind of attachment experience. Music, in these moments, becomes a presence. A soothing, shaping, and containing other.


Affect Regulation Through Sound


MacDonald, Hargreaves, and Miell (2012) make a vital point: music helps us regulate. And in attachment terms, this is big news. Affect regulation is not just about calming down. It’s about knowing what we feel, tolerating it, and knowing it won’t destroy us (or anyone else). For many of us, we learnt how to regulate with someone — a co-regulating adult who helped us learn that emotions are manageable and meaningful.


But if that didn’t happen?


You may find a teenager alone in their room, blaring out The Smiths or Nirvana — not just because they like it, but because it’s doing something. It’s holding their anger. It’s resonating with their ache. It’s giving voice to something that, in the outside world, feels unspeakable.


Or the child who insists on listening to the same lullaby every night, long past what’s considered “age-appropriate.” Because that song is what keeps them from falling apart in the dark.


Or the adult, decades later, who hears a certain piece of music and feels like they’ve come home, not to a place, but to a version of themselves they forgot existed.


Music doesn’t fix the wound. But it holds it.


And in doing so, it offers a kind of regulation many of us didn’t even know we were missing.


A Personal Reflection (and a Little Carole King)


I can’t write this blog without a bit of personal honesty. There have been moments in my life when music has reached me in a way that words from others simply couldn’t. When everything felt too much — not dramatically, just that quiet overwhelm — a song has sometimes landed right in the middle of it all and brought me back to myself.

I remember one day in particular, sat in the car feeling frayed at the edges, and a Carole King song came on. “You’ve got a friend”.  That line just caught me. It felt like someone had reached through the fog and simply been there. No need to explain myself, no need to make sense — just met with gentleness. And isn’t that what so many of us are craving, deep down? To be met like that. To feel that, even when things are messy, someone (or something) is holding a bit of space for us.


The Neuroscience of Musical Holding


Neuroscience has a lot to say about why music works like this. Our brains love patterns. Rhythm and repetition are deeply regulating to the nervous system. Think of the way we rock babies, or how a lullaby soothes — it’s all about predictable, rhythmic, sensory input.


Music activates the limbic system, where emotion lives, and connects it with the prefrontal cortex, where we make meaning. When we listen to music that mirrors our inner state, we feel validated. When the music then shifts, moves, uplifts — it can take us with it. It’s emotional co-regulation, but with a speaker instead of a person.

There’s something profound in that.


The Songs That Saved Us


So many clients I’ve worked with have shared “the song” that got them through. It’s rarely just a catchy tune. It’s usually deeply symbolic. Often, they don’t even know why it mattered — they just know it did.


One woman spoke of a lullaby her mother used to hum before everything fell apart. She hadn’t heard it in years, but when she did, she broke down. Not because it reminded her of her mother as she was, but because it reminded her of what could have been.


Another client shared how punk music helped him express a rage he’d never been allowed to show. It wasn’t about rebellion — it was about recognition.


In these moments, music functions not just as a backdrop, but as a witness. A container. A holding environment.


Using Music in Therapy (With a Light Touch)


As therapists, I think we can sometimes underplay the role of music in our clients’ emotional ecosystems. We ask about childhood, relationships, trauma, inner child work — but how often do we ask, “What songs are meaningful for you?”


I sometimes invite clients to bring in a piece of music that resonates with them, especially if they struggle to put their thoughts into words. It opens a door. It gives shape to the unspeakable. And for many, it’s safer than direct confrontation with the past.


However, we must tread carefully. Music can also be triggering — it can access painful memories, states of overwhelm, or dissociation. As ever, it’s about pacing and attunement. But used gently, music can become part of the therapeutic relationship — a shared space of connection and reflection.


Music as a Bridge


Music is a bridge between parts of ourselves, between past and present, between pain and meaning. It can help us integrate experiences we never thought we could face. It can provide a rhythm where once there was only chaos. And for those who grew up without a secure attachment figure, it can offer a sense of being with — of presence, of being held.


So, the next time you find yourself moved to tears by a song or humming something from years ago without quite knowing why, pause. That might be your nervous system recognising something. That might be your younger self saying, “Ah… there it is. I remember. I’m not alone.”


References:

MacDonald, R., Hargreaves, D. J., & Miell, D. (2012). Musical identities. Oxford University Press.

This Is Not Just a Request for Attention… This Is a Protest Against Disconnection”: A Therapeutic Reframe from David Wallin

by Jo Oxley • 11 June 2025
As therapists, many of us have encountered moments in the therapy room where a client’s longing feels intense—maybe even overwhelming. Perhaps they ask for more contact between sessions, seek reassurance repeatedly, or test the boundaries of the therapeutic relationship. At first glance, these behaviours can be labelled as “needy,” “regressive,” or even as boundary violations. But what if they’re not that at all? What if, as David Wallin writes in Attachment in Psychotherapy, this isn’t “just a request for attention” but instead “a protest against disconnection”? This single sentence changed the way I attune to my clients—and to myself. It reframes a familiar struggle not as pathology, but as relational communication. Understanding the Attachment System To appreciate the depth of Wallin’s reframe, we need to come back to basics: attachment is a survival strategy. The infant’s cry, the child’s cling, the adult’s emotional plea—they’re all signals from a nervous system wired to protect itself from abandonment. When someone feels relationally unsafe, their attachment system is activated. And what does that system do when the connection is threatened? It protests. Loudly, subtly, or even silently—but it protests. Wallin’s genius lies in recognising that these so-called “attention-seeking” behaviours are, at their core, protests against the threat of relational loss. They are bids for attunement, safety, and reassurance. Beyond Pathology: Seeing the Longing Beneath the Strategy Reframing these moments through the attachment lens allows us to see the human longing beneath the behaviour. The clingy text? Not neediness. The boundary-pushing in session? Not manipulation. These may be deeply embedded, early-learned strategies designed to protect the person from a familiar wound: disconnection. In a securely attached system, seeking comfort isn’t dangerous. But for those with anxious, avoidant, or disorganised patterns, asking for connection feels vulnerable—sometimes even life-threatening. So when a client makes a strong request for our attention, we might ask: What are they really telling me about their internal world? Is this a plea not just for presence but for repair? What This Means in Practice In my work with clients—especially those with anxious-preoccupied or disorganised attachment histories—Wallin’s reframe has helped me: Soften my stance in moments of resistance or intensity. Validate the client's protest without reinforcing old patterns. Stay relationally present, rather than reflexively enforcing clinical boundaries. Model secure attachment, where needs are not shamed but explored with curiosity. It’s a subtle shift, but a powerful one: from seeing behaviours as problematic to seeing them as protective. The Therapist’s Inner World Of course, this reframe also requires us to turn inward. Our own attachment histories may react strongly to a client’s intensity. We may feel overwhelmed, drawn in, or tempted to pull away. That’s why it’s vital we do our own attachment work in supervision and therapy. Because when we can recognise our own defences and relational triggers, we’re better able to meet our clients' protests not with fear—but with firm, compassionate presence. Becoming a Storied Self Ultimately, Wallin’s work helps us guide our clients toward what Dan Siegel calls “mindsight”—a coherent narrative of self. By helping clients name their attachment strategies, explore their origin, and gently update them in the present, we help them move from protest to presence. We help them become what Wallin so beautifully describes as a “storied self.” Reflection for Practitioners When a client pushes against your boundaries, can you pause and ask, “What’s being protested here?” How might your own attachment style respond to these moments? In what ways can you offer secure relating in the face of disconnection? If you're curious about learning more about attachment styles in adult therapy, particularly through the lens of the therapeutic relationship itself, I cannot recommend Wallin’s work highly enough. His book doesn’t just illuminate theory—it invites us to practise therapy from a deeply human, deeply relational place. I’d love to hear from other therapists—has attachment theory changed the way you hear your clients’ needs? Or your own?

Attachment Night Vision: Seeing Beneath the Surface in Psychotherapy

by Jo Oxley • 8 June 2025
Your client doesn’t arrive in therapy with a diagnosis neatly wrapped in clinical terms. They come with something far more complex—a nervous system shaped by experience. They bring a story lived through relationship: through the unmet gaze of a distracted parent, the unpredictability of care, the comfort of consistency, or the rupture of neglect. And that story often doesn’t appear first in words. It shows up in the body. As therapists, when we approach our work through the lens of attachment theory, we begin to see more clearly. We develop what you might call “attachment night vision”—a capacity to see in the relational dark. To pick up on cues that live beneath the surface: the slight freeze before answering a question, the urgency in a client’s text between sessions, the quiet dread that follows moments of connection. All of it speaks. Attachment as a Somatic Story Attachment isn’t just an idea. It’s lived and felt. It’s the tight jaw that forms when vulnerability arises. The collapse in posture when disappointment lands. The way someone pulls back emotionally when another gets too close. For some clients, early caregiving taught them to rely on hyper-independence. For others, it meant staying hyper-attuned to the emotional states of others. Still others grew up in environments where care was mixed with fear—leaving the nervous system in a state of confusion, not knowing whether to reach out or shut down. When we understand attachment, we begin to decode these responses not as pathology, but as adaptation. The Power of the Attachment Lens Working with an attachment-informed approach gives us more than theory—it gives us a clinical compass. It reminds us to ask: What did this client learn about relationships? About safety? About need and expression? When we view our clients through this lens, we gain: A deeper sensitivity to body-based signs of distress or disconnection Greater empathy for behaviours that might otherwise seem ‘resistant’ or ‘dysfunctional’ Clarity in pacing the therapeutic relationship to build trust and safety over time Insight into how our own attachment systems are activated in the room From Insight to Integration Therapy shifts when we move from behaviour to meaning. From what the client is doing to why their system is doing it. This shift allows us to respond differently—to hold space with more patience, to ask different questions, to validate not just thoughts but felt experiences. And it’s not just our clients who benefit. As therapists, developing attachment night vision can profoundly change how we work. It deepens our capacity to stay present in moments of rupture. It helps us recognise when the therapeutic relationship itself is being used to test safety. And it allows us to offer something potentially reparative: a steady, attuned presence that wasn’t always there before. Staying Curious, Staying Present Attachment theory doesn’t give us quick fixes. But it provides us with a map. And when we pair that map with somatic attunement—listening to the breath, tone, gesture, and stillness—we become more than interpreters of words. We become companions to the nervous system. We begin to understand not just the story our client tells us but the one they’ve lived in their body for years. That’s the real work. Not diagnosis, but deep listening. Not analysis, but relationship. And it begins when we look with care—even in the dark. How does attachment inform your work with clients? Are you noticing more somatic signs in the therapy room? We’d love to hear how you're integrating this understanding into your practice. ๏ปฟ #AttachmentTherapy #SomaticPsychotherapy #RelationalHealing #TherapistTools #ClinicalPractice #TraumaInformedCare #CounsellingTheory #MentalHealthProfessionals #TherapyBlog #AttachmentLens #NervousSystemHealing

Listening to the Body: Why Attachment-Based Therapy Needs a Somatic Lens

by Jo Oxley • 8 June 2025
In the therapy room, words can only take us so far. Often, it’s the body that tells the deeper story. When someone grows up in an environment where connection was unsafe, inconsistent, or overwhelming, their nervous system learns to adapt. These adaptations may manifest as tension in the jaw, a frozen chest, restless legs, or an inability to feel much of anything at all. We see clients who dissociate during moments of intimacy, who brace themselves even when recalling “ordinary” childhood memories, or who struggle to stay present when discussing relationships. These responses are not just habits—they're survival strategies formed in response to early relational environments. Attachment Theory: A Map for the Body John Bowlby’s work on attachment theory helps us make sense of these patterns. He showed us that the drive for connection is biologically hardwired—and that when this drive is met with fear, neglect, or inconsistency, it doesn’t disappear. Instead, it reroutes. The child adapts to whatever helps them maintain some form of connection or safety, even if it comes at the cost of shutting down emotional or bodily awareness. From this perspective, the somatic responses we see in therapy—avoidance, tension, shutdown, overactivation—aren’t just symptoms. They’re the body’s intelligent attempts to stay safe in a world that didn’t always feel safe. And they persist into adulthood, long after the original threat is gone. Why the Somatic Approach Matters Working somatically in attachment-based psychotherapy means we pay close attention not only to what clients say, but to what their bodies are doing—how they breathe, move, and react in the room. It means we help clients slowly build awareness of their bodily states, without overwhelm or shame. And it means we recognise that emotional healing often needs to be felt, not just understood. Clients with avoidant attachment may struggle to notice or name sensations; they’ve learned it’s safer not to feel. Clients with anxious attachment may be overwhelmed by somatic states and need support in finding stability and containment. Those with disorganised attachment histories might flip between activation and collapse, often without warning. An attachment-informed lens allows us to hold these responses with compassion and precision. Safety First: The Power of Co-Regulation The therapeutic relationship itself becomes the ground for this work. Co-regulation—being with the client in a way that helps calm and anchor their nervous system—is essential. Through tone of voice, pacing, breath, and attunement, we offer a relational experience that says: It’s safe to be here. You don’t have to manage this alone. This work is subtle, slow, and deeply relational. It’s not about applying a technique—it’s about a way of being with another person. A way that respects the body’s history, honours its adaptations, and gently invites it into new ways of relating. Where Story Meets Sensation When we bring somatic awareness into attachment-based psychotherapy, we create a space where story and sensation can meet—where old survival patterns can soften, and where new forms of connection can emerge. So the question isn’t whether to work somatically—it’s how to do so in a way that honours attachment, trauma, and the profound wisdom of the body. Are you integrating somatic approaches into your attachment work? We’d love to hear how. Want to learn more? Check out our Attachment Training #AttachmentTherapy #SomaticPsychotherapy #TraumaInformedCare #BodyMindConnection #NervousSystemHealing #RelationalTherapy #TherapistCommunity #MentalHealthBlog #PolyvagalTheory #TherapyTools #CounsellingSkills #HealingThroughConnection

How often do you invite dreams into the therapy room?

by Jo Oxley • 8 June 2025
Exploring the Role of Dreams in Attachment-Based Psychotherapy How often do you invite your clients to bring their dreams into the therapy room? In attachment-based psychotherapy, dreams are more than fleeting night-time images. They offer a profound entry point into the unconscious—revealing emotional truths, unresolved attachment wounds, and early relational dynamics that may not be easily accessed through conscious thought or dialogue. For therapists working with an attachment lens, dreams can serve as powerful tools for deepening the therapeutic process and enhancing emotional integration. Why Dreams Matter in Attachment-Based Therapy John Bowlby, the founder of attachment theory, described the attachment system as largely unconscious—formed through early experiences with caregivers and carried into adulthood. These patterns continue to shape how individuals relate to others, especially in moments of stress or emotional vulnerability. Because dreams often bypass the rational mind, they can reflect these hidden patterns more directly, bringing to light emotions and memories that might otherwise remain buried. Jungian psychology adds another dimension. Carl Jung viewed dreams as a bridge between the conscious and unconscious—a natural form of inner communication that can guide healing and self-understanding. For clients with insecure or disrupted early attachments, dreams may present images of abandonment, threat, comfort, or intimacy—symbolic expressions of deep-seated emotional themes. Therapeutic Opportunities in Dream Work Working with dreams in psychotherapy doesn’t require decoding or fixed interpretations. Instead, dreams can be treated as "living communications," as relational moments that invite exploration. Cundy writes about the unique capacity of dreams to carry disavowed attachment trauma into the therapeutic space. When held sensitively, they can support the reprocessing of painful experiences and the reformation of internal working models. By inviting clients to bring their dreams into sessions, therapists open up new possibilities for connection, meaning-making, and emotional repair. Dreams can evoke strong affect, surface forgotten narratives, or even shift how a client views themselves in relation to others. In this sense, they are not simply reflections of the past but dynamic opportunities for growth in the present. Using Dreams in Your Practice To use dreams effectively in attachment-based work: Encourage clients to share any remembered dreams, however fragmented. Explore the emotional tone and relational themes present in the dream. Hold the dream collaboratively—allowing multiple meanings to emerge. Stay attuned to how the dream reflects or interacts with the therapeutic relationship. Ultimately, dreams can deepen the therapeutic encounter and provide a creative, symbolic way to access the emotional world of your clients. How do you approach dreams in your practice? Whether you work primarily from an attachment, psychodynamic, or integrative approach, dreams can enrich the work in unexpected and meaningful ways. They are not only expressions of the self but invitations—to listen more closely, to feel more fully, and to relate more openly.

Understanding Dismissing Attachment in the Therapy Room - When Authority Feels Dangerous - Criminal Behaviour

by Jo Oxley • 14 May 2025
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BPD through an attachment lens

From Fear to Compassion: Working with BPD Through an Attachment Lens

by Jo Oxley • 14 May 2025
Explore how attachment theory and Mentalisation-Based Therapy (MBT) offer a compassionate, clinically sound approach to working with clients diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). This post helps counsellors and psychotherapists overcome the fear of working with BPD presentations by reframing behaviours through an attachment-informed lens. Discover practical insights on boundaries, emotional regulation, and building safety in the therapeutic relationship.

“The way we were treated as small children is the way we treat ourselves the rest of our lives, and we often impose our most agonising suffering upon ourselves.” — Alice Miller (1987, p.133)

by Jo Oxley • 25 March 2025
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“I๐˜€๐—ป’๐˜ ๐—ฎ๐˜๐˜๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—บ๐—ฒ๐—ป๐˜ ๐—ท๐˜‚๐˜€๐˜ ๐—ฎ๐—ฏ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐˜ ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—น๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป๐˜€๐—ต๐—ถ๐—ฝ๐˜€?”

by Jo Oxley • 25 March 2025
It’s a common assumption and an understandable one. But in practice—and the therapy room—we know it runs much deeper. ๐Ÿ”„ Myth: Attachment theory only applies to how we relate to others. โœ… Truth: Attachment patterns are foundational to how we regulate affect, stress, and our nervous system’s response to everyday emotional challenges. Attachment isn’t just about who we feel close to. It’s about how safe we feel being close to ourselves—our own sensations, feelings, and internal states. Let’s break that down. When a child has consistent, emotionally attuned caregivers, they experience co-regulation—someone with them during distress. Over time, the child internalises this experience. Their nervous system learns: “Big feelings don’t have to be dangerous. I can manage them, and I don’t have to do it alone.” This scaffolds the development of affect regulation—the capacity to tolerate, express, and recover from emotional states. It’s not just psychological. It’s biological. Secure attachment helps modulate the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, calms cortisol output and builds up prefrontal capacities to inhibit and regulate reactivity. But when that emotional attunement is absent, inconsistent, or overwhelming? What's learnt is something else entirely: “When I’m distressed, I’m alone.” So adaptive strategies develop —fight, flight, freeze, fawn. These are affect regulation strategies born of survival, not safety. And these patterns persist. Not because people aren’t trying hard enough to cope. But because their nervous systems were never shown how. ๐Ÿ” As therapists and counsellors, this understanding changes everything. Rather than focusing solely on thought patterns or conscious coping strategies, we begin to attune to the client’s affect regulation capacity—especially under stress. We become curious about what their body has learned to do in moments of overwhelm. We look for cues of hyperarousal or shutdown, internalised aloneness or relational fear. ๐Ÿ’ฌ And we offer something different. Not just insight, but co-regulation How could Attachment augment your practice?

“This is just how I’ve always reacted.”

by Jo Oxley • 25 March 2025
It’s something we often hear in therapy, especially from clients who feel stuck in patterns of emotional overwhelm or shutdown. ๐—•๐˜‚๐˜ ๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ’๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—บ๐˜†๐˜๐—ต: ๐—ฆ๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐˜€ ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ฝ๐—ผ๐—ป๐˜€๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ณ๐—ถ๐˜…๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ฎits. And the truth? They’re not. They’re learned, adaptive patterns—often shaped through early attachment experiences—and they can be reconditioned. When a child grows up with emotionally attuned, available caregivers, they internalise a template for co-regulation. They learn how to manage big emotions because someone helped them do it first. But when that’s missing, the nervous system develops its own survival strategies—fight, flight, freeze—on high alert or shutting down completely. These become deeply embedded affect regulation patterns, carried well into adulthood. ๐Ÿง  As therapists, we know this isn’t just behavioural—it’s neurobiological. Dysregulation becomes the norm when secure attachment isn’t there to buffer stress. The powerful part? Therapy can provide a reparative relational experience. The therapeutic relationship can become a space where co-regulation is learned, internalised, and repeated. Over time, clients begin to develop new, more secure internal working models—not just in thought, but in how their bodies respond to stress. Those moments when a client breathes through a trigger, stays connected during rupture, or reflects rather than reacts? That’s Affect regulation being rewired in real time. So no—stress responses aren’t set in stone. They’re shaped in relationships. And they can be reshaped in one, too. Want to learn more about Affect Regulation and how this can augment your clinical practice?

Myth: Securely attached individuals don’t experience stress. Truth: They do—but they recover more quickly, thanks to better-regulated stress response systems.

by Jo Oxley • 25 March 2025
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