Sing. Smile. Burn Out. Try Again.
We’re kicking off a new series here at THE OTO —
a place where we talk to musicians, artists, performers, and other beautifully chaotic creators about how they stay mentally and emotionally intact while doing the most exposed job on Earth. These won’t be sanitized press stories or highlight reels — just real conversations about the internal cost of staying visible, vulnerable, and creatively alive.
Let’s be real for a second.
When we say "artist," the brain often defaults to some hazy vision of a free-floating muse: lounging on a velvet couch, sipping tea made of flower petals and existential dread, writing hits by candlelight. But in 2025, being an artist means content calendars, 3 AM emails, streaming metrics, 15-second clips of your soul packaged for TikTok, and the low-grade anxiety of being both an emotional vessel and a personal brand.
Let’s back it up with numbers — because the struggle isn’t just poetic
And let’s not ignore the data
A 2022 study by the Record Union found that 73%
of independent musicians struggle with symptoms
of mental illness. The same year, Help Musicians UK reported that 87% of musicians experienced deteriorating mental health due to the pressures
of the industry.
Add to that the dopamine-chasing nightmare of modern algorithms, where you’re only as relevant as your last viral clip — and yeah, it’s no wonder the line between art and identity meltdown feels thinner than ever.
We watch these people perform, paint, design, scream, whisper, explode, and then quietly disappear backstage to deal with the fallout. We love their vulnerability. But do we really want them to have it?
I think about this a lot.
Maybe because I work around artists. Maybe because I’ve cried in the bathroom between Zooms, wondering why I feel so broken when I’m doing what I love.
Or maybe because the line between creation and collapse feels increasingly blurry these days, and nobody really gives you a guidebook on how to stay intact while everyone wants a piece of you.
That’s why we started this series.
To talk to people who make things for a living — songs, images, worlds — and ask them, point blank: How do you survive this?
This isn’t about glamor. This is about survival. And I wanted to start with someone who knows both sides of the coin intimately.
Meet Aiko.
She’s a Czech singer-songwriter, and the voice representing her country at Eurovision 2024. You might know her from the song "Pedestal," or from her live sets that melt faces and break hearts in equal measure. But behind all the stage lights and camera zooms is a human trying to stay centered while the world is watching.
In this piece, Aiko tells her story the way it deserves to be told: raw, personal and entirely hers:
«Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever lost my creative identity in the process. Hmmm, I think the answer is yes and no. I'm quite stable with the creative identity and my likes and dislikes, but it's more about searching for yourself and reinventing in ways that are true to your identity, but different enough to keep people interested and entertained. I started making music around 15, so of course I also evolved as a person too, meaning I was reinventing = finding myself and my artistic voice in the meantime.
I think I need both: emotional turbulence fuels creativity, but I also create better when my mind is at peace. Turbulence gives you more topics and real-life situations to write about — bad or good emotions are what drive songs and good lyrics. If you're able to feel these emotions without having any turbulence, it's amazing! But it doesn't work for me haha. On the other hand, if you only have turbulence but no stable time, for me it would lead to barely writing and creating. I do need that peace and safe space to create.
I think about this a lot.
Maybe because I work around artists. Maybe because I’ve cried in the bathroom between Zooms, wondering why I feel so broken when I’m doing what I love.
Or maybe because the line between creation and collapse feels increasingly blurry these days, and nobody really gives you a guidebook on how to stay intact while everyone wants a piece of you.
That’s why we started this series.
To talk to people who make things for a living — songs, images, worlds — and ask them, point blank: How do you survive this?
This isn’t about glamor. This is about survival. And I wanted to start with someone who knows both sides of the coin intimately.
Meet Aiko.
She’s a Czech singer-songwriter, and the voice representing her country at Eurovision 2024. You might know her from the song "Pedestal," or from her live sets that melt faces and break hearts in equal measure. But behind all the stage lights and camera zooms is a human trying to stay centered while the world is watching.
In this piece, Aiko tells her story the way it deserves to be told: raw, personal and entirely hers:
«Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever lost my creative identity in the process. Hmmm, I think the answer is yes and no. I'm quite stable with the creative identity and my likes and dislikes, but it's more about searching for yourself and reinventing in ways that are true to your identity, but different enough to keep people interested and entertained. I started making music around 15, so of course I also evolved as a person too, meaning I was reinventing = finding myself and my artistic voice in the meantime.
I think I need both: emotional turbulence fuels creativity, but I also create better when my mind is at peace. Turbulence gives you more topics and real-life situations to write about — bad or good emotions are what drive songs and good lyrics. If you're able to feel these emotions without having any turbulence, it's amazing! But it doesn't work for me haha. On the other hand, if you only have turbulence but no stable time, for me it would lead to barely writing and creating. I do need that peace and safe space to create.
Oh god, so SO many times I’ve had those ‘I can’t do this anymore’ moments on the road. In general, being angry and overly dramatic is my response to being tired — that's something I learned about myself and at this point, sort of anticipate haha. In these moments, I just need to vent, cry it out, accept that ultimately I do this thing because I love it dearly and no one is really forcing me, have a good sleep and then continue doing what I'm doing. Works every time. And let me tell you, it has happened multiple times in my career where I felt like an imposter, tired, or that nothing is ever going to get better. It's important to have a good support system, know yourself, and know what helps you decompress — in my case, that's sleep and alone time. I'm like a new person after that.
One of the most important personal rituals for me is alone time, as I already mentioned. When I get overwhelmed and need immediate decompression, I meditate. For a bigger thing, I spend time with myself doing work, emails, creative things, or just some silly things, but it's more about just being alone (only child much? haha). It's ridiculous — I re-emerge as a new person, suddenly I'm all kind and nice, ready to give all the energy back. As a pre-show thing though, I always have some caffeine to pump me up, it's a must!
Not even so much a mental health thing, but rather that artists are these mystical beings that create only when muse and inspiration strikes. That's far from the truth, at least for me and a lot of my friends that work in the industry. In actuality, it's about showing up, creating daily. Interestingly, the routine fuels and gives even more creativity — topics to write about, melodies, perspectives. Creativity flourishes, it's not a finite resource.
If I could give advice to my younger self about balancing creativity and mental health… I’d say I’m still figuring it out. Still searching for my own work-life balance — be it a creative one, or the more music-business aspect. I don't have much downtime. I feel like I live in it. My partner is also a musician, so it's a constant — but I don't mind it!».
Talking to Aiko didn’t feel like an interview. It felt like a quiet, honest check-in with someone who’s learning, like all of us, how to stay afloat while doing the thing she loves.
What she shared — and how openly she shared it — reminded me why conversations like this matter. Because while we praise artists for their vulnerability, we often forget the cost of being open in public. It’s crucial that creatives speak about what’s really going on — not just the process, but the pressure, the loneliness, the emotional labor.
This helps dismantle the old myth that art has to come from suffering. That the more broken you are, the better the work. That drama fuels genius. It doesn’t.
With the rise of social media, pressure is everywhere — and it affects everyone. Public figures read everything said about them. Viewers, followers, random commenters aren’t just watching the creative process anymore — they’re actively shaping it. That’s why we need more awareness on both sides of the screen.
Yes, artists need emotional resilience — but not to survive abuse. They need it to do their job well. To keep creating. To stay connected to the reason they started in the first place.
And we, as the audience, need to take some responsibility too. Not to turn someone else’s honesty into a punching bag. There’s always a real human behind the username. And caring for mental health isn’t just about “how I feel” — it’s also about “how I make others feel.”
That’s why we publish pieces like this. Not to romanticize pain. But to notice it.
Hold space for it. And remind each other: being human is not a flaw — it’s the point.
One of the most important personal rituals for me is alone time, as I already mentioned. When I get overwhelmed and need immediate decompression, I meditate. For a bigger thing, I spend time with myself doing work, emails, creative things, or just some silly things, but it's more about just being alone (only child much? haha). It's ridiculous — I re-emerge as a new person, suddenly I'm all kind and nice, ready to give all the energy back. As a pre-show thing though, I always have some caffeine to pump me up, it's a must!
Not even so much a mental health thing, but rather that artists are these mystical beings that create only when muse and inspiration strikes. That's far from the truth, at least for me and a lot of my friends that work in the industry. In actuality, it's about showing up, creating daily. Interestingly, the routine fuels and gives even more creativity — topics to write about, melodies, perspectives. Creativity flourishes, it's not a finite resource.
If I could give advice to my younger self about balancing creativity and mental health… I’d say I’m still figuring it out. Still searching for my own work-life balance — be it a creative one, or the more music-business aspect. I don't have much downtime. I feel like I live in it. My partner is also a musician, so it's a constant — but I don't mind it!».
Talking to Aiko didn’t feel like an interview. It felt like a quiet, honest check-in with someone who’s learning, like all of us, how to stay afloat while doing the thing she loves.
What she shared — and how openly she shared it — reminded me why conversations like this matter. Because while we praise artists for their vulnerability, we often forget the cost of being open in public. It’s crucial that creatives speak about what’s really going on — not just the process, but the pressure, the loneliness, the emotional labor.
This helps dismantle the old myth that art has to come from suffering. That the more broken you are, the better the work. That drama fuels genius. It doesn’t.
With the rise of social media, pressure is everywhere — and it affects everyone. Public figures read everything said about them. Viewers, followers, random commenters aren’t just watching the creative process anymore — they’re actively shaping it. That’s why we need more awareness on both sides of the screen.
Yes, artists need emotional resilience — but not to survive abuse. They need it to do their job well. To keep creating. To stay connected to the reason they started in the first place.
And we, as the audience, need to take some responsibility too. Not to turn someone else’s honesty into a punching bag. There’s always a real human behind the username. And caring for mental health isn’t just about “how I feel” — it’s also about “how I make others feel.”
That’s why we publish pieces like this. Not to romanticize pain. But to notice it.
Hold space for it. And remind each other: being human is not a flaw — it’s the point.
That, I think, is the real takeaway.
