Madonna has released Confessions on a Dance Floor II.
The album is an absolute bop, but beneath the beats is something deeper. Madonna chose to be vulnerable—really vulnerable. She looked back at her life, her relationships, her mistakes, her joys, and let people see the person behind the icon.
I’m here for it.
I feel like, through the example of what she’s done, Madonna has given the rest of us permission to do the same.
I’ve spoken before about my album Strength. I’ve described it as a celebration of growth, resilience, vulnerability, love, and living authentically. That’s all true.
What I haven’t really talked about is where those songs actually came from.
Strength was one of the easiest albums I’ve ever written. Not because the subject matter was easy, but because it poured out of me. It came from a period of enormous personal growth—healing after the end of a significant relationship, learning to understand myself more honestly, and finally recognizing that growth isn’t about assigning blame. It’s about accepting what happened, learning from it, and moving forward.
“A New Day” came from a simple sentence.
After an argument with a partner, I was doing what I always did back then: replaying everything in my head and assuming I’d somehow caused it all, holding on to the anger and frustration. He looked at me and simply said, “It’s a new day.”
Let’s turn the page.
No one had ever said those words to me in a way I was able to hear. That moment changed me. It was a beautifully disarming moment that helped me feel his love. For the first time, I was able to hear the love behind someone’s words.
From that came “Phoenix,” “Let’s Do This,” and “Connecting Dots.”
Those songs became different stages of the same journey. “Connecting Dots” captures my brain trying to understand everything that had happened. “Let’s Do This” is the decision to stop running from difficult questions and finally do the work. “Phoenix” is the celebration that comes afterwards—not because everything is perfect, but because I’ve survived it and grown because of it.
It’s the musical equivalent of saying, “Here I am. This is what it took.”
“Gaia” sits at the centre of the album almost as a breath. James and I imagined the Earth hurtling through space, changing with every passing moment—a high-speed timelapse of a planet that’s constantly evolving without ever stopping.
That felt like life.
Then everything shifts.
“DMAO”—Dancin’ Me Arse Off—is pure joy. It’s about giving myself permission to experience the world on my own terms. To dance. To travel. To love. To exist without constantly worrying about what everyone else thinks.
It’s my own “love without words” moment.
“Moving On” is probably the most honest song I’ve written about the relationship itself.
For a long time I blamed myself for everything that happened – a pattern that had been reinforced over many years and projected onto me long before this relationship. That’s what I always did. By the time I wrote this song, I’d reached a different place. I was genuinely sad that the relationship had ended, but I could also see that it wasn’t one person’s failure. We both missed each other in important ways. We both brought our own immaturity. We both made mistakes.
Understanding that wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about finding peace.
“Freedom (End Game)” follows naturally from there.
It’s the relief that comes after the ending—not because endings are easy, but because now the real work begins. Sorting through the pain. Untangling the stories you’ve told yourself. Deciding which ones deserve to stay and which ones need to go.
For most of my life, my instinct was to carry all the blame. If something went wrong, it had to be me.
This time was different. I wasn’t willing to carry everything anymore because not all of it belonged to me.
The final track, Strength was originally written as the theme music for my Iain The Tech Bear YouTube channel. From the very beginning, though, I wanted it to represent something much bigger. I wanted it to capture what strength had come to mean to me.
It represented the person I was becoming. Long before I fully realized it myself.
Madonna has spent decades encouraging people to express themselves, but with Confessions II she did something else. She reminded us that vulnerability isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s the most powerful thing an artist can create.
During the making of Strength, I discovered what strength actually meant. It wasn’t pretending everything was okay. It wasn’t carrying the weight of every failed relationship or every mistake. It was allowing myself to heal, to learn, to forgive, and to keep moving forward.
This album was never about becoming strong. It was about recognizing that I already was.
That’s what Strength celebrates.
Madonna and Confessions II gave me the courage to finally tell you what Strength was about.
