Behind the Music: Why We Made

STILL HERE

An album for the young person who is struggling—and wondering if they still belong.

There is a particular kind of loneliness that is difficult to see.

A young person can sit in a room full of friends and feel completely alone. They can attend church, sing the hymns, say the prayers, and still wonder whether their faith is real. They can love God and still have questions. They can repent and still feel ashamed. They can be surrounded by people who care about them and still believe that nobody could understand what is happening inside their head.

That is where STILL HERE began.

Not with a musical style.

Not with a list of doctrines.

With a question:

What if we made an album that talked to young people about the things they actually talk to themselves about?

The answer became STILL HERE.

We Started by Listening

Before writing the songs, we spent time researching what young people are actually facing.

One of the clearest signals came from the 2023 American Family Survey, a nationwide survey of 3,000 Americans conducted by YouGov for the Deseret News and BYU’s Wheatley Institute.

When respondents were asked about the most important issues facing teenagers, 40% identified mental health, followed by 39% overuse of technology, 29% bullying, 24% pressure to use drugs or alcohol, and 21% divorce or family breakdown. The same study found that 96% of parents reported that their children ages 10–18 had access to at least one social-media platform. (newsroom.churchofjesuschrist.org)

Those numbers mattered.

But numbers were not the point.

The point was the human being behind them.

What does “mental health” sound like at 2 a.m.?

What does loneliness sound like when your phone says you have hundreds of friends?

What does shame sound like after someone has repented but still cannot forgive themselves?

What does doubt sound like when you still want to believe?

What does faith sound like when Heaven feels quiet?

Those became the questions behind the songs.

The Research Kept Pointing Toward Connection

A 2024 article by BYU professor Jenet Jacob Erickson described young people as experiencing a profound hunger for connection, alongside loneliness and increasing mental-health challenges despite living in a world saturated with social media. Her central observation was that deep loneliness is often connected to disruption in family relationships and a lack of belonging. (BYU ScholarsArchive)

That idea became one of the central threads of STILL HERE.

The album is not really twelve or fifteen separate problems.

It is one human story.

Who am I?

Am I enough?

Does anybody really know me?

Can I belong without pretending?

Can I be forgiven and actually move forward?

Can I struggle and still have faith?

Can I have questions without walking away?

Can I ask for help without becoming a disappointment?

And underneath all of them:

Am I still loved?

We Also Looked at Faith Itself

The project was created from within a Latter-day Saint context, so we also wanted to understand what current research says about the faith experience of young people—not simply assume that every young person experiences it the same way.

The 2026 Latter-day Saint Trends in the United States report from BYU Studies examined national surveys and longitudinal youth data concerning religiousness, well-being, and retention. The research found high levels of religious participation and reported spiritual well-being among Latter-day Saints, while also identifying important challenges surrounding retention. (BYU Studies)

One finding particularly influenced the album’s direction: in the longitudinal youth data, not feeling God’s presence in daily life was among the significant predictors associated with later religious deidentification. The researchers also examined digital-media use and social and political concerns, while cautioning that these relationships are complex and should not be reduced to a single cause. (BYU Studies)

That changed the question we were asking.

Instead of asking,

“How do we make young people believe harder?”

we started asking,

“What happens when a young person doesn’t feel God—and what can we say to them in that space?”

That question became I Still Have Questions.

And When Heaven Is Quiet.

And eventually, Still Here.

We Didn’t Want to Make an Album About Perfect People

There is a temptation, especially in religious music, to write from the other side of the struggle.

The person has already overcome the addiction.

The doubts are resolved.

The testimony is certain.

The pain has meaning.

The ending is clean.

But real life rarely feels that clean.

So STILL HERE intentionally stays inside the process.

The character in these songs doesn’t have everything figured out.

He is sometimes funny.

Sometimes embarrassed.

Sometimes frustrated.

Sometimes spiritually confident.

Sometimes unsure.

Sometimes wrong.

Sometimes brave.

Sometimes all of those things in the same verse.

That was intentional.

The goal was not to create an idealized teenager.

It was to create a believable human being.

Someone who sounds like a person rather than a lesson.

Shame Became Another Major Thread

The research around pornography and other hidden struggles reinforced something we were already seeing throughout the project: the problem is often bigger than the behavior itself.

Church resources describing young people’s experiences with pornography repeatedly address a cycle involving shame, isolation, loneliness, and secrecy. One 2024 For the Strength of Youth account describes a young woman who felt that her struggle made her unlovable and kept her from seeking help; connection with trusted people ultimately became part of breaking that cycle. (Church of Jesus Christ)

Another Church resource explains how shame can cause young people to isolate themselves, while loneliness can reinforce the very behavior they are trying to escape. (Church of Jesus Christ)

That research helped shape songs like After I Repented and The Secret I Keep.

We deliberately avoided treating the struggling person as a villain.

The songs acknowledge responsibility.

They acknowledge repentance.

They acknowledge consequences.

But they refuse to make failure someone’s identity.

That distinction is important.

Guilt can tell us that something needs to change. Shame tells us that we are the thing that needs to disappear.

STILL HERE argues for a different possibility:

You can tell the truth.

You can take responsibility.

You can seek help.

You can change.

And you can still be loved.

Mental Health Required a Different Kind of Care

The album also approaches mental health differently from the way faith-based music sometimes does.

We did not want to suggest that depression disappears if someone simply prays harder.

We did not want anxiety portrayed as weak faith.

We did not want professional help treated as a substitute for spirituality—or spirituality treated as a substitute for appropriate professional care.

Church resources themselves make this distinction. In discussing youth mental health, Church News has explicitly noted that spiritual practices and service are not replacements for professional help when professional care is needed. (newsroom.churchofjesuschrist.org)

That perspective shaped My Brain Didn’t Get the Memo.

The song doesn’t tell someone,

“Just have faith and you’ll feel better.”

Instead, it says something closer to:

You are loved even when you cannot feel loved.

And:

You do not have to carry this alone.

Sometimes the answer may involve prayer.

Sometimes it may involve a parent.

Sometimes a friend.

Sometimes a bishop.

Sometimes a therapist or physician.

Sometimes all of them.

The gospel message does not become smaller when we acknowledge the tools God can provide through other people.

Music Was Part of the Answer

One discovery kept resurfacing throughout the research: connection matters.

And music can create a very unusual kind of connection.

The Church’s 2026 “Faith Walk” resource specifically describes music as having a unique ability to affect youth and encourages young people to share their real struggles, real fears, and real moments of choosing to walk with Jesus Christ. One example features a 17-year-old describing depression, feeling unworthy, and struggling to remember her worth in God’s eyes; she identifies music and friends as important ways she connects with Jesus Christ. (Church of Jesus Christ)

That description could almost serve as the mission statement for STILL HERE.

Not polished struggles.

Real struggles.

Not manufactured certainty.

Real faith.

Not a lecture from an adult standing above the problem.

A person standing inside it.

Why the Songs Sound the Way They Do

That is also why we developed a distinctive musical language for the album.

The songs are cinematic, but intimate.

They use acoustic guitar, felt piano, organic rhythm, atmospheric textures, and eventually enormous cinematic harmonies.

The music can move from almost-whispered confession to a massive sacred-space chorus.

That contrast is intentional.

The verses sound like the inside of someone’s head.

The choruses sound like the realization that they are not alone.

The writing uses conversational language, humor, irregular rhyme, internal rhyme, interruptions, pauses, and spoken moments because real people do not speak in perfect four-line verses.

The character might make a joke in the middle of something painful.

He might change his mind halfway through a thought.

He might say something profound and then immediately undercut it with something ridiculous.

That’s human.

And STILL HERE wanted to sound human.

The Album’s Central Idea

Eventually, all of the research, writing, and conversations kept collapsing into one simple idea:

You can be struggling and still belong to Christ.

Not after you fix everything.

Not after you become spiritually impressive.

Not after your questions disappear.

Not after your mental health becomes perfect.

Not after you never relapse again.

Not after you finally become the person you think you’re supposed to be.

Now.

That is why the album moves through identity, loneliness, secrecy, mental health, repentance, doubt, unanswered prayer, perfectionism, fear of inadequacy, belonging, commitment, and hope.

The sequence is intentional.

It begins with:

“If You forgave me, why can’t I forgive myself?”

It asks:

“Who am I?”

“Why do I feel alone?”

“What happens if someone finds out?”

“Why doesn’t my brain work the way everyone else’s seems to?”

“Can I really change?”

“Can I have questions and still believe?”

“What do I do when Heaven is quiet?”

“Do I have to be perfect?”

“What if I’m not enough?”

And finally:

“You know me.”

“Come what may.”

“Still here.”

Who Is This Album For?

It’s for the kid who sits in the back of the room.

It’s for the teenager who looks fine.

It’s for the young adult who isn’t sure what they believe anymore.

It’s for the person who has repented but still feels dirty.

It’s for the person who has questions they are afraid to ask at church.

It’s for the person whose brain won’t cooperate with their faith.

It’s for the person who feels surrounded by friends but profoundly alone.

It’s for the parent who suspects their child is struggling but doesn’t know how to start the conversation.

And it’s for anyone who has ever wondered:

“After everything I’ve done, am I still His?”

The answer this album keeps returning to is simple.

Yes.

The Purpose of

STILL HERE

This album was never designed to solve every problem.

Fifteen songs cannot do that.

Music cannot replace therapy.

A song cannot replace a bishop, parent, friend, doctor, counselor, or trusted adult.

And a beautiful chorus cannot make suffering disappear.

But a song can do something remarkably important.

It can give someone words.

It can make a private struggle feel less private.

It can create a moment of recognition:

“Someone else has felt this.”

It can make it a little easier to tell someone the truth.

It can remind someone that questions are not the same thing as abandonment.

It can remind someone that repentance is not the end of the story.

It can remind someone that being unfinished is not the same thing as being unworthy.

And sometimes, when someone is having a very hard day, it can simply say:

Stay.

Take the next step.

Tell somebody.

You are loved.

You’re not alone.

You’re still becoming.

You’re still His.

You’re still here.

That is why we made STILL HERE.

Not because young people need another album telling them to be better.

Because sometimes they need an album reminding them that they don’t have to become someone else before they are worth loving.

And perhaps most importantly—

that the story isn’t over.