Am I a bad mother for letting my three-year-old rock out to Nirvana?

On Motherhood: How do you know if it's intuition or if it's just fear?

Yesterday, we went to the store, and my three-year-old got to pick out a CD. He’s been really into all the music mediums lately—cassettes, CDs, records—anything music-related, he loves. The choices were Nirvana’s Icon and Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. He already has Rumors on vinyl.

He chose Nirvana.

I listened to a lot of Nirvana when I was pregnant with him—it was my workout music, and it made me feel powerful. Maybe that’s what he feels now too. Maybe he remembers it from the womb.

Since bringing the CD home, he’s been listening to it non-stop. Last night, we had a full-blown rock-out session before bed. He thrashed around the living room, occasionally pausing to hug me as I sat on the floor, watching him. One hug was particularly long. I held him while Kurt Cobain raged in the background. The softness of the moment with the power of the music put me in my feels. My son’s teenage self flashed in my mind and I imagined us still rocking out together like we do now. The thought made me cry. He pulled away, oblivious to my sentimental breakdown, and kept thrashing. I smiled at him, wet-faced, as I waited for him to throw himself back into my arms again.

This morning, he woke up yell-singing Nirvana at the top of his lungs. I poked my head into his room and said, “Good morning, baby. I missed you,” as I do every morning.

“I want to go downstairs and listen to Nirvana,” he replied.

And that’s what we’ve been doing all morning.

His passion for music mirrors mine, and mostly, I feel grateful to share this connection with him. But sometimes, I get this unsettling feeling—am I guiding him the wrong way?

In Beautiful Boy (both the book and film), a father grapples with the heartbreaking question of where he went wrong while raising his son, who is now battling methamphetamine addiction. The son grew up in a mostly happy, affluent home, full of connection and opportunity. So, what happened? At one point, the father wonders if music played a role. A freelance writer who occasionally contributed to Rolling Stone, he shared his deep love of music with his son. The film shows the son listening to Nirvana, drawing dark imagery, and idolizing the tortured artist persona suggesting that this fixation ultimately led him down a destructive path.

Beautiful Boy

When I first watched the film, before becoming a mother, I cringed at the implication of blaming music for his downfall. Surely, that couldn’t be the root cause—there had to be something deeper. But what? We never quite find out, but isn’t that just the way it is with addiction? It’s hard to pinpoint where it all began—how it happened. Like the father in the film, I’ve spent my life trying to trace my Mom and Dad’s meth addiction back to a particular moment, asking the same questions: How did this happen? When? Even after writing an entire memoir about it, I still come up empty.

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I deeply believe in the energy and power of music though, but for me, it’s always been a way to connect with my inner world—a source of comfort that made me feel seen and heard, a way to feel safe. It didn’t lead me to addiction or self-hate or sex—okay, maybe it did lead to some questionable choices around sex, but c’mon, is there anything sexier than rock n roll?

I had a controlling boyfriend in my late teens. He was in college and saw himself as far more sophisticated than me. He thought I was too obsessed with music and even likened it to idol worship, which I found ridiculous. Honestly, he was probably just jealous that I drooled over musicians other than him. At some point, he challenged me to quit listening to “rock music” for 30 days to see if I felt different. I wasn’t trying to feel different—or at least I didn’t think I was—but I begrudgingly accepted his challenge.

I hated every second of it. I’ll admit, I did feel a little more peace, and my mind had less static. But I was also sadder and lonelier than I had ever been. I felt trapped and lost like something vital was missing. Music had always been the thing that made me feel part of something bigger, something greater than my shitty little world growing up. And let’s be honest, it was shitty. I went right back to the music and soon after broke up with him, eventually working for Atlantic Records, surrounding myself with music and musicians every second of every day (and sometimes night).

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Music shaped me, made me who I am today—and I’m proud of the person I’ve become.

But what about my son? Will he harness the power of music to explore his emotions, deepen his connection with himself, and feel part of something greater? Will he allow it to shape him into someone he’s proud to be? Or will that same power lead him into darkness?

I feel this immense responsibility to protect him while also giving him the freedom to experience and express himself. Can both coexist? I believe they can. I hope, as he grows older, I can help him understand the intention behind artists like Nirvana—what they were trying to say and why it mattered—while showing him that he doesn’t have to embody their pain or their beliefs. Music can create space for us to move through our inner world, understand others’ experiences, and expand our perspective.

Artists like Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Bob Dylan shared their struggles, their pain, and their view of the world—things we sometimes feel but don’t know how to express. They gave us access to worlds we might not otherwise explore.

Maybe I’m wrong to expose my three-year-old to those worlds before he can fully understand them. Maybe I’m being naive or too optimistic to think he can enjoy the music without it shaping him in a way that could hurt him. I don’t have the answers—only more questions, which seems to be the recurring theme of my life. But my question now is this: Is this my intuition speaking, or is it fear?