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Originally written in 2007, revisited and chorded in 2018, registered with APRA AMCOS in 2018, and finally recorded in 2026 When Love Slaps You On The Face consists of literal and metaphorical symbolism — raw, transformative and impactful — shaped through contemporary production this blues-rock, folk-metal, psychedelic version captures ....
Some songs arrive carefully constructed. Others arrive intuitively — written before we fully understand what they mean.
When Love Slaps You on the Face was one of those songs.
The lyrics were first written in 2007, during a time when the experiences behind the song were still close and emotionally active. In many ways the words emerged before there was distance or clarity. That immediacy is part of why the song itself carries a raw quality.
More than a decade later, in 2018, the piece was revisited and structured musically. Chords were added and the earlier reflections were shaped into a song that could eventually be shared.
Only much later again did the recording and release follow.
The distance between those moments reflects something many people recognise: understanding difficult experiences often unfolds over time.
Creative expression can act as a powerful tool for processing emotional experiences.
Writing lyrics, poetry or reflective narrative allows us to give shape to feelings that are otherwise difficult to confront directly. In this sense writing can function as a modality of healing.
Sometimes we are encouraged to soften language, to avoid naming experiences, or to move on quickly. Yet avoiding the truth can reinforce silence around the very things that need acknowledgement.
Writing honestly — even metaphorically — can be a way of acknowledging pain without being defined by it.
The process of writing When Love Slaps You on the Face became part of that acknowledgement.
Not as an act of accusation, but as an act of recognition.
Domestic violence and coercive dynamics within relationships remain realities that affect people across all communities. The impacts often extend far beyond the relationship itself, affecting identity, safety, parenting, financial stability and emotional wellbeing.
Despite this, many people navigate these experiences with little or no support.
Recovery from trauma or grief rarely follows a predictable timeline. It can take years — sometimes decades — before experiences can be processed, understood and expressed safely.
Acknowledging that reality is important.
After writing the lyrics, I later encountered a powerful song by artist Ellen Bukstel, titled You’re No Better Than Me.
Bukstel’s work addresses domestic violence directly and unapologetically.
Hearing that song created a moment of recognition. It felt like permission. Permission to acknowledge wrongs and pain honestly.
Ellen's song reminds us that music has long been a space where difficult truths can be spoken openly. That artists often provide language for experiences society prefers to leave unspoken.
At its heart, When Love Slaps You on the Face is not a song about remaining broken.
It traces a movement from numbness toward renewal.
The imagery used in the artwork accompanying the song reflects the philosophy of kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold. Rather than hiding damage, the repair becomes part of the object’s history.
In that sense the song reflects a simple idea:
Broken places can become new.
It is an idea echoed in a phrase I returned to often during difficult moments, derived from scripture:
“All things made new.”
The point is not to erase what happened, but to recognise that transformation remains possible.
While the original release presents the song as a blues ballad, the piece continues to evolve. A later remix reimagines the song in a pop genre, reflecting how creative work — like personal understanding — can change over time.
Some songs take years before they can be shared.
When Love Slaps You on the Face was first written in 2007, revisited in 2018, and released in 2026.
Sometimes the distance between those moments is simply the time required for broken places to become new.
© 2026 Dianne Mead