Who is that girl in the mirror?
There’s a moment most of us experience at some point — a brief disconnection when our reflection looks unfamiliar, as if we’re seeing ourselves from the outside for the first time. Abigail Fierce captured that feeling back in 2020 with a quiet but resonant lyric tucked at the end of a line: Who is that girl in the mirror?
That mirror becomes a silent witness to the moments when we start questioning who we are and who we want to be. What once felt familiar in our reflection now seems foreign, elusive, mysterious. It’s the kind of emotional shift many go through but often struggle to name. Abigail’s lyrics become more than music; they feel like pages from a personal diary, a quiet conversation whispered late at night. There’s sadness and confusion, but also the will to grow. A desire to become the truest version of ourselves. And, as with any transformation, that journey begins with a goodbye. A goodbye to who we were, to who others expected us to be, or simply to what no longer serves us. In her introspective song Some Sorta Goodbye, that moment feels painful but necessary — a threshold we cross to make space for something more honest.
Her latest single, 14 Cigarettes, marks a new chapter in this journey. Here, Abigail looks back on a past relationship through the lens of nostalgia, using vintage imagery and precise details to evoke a sense of time gone by. There’s sadness, yes, but also clarity. The girl who once tried to hold on now realises that letting go can also be a form of love. This time, the lyrics don’t plead for the world’s attention. They stand still, grounded, aware that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is choose peace over chaos, authenticity over illusion. It’s a quieter kind of power — one that doesn’t scream to be noticed, but still lingers long after the track ends.
Across her evolving discography, we witness not just artistic development, but emotional shifts. Her music becomes a vessel to navigate identity, heartbreak, and self-worth. There’s anger, vulnerability, and a voice that speaks to the very core of what it means to feel too much and yet not enough. She captures the adolescent impulse to scream just to be heard — not out of rebellion, but recognition. The song Scream It To The World was born in response to this, echoing the urgency many young people feel to articulate what matters before it gets overwritten by expectation. But even that urgency evolves. The chaos begins to settle. In Just To Feel Okay, we hear the shift — a desire not for answers, but for steadiness. And it’s in that pause that something new begins. Not certainty, but clarity.
What makes Abigail Fierce so compelling is her refusal to wrap things up neatly. She allows the contradictions to stay in the room. Her songs don’t chase reinvention or spectacle. They unfold slowly, repeating familiar questions from slightly different angles, always circling back to that reflection — that girl in the mirror — who’s no longer a stranger, but not yet fully known. It’s this tension that defines her work. Not performance, but process. Not arrival, but becoming.