There is a specific kind of dismissal that countless women have experienced, the gradual normalization of pain that should never have been normalized, the years spent believing that suffering was simply the price of being a woman because everyone around them, including the doctors who should have known better, treated it as ordinary. Nicole Issa lived this experience, growing up believing that severe period pain was normal only to eventually be diagnosed with stage three endometriosis and adenomyosis, and I Don’t Know Myself, released May 8, 2026 as the third single from her upcoming debut EP Bring It Back To Me, is the song that emerged from the emotional aftermath of finally being believed and finally being treated. It is her most vulnerable release to date, a quiet confession built around stripped-back piano and immersive backing vocals that navigates chronic illness and body image and intergenerational patterns with the kind of raw honesty that turns private pain into something genuinely useful for everyone who hears it.
The song was written after a six-week post-surgery check-up for endometriosis, a debilitating chronic condition affecting one in seven women that remains significantly under-researched and underfunded, and the circumstances of its writing illuminate everything about its emotional content. Endometriosis is one of the most striking examples of how women’s pain has been historically dismissed by a medical system that normalized their suffering, and Nicole’s experience follows the depressingly common pattern, the years of pain that doctors normalized alongside her own normalization of it, the belief that this was simply what being a woman meant. It was only when her sister went through it that Nicole even considered getting checked, the recognition arriving through witnessing rather than through her own pain being taken seriously, which is itself a quiet indictment of how thoroughly the dismissal had been internalized.
The surgery marked a physical turning point, but the song captures something the physical recovery revealed rather than resolved. At the six-week follow-up appointment, Nicole found herself consumed not by her recovery but by the way her body looked and felt after everything it had been through, the focus on appearance arriving even in the midst of healing from major surgery. This is one of the more honest and more painful aspects of the song’s subject matter, the recognition that even when the body has endured something serious and is in the process of healing, the inherited habit of judging it harshly can override the gratitude and care that the situation deserves. The song does not present this as a failing to be ashamed of but as a genuine emotional reality to be examined, the disconnect between what the body had survived and the harsh judgment still being directed at it.
The intergenerational dimension is where I Don’t Know Myself reaches its deepest insight. The lyric about watching her mum check her tummy in the mirror and consequently not being able to see her own worth any clearer reflects the inherited nature of self-perception, the way that the relationship a mother has with her own body is transmitted, often unconsciously, to her daughter. This is a profound observation about how patterns of self-criticism pass through generations, the daughter absorbing not just explicit messages but the modeled behavior of self-scrutiny, the inheritance being not genetic but learned, watched, absorbed across childhood. The song recognizes that breaking these patterns requires first seeing them clearly, understanding that the way you treat yourself was learned from someone who learned it from someone else, the chain extending back through generations of women taught to scrutinize and judge their own bodies.
The recurring line that gives the song its title, I don’t know myself, functions as both confession and turning point. The confession is the acknowledgment of genuine disconnection, the recognition that years of medical and personal dismissal and inherited self-criticism have produced a relationship with the self that is fundamentally estranged, the not-knowing being the honest admission of how far the dismissal has pushed her from genuine self-understanding. But the line is also a turning point, because the recognition that you don’t know yourself is the necessary first step toward the project of coming to know yourself, the confession opening the door to the journey back. This dual function gives the repeated line its power, the same words carrying both the weight of the problem and the seed of its resolution.
The collaboration that produced the song reflects the importance of being understood by the people you create with. Written in a session with Andrew Meyer and Bri Clark, collaborators who understood chronic illness, the song emerged when the emotion that had been building since the appointment surfaced fully in the company of people who could genuinely comprehend the experience. This detail matters because chronic illness is itself isolating, the experience frequently dismissed or misunderstood by those who have not lived it, and the fact that the song was written with collaborators who understood meant that Nicole could be fully honest rather than having to explain or justify her experience, the understanding creating the safety in which the genuine emotion could find its form.
Sonically, the track builds in intensity through swelling vocal layers, culminating in a final moment where Nicole’s voice is almost engulfed by harmonies, the repeated confession lingering before shifting into something more hopeful. This sonic architecture is the formal expression of the song’s emotional journey, the engulfing harmonies representing the overwhelming nature of the disconnection and the inherited patterns, the voice nearly lost beneath the weight of everything pressing on it, before the shift toward hope represents the quiet recognition that breaking these generational patterns requires learning to love herself. The movement from the engulfed voice to the more hopeful resolution is the song’s argument made audible, the journey from disconnection toward the beginning of self-love rendered in the very structure of the arrangement.
The visualiser that accompanies the release, directed by Western Sydney director Jazel Jozic and edited by Justin Cueno, extends the song’s narrative and thematic content into the visual realm, and the broader campaign around the release reflects Nicole’s commitment to turning her personal experience into something that helps others. The collaboration with Sydney-based print shop Halo Print Co. on a limited edition run of shirts to raise awareness of women’s chronic health conditions, with all profits going to Endometriosis Australia to fund research, transforms the personal song into genuine advocacy, the private pain becoming a vehicle for addressing the systemic under-research and underfunding that allowed conditions like Nicole’s to go undiagnosed for so long.
Nicole Issa has been building genuine momentum, with support from BBC Radio 1 where Maia Beth described her music as a cuddle in song form, alongside airplay across triple j and FBi Radio and other stations, coverage from tastemaker outlets, a feature on Live Nation’s Ones To Watch playlist, recognition as a top 10 finalist in the Elevate Music Program, and a mentorship in the inaugural APRA AMCOS 23% program. Following her recent Sofar Sounds US showcase tour, her international profile continues to grow, and I Don’t Know Myself represents the deepening of the deeply personal songwriting that has earned her this recognition, turning the same emotional lens she brings to love and relationships inward toward the self.
I don’t know myself, Nicole confesses across the swelling harmonies, but the confession is also the beginning of the knowing, the first honest step on the quiet ongoing journey back to a self that years of dismissal and inherited criticism had obscured. In naming her own disconnection with such honesty, Nicole Issa has made a song that can help countless others recognize and begin to break the same patterns, and that is a genuine gift.
If you or someone you know is struggling with body image or the emotional weight of chronic illness, please know that support is available, and that reaching out to a trusted person or a professional can be an important step on the journey toward healing.
