Words by CHEZ
Since the start of my artist project, I needed it to be an escape. I needed it to give me strength and confidence. I needed it to be an alter ego of bad B-esque because, well, in reality – Chezni Watson isn’t all of those things. In reality, I’m shy and introverted. I face self-esteem demons daily and I was so adamant that the story wasn’t worth telling or sharing because no one would care to listen. I was adamant my story was not as important as others.
So, I started CHEZ. The self-assured alter ego of me.
The songs I have released have served that purpose. And whilst they do still mean the world to me, I can’t help but feel I’m putting on a facade for whoever listens to my music. I feel like I haven’t shown them me yet. And the thought of showing myself, peeling back the layers and letting others in terrifies me.
Enter my latest single, deja vu.
This song wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a meeting I had with my LA-based label. We discussed the CHEZ project and what it needs going forward, and they thought it would be a good time to introduce the real Chezni to the world.
Long story short, it ruined me. I cried for days.
Mainly because I knew they were right, but it terrified me. It also made me feel like the songs I have released just weren’t good enough; an internal battle I deal with so often and a saying I can’t help but repeat to myself – I’m just not good enough.
My producers and co-writers – Reece and Caleb had to practically drag me into the studio after that meeting. They were so gracious with me. They let me cry, they let me rant and vent. The thought of writing something below the surface, raw and real… I refused. I told them I couldn’t do it. They told me to start from the beginning. What feels 100% Chezni? Where does her story start? What was the first thing that shaped me or impacted me the most? And there it was… They put down a piano loop, it was beautiful and sad and through my tears, I began typing.
I thought of my childhood. My dad leaving and me growing up in a single-parent home. How that impacted me so much that I still hold on to it to this day.
And because of that scar, it feels like the same pain happens over and over again. I keep feeling like I don’t have the capabilities or capacity to keep someone in my life, so the obvious conclusion is: it’s me. There must be something wrong with me. I’m the problem. It was the hardest yet quickest song I’ve ever written. It poured out onto the page like it was already there, tucked away, waiting for the right moment. I wrote the whole song in one go and got behind the mic to record. I’ve never done that before. We usually bounce ideas off each other and make adjustments, but they knew this one needed to come from me. I tracked the song, and we just sat there in silence. We knew we had made something special.
Deja vu encompasses me—a vicious cycle I can’t seem to break. I watch people come and go, not realizing I’m the one pushing them away because of how low I feel about myself. Like it’s expected. Of course, they’ll leave; why would they stay? The song is about struggling with independence and relying on others for validation. It’s about self-doubt and low self-esteem, always seeing the cup half empty instead of half full. It’s me.
To be honest I don’t want this song to come out.
My inner critic keeps telling me not to share this. No one cares. It’s not important. Why would you make yourself so vulnerable? The thought of putting it out there terrifies me. It’s taking everything in me just to consider sharing it on social media. But maybe that’s how you know it matters—when it scares you, when you care so much. Maybe that’s the purest form of art: raw, honest, and deeply personal.
And it’s out now. I’ll be showing everyone who’s been listening my most unfiltered self. We’re peeling back a layer or three and letting everyone in. I’m scared. But it’s time.
