We’re looking forward to introducing you to Tara Bierbrauer. Check out our conversation below.
Tara, it’s always a pleasure to learn from you and your journey. Let’s start with a bit of a warmup: What do you think others are secretly struggling with—but never say?
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed that many people—myself included at times—secretly struggle with finding a real sense of purpose or lasting happiness. The society we live in wasn’t built to make balance or fulfillment easily attainable. You can follow the so-called “right” path—school, degrees, steady jobs—and still feel like you’re nowhere closer to the life you actually want.
People often say, “money can’t fix your problems,” but it’s usually those who have money who say that. Of course, financial security doesn’t solve everything, but it removes so much weight from day-to-day life. When you’re not stuck worrying about rent or groceries, you can finally breathe, dream, and prioritize things that bring meaning. But when survival mode takes over, it’s nearly impossible to think beyond just making ends meet. (Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs sums this up perfectly.)
I think a lot of us quietly carry the heartbreak of not being able to live fully for what we love. Instead, we fill the gaps with little escapes—doom-scrolling, late-night procrastination, emotionless intimacy, weekend highs—small ways to feel control or joy in a system that doesn’t give us much room to thrive. And the hardest part is that this cycle has become so normalized that many people no longer question it.
Personally, I don’t think there’s an easy way out without collective change on a larger scale. But that first step requires admitting that there’s a problem in the first place—and I’m not sure everyone is ready for that conversation yet.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Tara (pronounced Terrah), and I’m the manager and resident artist of MPLSHOUSE (MH), a local artist collaborative. Our mission is rooted in creation, inspiration, and connection—values that resonate with me more deeply as time goes on.
I’ve been with MH for about four years, stepping into the role of manager somewhat by accident. I first became friends with the co-founder, Angel, and as I got to know the collective, I began to see both its strengths and the areas where it could grow. With my background in case management, I felt uniquely equipped to help build MH into what the founders envisioned it could be. Since then, we’ve grown into a more professional and established presence—but we’re not stopping there.
While DJing remains our primary service, our passion for music extends far beyond the booth. MH has released four EPs to date, and we’re continuing to create and release more in the years ahead. Recently, we expanded with a second studio dedicated solely to music production, and I’ve begun teaching myself how to produce—no small feat, but one I’m deeply committed to.
What makes MH special is that we’re more than just a collective—we’re a community that believes in supporting one another and creating spaces where art and music can thrive. We’re excited for what’s next, and we can’t wait to share it with the world.
Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What breaks the bonds between people—and what restores them?
This is something I’ve been reflecting on a lot recently. The answer can depend on the type of relationship, but in an interpersonal context, I think bonds often break when one or both people’s attachment styles—and their unwillingness to address the parts of themselves that need healing—begin to surface.
Of course, I can’t speak for everyone, only from my own experiences and observations. Over time, I’ve noticed that people have gotten better at masking their attachment wounds. But usually within two to six months, the cracks start to show, and that’s when bonds may end abruptly, fracture, or shift in unexpected ways. To some degree, we all put on a “face,” since social structures often push us to conform. The problem comes when what we’re covering up is actually the foundation of how we connect with others.
Studies vary, but somewhere between 20%–60% of people are estimated to have either an avoidant or disorganized attachment style. While they show up differently, both often stem from a core fear: being terrified of vulnerability, closeness, and intimacy, while also being terrified of never experiencing them—and not believing they deserve them in the first place. It’s a painful and complicated dichotomy.
That said, I do believe bonds can be restored. But it requires vulnerability, honesty, and the willingness to sit with discomfort. It’s neither quick nor easy—but in the end, it can absolutely be worth it.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering, in all its forms, has taught me lessons that success never could. The first is how grief and trauma changed the way I move through life—especially in how I love the people I care about. I love recklessly, openly, without games, and without pretense. I don’t do nonchalant. While I don’t regret loving anyone in this uncensored way, it does come with its own challenges and heartbreaks. To love so openly is to make yourself deeply vulnerable, leaving no question about how much you care. Unfortunately, many people have never experienced love that expects nothing in return. Faced with it, they may not know how to respond. They may want to receive it—but receiving isn’t always a simple task.
Suffering has also taught me about the immense weight of mental health struggles. When you’re in the depths of grief or illness, even the smallest tasks feel robotic, detached, and exhausting. You reach for joy and connection, but even the brightest moments can feel muted, as if a light has left your eyes and you no longer recognize yourself. Yet, on the other side of that darkness, you come out with something success alone could never give you: a deeper sense of empathy, understanding, and compassion—for yourself, and for others.
For me, those experiences reshaped the way I see people and the world. They taught me to recognize humanity in all its fragility, and to approach others with even more patience and care. The lessons I’ve taken from suffering have helped me build toward success—but success, on its own, could never have taught me those lessons.
Alright, so if you are open to it, let’s explore some philosophical questions that touch on your values and worldview. Is the public version of you the real you?
I would be curious to meet someone who is always one hundred percent themselves. I can’t say I’ve ever met such a person. While who I am doesn’t shift too dramatically depending on the space I’m in, I do find myself slipping into different roles—daughter, sister, auntie, best friend, manager, youth worker, educator, advocate. Most of the time, it’s subconscious, but each role holds back a small part of me from being fully myself.
Of course, all of those roles are pieces of who I really am. Together they make up the “real me.” But I always know my audience. There are parts of my personality, my ideas, my dreams, my theologies that I keep tucked away depending on who I’m around and what role I’m in. I don’t think that’s unique—maybe it is—but it’s been my experience.
That said, in the past year, I met someone with whom I could be fully myself. At first, I didn’t realize it, but the more we talked—especially over the summer—the more I noticed how natural it felt. We exchanged thoughts on so much: how we saw the world, our passion for social causes and public health, patterns in past relationships and familial dynamics, preferences in art and design, our takes on certain conspiracy theories, and so on. I had never met someone quite like them. Conversations would stretch on for hours, so natural and unforced, and I noticed I wasn’t holding anything back. I didn’t have to censor my thoughts or filter myself, especially as I found that we aligned on numerous subjects. It felt addicting in a way, because I wanted to be around them consistently to feel that sense of freedom—to feel most myself.
Things eventually fell apart, and we no longer talk. But now I know what that kind of connection feels like, and the next time I find it, I think I’ll recognize it while it’s happening instead of only in hindsight.
So, is the public version of me the real me? In a sense, yes—all the roles I play are real. But the fullest version of me, the one without roles or filters, only comes out in rare and special circumstances.
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. What pain do you resist facing directly?
There are so many things I could say here, but I would summarize it by saying that I still resist facing the pain of “what ifs” directly. After all the traumas and grief I’ve experienced, I do my best to live without regrets, yet there are so many things completely out of my control. I don’t mind that—full control over every aspect of life would likely drive anyone mad—but certain “what ifs” linger in the back of my mind, and I am not always courageous enough to confront them.
What if my fiancé hadn’t died when I was young? What if I hadn’t been severely abused by my ex? What if my mom chose treatment instead of slowly withering away in front of her loved ones? These questions—and countless others—are too painful to face directly. Sometimes, I also feel a part of me believes there’s no point in dwelling on them: living in the realm of “what ifs” can feel unproductive, even paralyzing.
At the same time, I recognize that resisting them doesn’t make them disappear. These unanswered questions shape the way I feel, think, and interact with the world, whether I like it or not. Perhaps the courage to face them fully will come someday, but for now, I continue to live alongside these “what ifs,” doing my best to honor my experiences without letting them define the totality of my life.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.mplshouse.com
- Instagram: @sounds_like_pterodactyl
- Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/user-344089927
