The following content is an exclusive interview with Dajé, an alumna of the Artistic Freedom Mentorship Program and powerhouse in the music and mental health industries. The portions in bold are the questions asked by AFM rep, Jade Cruz, and Dajé's inspiring responses follow right after.
So, I know a little about you already, but for someone unfamiliar with your journey, how would you introduce yourself and what you do?
Well, I'm a recording artist—that's probably the main thing people know me for. But I wear a lot of different hats, depending on how you know me. Some people know me as "D" because I'm a marriage and family therapist, though I'm not practicing right now. Others know me as "Dajé" because of my music.
Even if someone doesn’t know about my therapy background, I think they’d pick up on it in how I interact with people. Compassion and empathy are core to who I am. I'm always promoting self-care and mental health awareness—not just from a therapist's perspective but also from personal experience. I've been through my own struggles with trauma, depression, and anxiety, so mental health is a huge part of my platform as an artist.
Beyond music, I’m also a creative director. I didn’t necessarily set out to claim that title—I just needed to make things happen as an independent artist. I couldn’t always afford to hire people, so I started directing my own music videos, envisioning them as I wrote my songs. Someone eventually told me, "You know, that's what a creative director does," and I thought, "Oh, okay!"
The same goes for live performances—I don't just go on stage and sing. I plan the entire experience: how the lights will dim, how the band will enter. I see myself as a true entertainer in that sense.
I'm also a producer, though I didn’t initially give myself that label either. Most artists write to a beat, but for me, the songs come first. Melodies and full arrangements form in my head, and I communicate those ideas to producers—where the trumpets should go, how the drums should feel. My training at a performing arts high school gave me a basic understanding of recording, so I could guide those elements. One day, a producer told me, "You’re a conductor; you’re producing." That realization was a big step in embracing my artistry.
Before music, I was a dancer and choreographer. Back in Jacksonville, I was deeply involved in the dance scene, choreographing for parades and major events like Pride and MLK celebrations. At the time, I didn’t realize how significant my impact was until people pointed it out.
In interviews, people often say, "You're so humble; I can't believe you've done all this." And while humility is important, I've learned there's a balance—you have to own your power, too.
I’ve always been a writer, even before songwriting. I had my first poem published at nine and won writing contests in school. I wrote my first song at 19, a Christmas song that I still want to release one day. But I didn't initially have the confidence to be an artist. A close friend encouraged me to share my music, and that’s how it all started.
Before I could afford a team, I was my own stylist, creative director, choreographer—everything. So yeah, I wear a lot of hats.
Wow, that is a lot of hats! And what would you say is your overall purpose through all the hats you wear? What's your mission statement?
Funny enough, I just clarified that for myself through AFM. Despite everything I’ve done, I still had moments of questioning: Who am I? What am I here for? What am I doing?
I've always known I wanted to help people. Since I was young, I understood the intersection between mental health and artistry. But I was waiting for the right platform—because no matter how much wisdom you have, people don’t always listen unless you have a platform.
I remember writing a thoughtful post during the pandemic, pouring my heart into it, and all the comments were about my looks: "Oh, you look amazing! Your hair, your face..." It made me realize how much I wanted my voice to be truly heard And I’m just like, “Oh my God, you’re not hearing the message.” So, I always struggled with finding the right platform. But it wasn’t until AFM that I realized—I was already doing it. It was just a matter of putting it together and standing on that foundation, which is mental health.
I’ve been through a lot. I’ve overcome a lot. People look at me and don’t see it—and I’m grateful that I don’t look like what I’ve been through. But I have been through so much, and I’ve accomplished incredible things. I feel like that is my mission. I just want to help. I want to help people.
There are so many things I want to do—start nonprofits, do missionary work. I grew up seeing that. My godfather was this incredible doctor, the head of a hospital in St. Petersburg, and also an artist. He actually painted and had an art gallery right by Salvador Dalí’s gallery. I saw him become successful, travel to different countries, and offer his services in third-world communities. That’s something I want to do, too. And then, of course, I want to reach people through my music.
I just want to help. I’ve gone through so much that I can relate to a wide range of causes—nonprofits catering to specific populations, initiatives supporting vulnerable communities. I understand so many struggles—women’s issues, homelessness, disability, mental health—because I’ve lived through them. That’s why I know I can make an impact through my story.
I want to be a testimony. I want people to look at me and know that no matter their socioeconomic status, no matter their mental health struggles, no matter their disability—they can do it, too. If someone is sitting there feeling discouraged, suicidal, like they have no purpose, I want them to see that I’ve been in all those spaces. And if I made it through, they can, too.
In a competitive industry, having a strong personal brand is essential. How did you define your brand as an artist, and what impact has it had on your career?
Wow, that’s such a great question. And honestly, that’s something I truly just figured out through AFM.
I feel like I’m on the cusp of fully stepping into my brand. It’s funny because, literally, the meeting I had right before this was about that. And, to be honest, it’s scary.
When your platform is mental health, you become your brand. And that’s a different level of responsibility because it requires vulnerability and transparency about your life. That is terrifying.
In 2023, I released a documentary. My career was taking off, things were moving—then, out of nowhere, my physical health took a hit. That, in turn, impacted my mental health. So, I documented everything I learned during those six months.
I had experienced depression before—but never like this. As a therapist, I’ve helped people through depression, and I’ve experienced what I’d call functional depression—where you still go to work, still handle your responsibilities. That’s a side of depression that people don’t talk about much, but so many live through it.
But this was different. This time, I couldn’t get out of bed. I wasn’t taking care of myself. That was a whole new level of struggle.
I don’t even know what made me decide to film that documentary. But I had the idea, and I committed to it. Then, on the day of shooting, I had a full-blown anxiety attack. I kept thinking, “I can’t do this. I’m too private for this.”
People assume they know me because my Instagram is public, but they really don’t. I’m very intentional about what I share. So, stepping into that level of vulnerability was incredibly hard.
Even today, I was just talking about what’s next. I wish I could say, “Oh, I released the documentary, I learned so much, I sleep on time now, I take care of myself, and life is great.” But the reality is, things are still happening.
So, we’re doing a continuation of that documentary—because 2024 has been really tough. And being transparent about that? That’s hard.
But that’s the whole point, right? I say I want to be a testimony for others, and now I have to actually be that testimony. And I’m realizing just how difficult that really is.
Being an artist, in general, is self-sacrificial. Unless you have someone else writing for you, your art comes from your own experiences. Even if you’re just writing about a breakup—some breakups hit harder than others. And then, suddenly, your personal pain is out there for the world to hear.
For me, it’s not just about sharing my artist side—I have to be vulnerable about who I am and what I’ve been through. That is my brand: mental health.
It’s also deeply tied to women’s empowerment. I’m passionate about helping and uplifting other women.
And you asked how that has shaped me or my career? What was the second part of that question again? What impact has it had on your career?
Releasing the documentary was incredibly difficult because I knew the weight of what I was sharing. But once it was out, I saw exactly what I had hoped for—people who had been suffering in silence finally had something to relate to.
After its release, I received so much feedback from people going through similar struggles. They told me how much the documentary helped them, and that alone made it worth it. It also showed me that there is a real niche for this kind of storytelling—there are so many people out there navigating challenges who need to know they’re not alone.
In the social media space, there’s so much emphasis on perfection. But that’s not reality. People go through real struggles. My goal was to reach those people, and I want to continue doing that, even though it’s not always easy.
But the impact? It’s undeniable. The second I shared my truth, it resonated. It helped people. And looking back, I’m really proud of myself for putting it out there. Just the other day, I had a conversation about 2024, and someone said, “There are people who need to hear this.” And I know that’s true. But sharing something so personal is always a challenge.
Still, I’m grateful—grateful to be in a position where my story can help others.
What has been one of the most pivotal decisions you've made in your career, and how did you approach making that decision?
One of the most life-changing decisions I made was when I packed up everything, put it in storage, and decided to fully commit to networking and pursuing music—without a permanent place to stay.
At the time, I was a successful therapist. I could pay my bills and have a little left over, but not enough to truly invest in my music career. And music is expensive. I was exhausted from the cycle of working just to sustain a life that wasn’t aligned with my real dream.
Then, the pandemic hit. My job couldn’t pay us, and while my coworkers were okay because they had spouses or family to rely on, I was living alone, facing eviction despite having three degrees. It was surreal.
That same year, my aunt—someone very close to me—was diagnosed with cancer. My mom decided to go to Georgia to be with her, and I followed. Initially, I sublet my apartment, thinking it was temporary. But six months later, when the rent increased and my tenant didn’t want to stay, I had to come back and officially move out.
From there, I bounced between Georgia and New York, staying at my aunt’s house in Georgia and in a basement apartment at another relative’s home in New York. I worked at my aunt’s restaurant, networked at open mics and clubs, and kept pushing my name out there.
When I came back to Miami, I had no place to stay—so I lived in my car. I’ve never shared that publicly before, but it’s part of my journey.
To make ends meet, I worked all kinds of odd jobs. I was a pet sitter, a house sitter, a server, a bartender—whatever I needed to do to sustain myself while keeping my focus on music. I had a gym membership, so I showered there, and I had income from my side jobs to eat, but I was determined not to get a “real job” that would pull me away from my dream.
Then came a turning point. I had a big performance in October, and by Christmas, I was still struggling. We usually spend Christmas in New York, but I couldn’t afford to go. My mom and aunt pooled money together to get me there. I remember feeling so low because I’m such a giver, and I hated being broke during the holidays.
That winter, the basement I usually stayed in was full of family visiting for the holidays, so I moved to the attic. And from that attic, I worked. I refined my portfolio, recorded video pitches, and sent them out relentlessly.
I would dress up, get on camera, and say, “Hi, my name is Dajé and this is why you should invest in me.” I sent out so many of those videos. And then—it finally paid off.
I got an investor. And just like that, everything changed.
I got a lot of money from an angel investor, which is unusual because usually, you have to pay it back. But he got so involved in my success that he even hired a publicist. We would have meetings, discussing how things were going and how we could make it work.
He had incredible connections, being an investor for many notable people. That wouldn't have happened if I had stayed working as a therapist. Everything I was doing, I was just trying to help myself as an artist, and suddenly, I found myself running a label with 30 people under me. It was a huge experience, and it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t taken that leap of faith. I didn’t tell anyone about it at first because I knew people would try to talk me out of it.
Only another artist could truly understand the mentality—sometimes, you have to do what it takes. I was successful as a therapist, and I knew it was something I could always fall back on. But it was never just a fallback for me. I wanted it to be a part of my platform as an artist. That big decision changed my life. It allowed me to hire amazing people who elevated my career. I got to travel, perform, and experience so much. I’m where I am today because of that leap.
As for the biggest obstacle I encountered early on, it’s easy to pinpoint. I've been in this industry for a long time. My first song came out in 2015, which means this year marks 10 years. I was balancing work, school, and music, and for a while, I chose mental health over music because my family didn’t believe in music as a career.
Music was just a minor for me, not a major. When I decided to go to grad school, it was because I needed money. My plan was to get my master’s degree and use that income to support myself so I could stop doing all the odd jobs. I was always writing, but outside of that, I wasn’t doing much else. I didn’t know much about marketing back then, but I did understand networking, even though I’m an introvert.
I’m socially awkward, and no one really believes me at first. I’ve had people tell me I seemed stuck up just because I kept to myself. I’ve always been like that—even in college, I would participate in cool activities but then retreat into my shell. But when I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone and start talking to people, that’s when things really started to change. Now, I can walk into a club, talk to people, and network with DJs, even though I still have to remind myself to do it.
It’s not easy, but the confidence comes with practice. The key lesson is that you won’t meet the right people if you stay in your comfort zone. You have to step out, even when it feels uncomfortable.
As an artist, how are people going to know you if you don’t put yourself out there? That’s the decision I made—to put myself out there and commit to it. Even today, I still feel the same way. For example, Art Basel just happened in December, and I was filled with so much anxiety. I kept thinking, “Oh my gosh, I have to get ready, I have to look cute.” The thing is, I’m a tomboy. On any regular day, you’ll catch me in a hoodie and some shorts. I’m just not the dolled-up type, but people don’t always believe me when I say that.
But networking? It’s a game changer for sure. Your story is incredible, what a journey you've had so far! This next question is actually my favorite. Success as a singer requires both talent and strategy. Could you share the key steps or approaches you used to develop strategies that helped you achieve your goals?
I think, first and foremost, you have to have a kind of "delusional" mindset. I don’t think like everyone else. I'm no different than anyone else, it’s just my level of thinking. For example, I’ll go to a celebrity event and tell myself, "I’m going to get that person’s number." And even though people around me might doubt it, I just do it. You have to push yourself. I remember releasing a video, and everyone was like, “Wow, your confidence is amazing.” But the truth is, it took me two hours to actually get on set. It’s almost like “fake it till you make it.”
Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s pushing through it, and I think I’ve learned to push through that fear.
My sister actually encouraged me to start releasing videos. She said, "You're so funny, start making reels!" Even though I felt like a dork, I decided to put it out there. If people laugh, great. If not, whatever. That’s just how my mindset works now. Years later, I’m still nervous to network, but I just go for it. I don't let myself sit in the fear or doubt. If I have an idea or decide to do something, I just do it. I execute it without judging it, even if it feels crazy or out of reach.
I have this mindset that I’m going to do something amazing—even if it costs a lot of money and I don’t have the means for it. I’ll find an investor, I’ll make it happen. You have to have a kind of "delusional" belief in yourself. You need to believe that you’re the person who’s going to break generational curses, build generational wealth, and be the first millionaire in your family. Why? Because you have what it takes. If you have the idea, it’s for a reason.
A huge part of my success has been shifting my perspective—especially with networking and posting. I’ve done a lot of silly things that ended up going viral, and I didn’t care what people thought. Honestly, everything I’ve done comes back to mindset. I can’t tell anyone how to do their craft—everyone has their own way. But if you have an idea, go with it. Don’t worry about what people say.
If you want to be the artist who does something unique, do it. Don’t wait for validation. Just post it. I don’t sit on things too long. If I make a reel or a video, I post it. Worry about it later. Just put it out there.
Do everything you can to succeed. If someone can help you, talk to them. If there's an event that can help you, go. Even small things like open mics can be a great place to start. That’s where I started—open mics are so welcoming, and they’re a perfect way to get used to being in front of an audience. You just have to go for it, change your mindset, and do it.
Okay, we’re on the last one now. What are some actionable steps you would recommend for someone just starting their journey as a professional singer or performing artist in general?
If you're just starting your journey, I would definitely recommend AFM, even if you're not just starting. And I don’t say that just because I’m cool with Cassie [Founder of the Artistic Freedom Mentorship Program] or because it’s something I did. To be honest, I’ve had brands reach out to me and I didn’t believe in what they were offering, so I didn’t post about it. I don’t promote things I don’t truly believe in.
But I genuinely believe in AFM. It really helped me hone in on my power as an artist and connect deeply with my artistry. Cassie does an incredible job with AFM, and the program gives you a holistic perspective on being an artist. There’s really no other space like it. In my 10 years of being an artist, I’ve never encountered a program that truly cares about you as a person, not just as an artist.
A lot of places out there only care about you as an artist. They don’t care if you're not sleeping or if your boundaries are being crossed—they’ll call you at odd hours for meetings, disregarding your well-being. But AFM says, “You need to take care of yourself.” They remind you to take care of your voice, your mental health, your sleep, and how all of these things affect you as an artist.
AFM does a great job because it’s a mentorship program. If you’re just starting out, I would definitely recommend AFM because you’ll feel like you have a mentor to guide you. They’ll give you the keys and gems that, honestly, unless you've been through it, you wouldn’t know. So, I would absolutely say start there.
So, the second thing I would say is to go to your local open mics, bars, restaurants, and hotel restaurants. Ask if they need singers and sign up to perform. It’s great experience and an excellent way to warm up to an audience. It helps you put yourself out there and gives you solid practice, especially for whatever kind of audience you may encounter. Open mics are usually very welcoming.
But when you perform at a restaurant or hotel, the audience might not be as responsive. I’ve had to face that as an artist. It’s easier to perform and be outgoing when the audience is engaged with you. But what if they’re just sitting there, unresponsive? That can be tough, but you have to keep going and not let it affect your performance. I’d say, as a second step, that’s something you need to experience.
Next, I would say—whatever idea you have, execute it. A lot of us sit on ideas. We have gold in our heads, but we don’t act on it. There’s a saying I can’t quite remember, but it talks about how so many dreams die in the cemetery. So many people pass away without ever having pursued their dreams because they didn’t feel like they could do it.
Think of Amazon or Microsoft. They started in a garage with a hand-written sign. They didn’t operate like they were already huge; they operated like they were trying to be. But you are already an artist. That’s something Cassie from AFM would say—if you’re trying to do it, you are doing it. You are an artist.
You need to claim it, own it, and execute it. If you have a song, put it out. If you can sing and play guitar, put it out there. Start putting yourself out into the world. We live in an age where social media is both a burden and a blessing. It can be overwhelming, but it also allows us to reach people we couldn’t have before.
So, execute every single idea you have. You’re worth executing it, and don’t overthink it.
I’m still working on this next one myself because it’s tough when you have so many different hats to wear, but you need to rehearse. You need to do vocal warmups, whatever it takes to make you an artist.
When I have a performance, I’ve rehearsed for it, but you should be doing that constantly. It’s like working out—you have to warm up and practice consistently. If you want to be a dancer and a singer, you have to practice singing while you run on the treadmill or ride the bike. You need to be taking dance classes if that’s part of your art. If you play guitar, you need to keep rehearsing it. If you play piano, you need to practice. It’s about doing the work all the time, whether the camera is on you or not.
That’s something I’m still working on, but it’s an essential part of the journey.
Connect With Dajé
Instagram: @iamdaje Youtube: @DajéMusic
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