Bishop Briggs knew recording "Growing Pains" would be emotional. Her sister, Kate, died at 30 of ovarian cancer in January 2021. Six months had passed, but that didn't matter; the English singer/songwriter born Sarah McLaughlin felt Kate every second of every day. But Kate made her presence known in an absurd, funny and unforeseen way before Briggs' session even started.

"The gate to get into the session was locked," Briggs tells GRAMMY.com. "I was nine months pregnant, but I climbed the fence. I didn't want to miss this session. I had [traveled] from an hour away. It was a small fence, to be clear, but it was still high in the air. I think that visual would have really made her laugh. If there is any part of people who have passed still involving themselves in our lives, I like to think that she made the gate not work, just so I would have this story to tell."

Briggs felt Kate in countless little moments while making Tell My Therapist I'm Fine, her third LP out now. The 10-track album is a defiant reclamation of Briggs' autonomy — for herself and Kate, who served as her manager.

"Big men who talk like little boys say I'm too much/ Well, baby, f— that noise," Briggs sings in the frenetic, high-energy "Shut It Off." The empowering line, which Briggs describes as "yelling at all the men in our business who hurt me and my sister," encapsulates how Briggs' grief has evolved. Tell My Therapist I'm Fine taught Briggs to take care of herself again, and she realized that the best way to honor Kate is to sing even louder.

"I had such a difficult time seeing a future for myself after my sister passed away," Briggs says. "More than anything, this album just really represents the zest for life that's back and the joy in doing something I love again — all under the umbrella of choosing to live."

Below, in her own words, Briggs breaks down her primary sources of inspiration for Tell My Therapist I'm Fine, including a 2019 surprise session with Travis Barker and a galvanizing viewing of Barbie.

Of course, I want to go into a dungeon and only write sad songs about my sister. I spent so much time writing such sad music, deeply longing to feel closer to her.

But in the spirit of trying to write about what she taught me along the way, I have to dive into that situationship that taught me about my self-worth or step into other parts of my brain full of lessons and experiences I had with Kate. A big part of the songs you're hearing is just the lessons my sister taught me along the way — the experience of being a human and, more specifically, our girlhood.

Grief is different for everyone, and in an effort to find healing and closure and closeness, I was writing songs like "High Water," and I was leaving those situations feeling so heartbroken. I think something that comes with grief is you start to think about what that person would think of how you're acting, and what they would think of what you're doing day-to-day. I know that my sister — it's going to make me a little emotional to say — was her happiest when she saw me performing and really standing in my power in a way that was almost distant from the pain and not sitting in it.

This album taught me that grief just lives alongside you. It doesn't go away, and it doesn't necessarily lessen, but it is sort of your companion that you didn't necessarily ask for or want, but it's there. I felt so much closer to her in writing the style of music on this album because I could see her in my head screaming it and jumping around. That was really who she was at her essence.

The origin of "Good For Me" came from recognizing how special our relationship is and was when I was in the hospital with her. That was the last song written for the album, just a few months ago. But the funny thing I noticed is I feel her in the moments when I'm being sassy and proud. So, "Mona Lisa On A Mattress," "Shut It Off," and "Undone" — all of the upbeat songs where I'm trying to stand in my power is when I feel her closest to me.

"Growing Pains" is definitely the theme of the album. In the back of my mind, I'm still curious as to how to explain sorrow, loss and sadness to my baby. The minute that you meet the most innocent, special person, you want to protect them from all of those things. "Growing Pains" represents that conversation with him — there will be sadness, and that's okay.

I am obsessed with him. Being a mom has been such a gift to my life, and it represents choosing to live. He just makes me feel so grateful to be alive. Whenever I'd play him a mix of me singing from the album, even if I didn't introduce that it me singing, he would say, "Again!" He's very musical. I'm very biased, but he's the best.

Something really cool that I've enjoyed about motherhood is similar to the concept of "Good For Me": Your priorities shift so drastically from what you thought was important to what sort of example you want to be. That influence has been very much welcomed with this album.

I feel like we're always discussing the alcoholic, narcissistic artist, but I do think feeling grounded [with husband and son] has been super freeing. That's not talked about enough.

I knew that if I was going to release [Tell My Therapist I'm Fine], it had to be in October. There's something about October. The creepy, emo child in me comes alive.

A big influence on this whole album was the music that my sister introduced me to growing up. That music was very much in the Warped Tour world, like My Chemical Romance, Good Charlotte, and blink-182. The last concert we went to together was when My Chemical Romance.

I remember seeing these posters all over the walls in her room. She'd be mortified for me to announce this to the world, but it was the thing to do. And I just remember being so fascinated from a really young age. I mean, I must have been 10. Going to Warped Tour was her thing. I didn't attend them. I was at singing camp every single time she went to Warped Tour, which is very on par for our brands, I suppose.

But I felt like those bands [that performed at Warped Tour] were playful with their lyricism and their melodies. "Mona Lisa On A Mattress" felt like a cool way to introduce this new chapter as the lead single. I'm using a lot more real instruments. There's a lot more rock influence in the music, so I wanted to express that immediately if I could.

The first song written on the album was "Isolated Love" featuring Travis Barker. Travis invited me to his studio right before [COVID-19] lockdown. I was managed by MDDN. I think because I had approval from Benji Madden, it lured Travis into a false sense of security about working with me [Laughs].

There's an aura about him and an effortlessness that inspired me to just start playing chords and singing in the room. When you have that respectful and welcoming energy, it just makes me feel even more motivated and excited. We talked about our childhoods and life experiences — little did I know what was coming for me — which influenced the song a lot, too.

I mean, I definitely could pretend that he said I was the best artist in the entire world. I know we are trying to turn this into a compliment to me, but I'm going to throw a little Uno reverse.

I pretended to act normal for the entire session. I was fooling some people, I believe, including Travis. And then, he played drums. He came out of the booth, and one single tear came down my cheek. And I just had to tell him. I was like, "This is the biggest honor."

He is, by far, one of the best drummers of all time. Hearing him in person and seeing how creative he is, that moment stands out so distinctly because I had to finally tell the truth that I was freaking out.

I had strep throat when it was recorded, but I [knew] I had to go to this session. Like, No matter what, I have to be there. When I walked out of the session, I thought, Wow, that felt really good. This is going to be incredible for another artist. There was something with the vocal delivery, the rawness and the usage of real drums that I felt was too far away from the music that I was creating at that time.

And then, interestingly, when I started writing the album, I found myself chasing that feeling from "Isolated Love" — that complete freedom where it wasn't about perfection. It wasn't about anything except feeling like you were in the room hearing it.

I actually got to play "Isolated Love" for my sister when she was in the depths of her illness, and I still got to see how excited she was about it. And so, I feel like I was chasing that reaction throughout the whole album, even if I obviously didn't get the chance to see her reactions to other songs. We were both huge Travis Barker fans.

I wrote "I'm Not A Machine" right after watching the Barbie movie — which, by the way, with a fully different soundtrack, Barbie would be literally a "Black Mirror" episode.

I feel like that movie was really marketed and maybe described as a comedy, but I was quite mortified. I felt like I was seeing my friends' experiences in business on screen, and America Ferrera has that incredible monologue in it, and that is so not funny to me. That section was the life story I've heard from every single one of my girlfriends, every single woman that I know, and I wanted to write a song about the frustration of that — and also the liberation of undoing these things that have been put on women for forever and any societal pressures that exist.

I definitely had the visual of undoing a Barbie doll, but for whatever reason, in some sort of animatronic way — there would be screws being undone — and so that led into the machine aspect of the song.

Also, a big thought was that if they ever make a second movie, as a writing prompt or inspiration, I wanted to write "I'm Not A Machine." Just in case. Still waiting for the call.

Tell My Therapist I'm Fine comes from a lyric in "My Serotonin." The full lyric is, "Tell my therapist, 'I'm fine'/ I'm done lying every time, but I'm not f—ing fine."  I wanted to represent this idea of who we represent to our therapist and how we present ourselves to our friends and family. Are we really saying how we feel? I thought it was a little cheeky, too.

I'm grateful to have an album title where I'm bringing up a therapist or discussing therapy because it gives me the opportunity to talk about my struggles with therapy — my struggles with saying how I really feel and my experience with suicidal ideation. Even though it's devastating and difficult to speak openly about it, I just think of the me who was Googling resources and looking for anyone talking about this sort of stuff. I had to search hard. And when you're in the depths of it all, that's not ideal. I just hope that maybe if I talk about it enough, it'll allow others to feel less alone.

I definitely used this album as my therapist, but I am still on the hunt. I feel like I need to find a grief-specific therapist. So, if you have any recommendations, please tell me.