AJ’s journey through the care system, instability and displacement shaped both her voice and her purpose. Through rap, she has built a sense of belonging on her own terms, one rooted not in place, but in expression.
Home is where the heart is. But for AJ, a 26-year-old rapper from Sheffield, home has never stood for a singular place. Being in and out of the care system, she’s lived all over Sheffield, finding her comfort in people.
“Home to me is definitely more a feeling than it is a place, there’s so many places I’ve lived in now that I can’t have any qualms with anyone, no matter where they’re from.”
Born Amy J Sherwin, and rapping in an unmistakable Sheffield accent, she’s been on a whirlwind journey since first gracing the stages at local venues, performing across the UK and now even internationally. Barely able to contain her excitement, breaking off into giggles, her street slangs ooze out as she recounts her trip to the US.
“I went to the USA from the flipping ends, you get me! They were saying you need to do acting and I was like, nah, if I’m coming to the US, I need to do music and they got me on a stage in Orlando.”
Before a life of shows abroad, collaborations with influential musicians and becoming a voice for the youth, there was a life of pain and from an early age, AJ realised just how stacked the odds were against her having a normal childhood.
“My mum was quite unstable, she was relying on drugs and I had a stepdad who was racist. Probably within a 20-minute window of me being born, my nana and my granddad took me to live with them.”
However, only a couple years later, AJ would find herself back in Sheffield, living with her relatives. At an age when she should have been out playing hide and seek, social workers and therapists filtering in and out of her home kept her occupied. The last time AJ ever saw her mother was when she was six, leading her to live with her great-aunt and uncle. Her usual swagger fades and she goes quiet, remembering the frustrating times in the household.
“Me and my great aunt didn’t get along at all. There were a lot of fights, a lot of screaming and I was treated so differently from her son. I remember being grounded for a whole six weeks of holiday one time. It just made me question why she’d even take me in if she felt a certain way about me.”
The situation at home compelled her to find solace through music. Growing up alongside a sister nine years older than her, AJ was exposed to UK rap music’s grime sound pretty early on and her usual evenings included listening to Sheffield rap collective Scumfam’s music along with her friends at the park, breaking off into rap battles to imitate the professionals they saw on screen.
What captured her more than the beats were the lyrics, with pioneers like Tupac setting the standard of the power that spoken words carry.
“The way I write now and the things I put into my music is massively influenced by Tupac. It was just the way his music made me feel. I came to understand a lot of the craft because I actually read or understood his lyrics as poetry.” These influences would lead her in penning down her thoughts and feelings about the world, eventually converting from journaling to poetry writing.
Sharing her verses with her peers was tucked far away in her mind, as the disruptive environment at home took centre stage in her life, converting to a deep anger that she carried everywhere she went, especially in school. Constant fights, bruises on her face and clashes with teachers were an everyday occurrence, but it was still better than home.
Waving hands around that now bear tattoos instead of bandaids, she asserts why school was almost a blessing.
“My school was about 15 minutes away from home. I was very smart and all my teachers used to say that if I put my head down, I’d crack the code. But I couldn’t because I was so distracted, I would just blow up. I couldn’t leave that at the door.”
Ironically, it was an open door, a teacher’s free period and another heavy day at home that played a part in AJ really honing in on her writing. After grabbing her stuff and leaving midway through a lesson, a practice that had become frequent to see, she stumbled about in school, her gaze falling on an empty classroom with her English teacher inside.
“I never got along with Miss Dudley before that, so when I asked to sit in her class, I think it came as quite a shock to her. Naturally, she was like, “What’s wrong?” And as soon as she said that, I just broke down in tears. She listened to my pain, and quickly we grew a very good relationship, my safe space was in her.”
Not stopping at just lending her ear, she also imparted her skills onto AJ, teaching her how to annotate poems and the importance of matching certain words to feelings while critiquing the pieces she was being brought, the feedback and validation affirming AJ’s path.
While poetry gave her a way out of trouble, issues in her household reached an all time high. After being kicked out of school for fighting, AJ was pushed into care as a 15-year-old when her family refused to take her back in after she tried to get away from them. Thus began her journey all over Sheffield, going from care home to care home, grasping at whatever she could to feel wanted by people. The lack of support she received from the system further impacted her way of dealing with her trauma, delaying her healing.
“To the system, I was just another number. They had me in the wrong speaking therapy thinking I was just trying to hurt myself but all I needed was to explain my demons. It took me so long to understand why I am the way I am because I had to do it all alone.”
Leaving the care system without any real benefits, AJ set out to carve her own path, living by herself. Doing odd jobs around the city and even for the council, it wasn’t long before she was ready to throw in the towel.
Patting her dog as he riles up, she recalls the emotional toll that came with long hours of work, sometimes spending ten hours out of her flat, away from her dog and her writing, the only thing that had been there for her always.
“There were a lot of times then where I struggled with where I wanted to be because if I couldn’t get that down on a piece of paper, I didn’t want to be here all together. In the end, it was the people I was around that pushed me to take control of my life and shape it the way I want it to be.”
Those same people, who had watched her struggle to stay afloat, would soon be the first to be caught off guard by what came next. Going back to her passions, she started attending a regular music workshop by Sheffield charity Element Society where she met Dominic Heslop, who runs Slambarz, an organisation supporting young rap artists.
Too shy to share her poems with everyone else in the group, it took her a studio session to really let loose and for Dom to find his next star.
“It was this little boo studio but I felt good in there and I just started spitting. Dom gassed me up because it came from pain, I was speaking the truth. From there, he stuck with me ever since. We were getting in touch with people, he was pushing me to the next show, he stayed on me and didn’t let up.”
Grabbing this lifeline with both hands like her mic on stage, AJ quickly started her climb to the top of Sheffield’s rap scene, winning competitions which earned her studio time, connections with top producers and more importantly, helped her find her purpose.
Music didn’t just give her an escape from a lifetime of pain, it gave her a means to understand it and make real change in her community, a home where she’s always felt wanted. Shifting in her seat as if she’s getting ready to lay her verses in a studio, she shares her hopes and dreams with a serious tone.
“For as long as I’m breathing, I’m always going to be that advocate for people, whether they are grieving, hurting or going through loss. Now that I’m getting a lot of attention, all I think about is how I can give back to the people. I want my music to give strength to those unheard, making someone relate to my words is what real success looks like to me.”
