It was an answer so universal that I felt it in my bones.

I was the girl who would wind up her car windows so she could sing along to Fearless while driving. I was too self-conscious to let people hear what I was listening to (but listening to someone else was not an option). My love of Taylor was something I didn't bring up in new company. I think I knew my uni friends a year or more before I invited them into my Swiftie world, knowing there was a chance I would be met with the question: "Why?"

But regardless of what people did or didn't think of me, Taylor was there through everything. The big loves and the heartbreaking break-ups. In life and in the grief that comes with death. She was there in secret and, now in recent years, she was in my life loudly and in vibrant colour.

That's what was evident before Taylor Swift even took to the stage in Sydney. Firstly because of the years of unfounded peer judgment that came from listening to a female musician who wrote songs primarily for girls. And then because of the struggle to get tickets in the first place.

The Eras Tour was not only an unprecedented event in that Swift was on stage for more than three hours - and managed to hold the audience captivated the whole time - but because the ticket demand meant for every one person who got a ticket, there probably would have been another 10 who were devastated.

There was a sense of relief and gratitude for simply being able to walk into Stadium Australia, shoulder to shoulder with other Swifties, knowing they, too, were feeling the way you did. All of us were decked to the nines - rhinestone cowgirls and fringed flappers, all leaving a trail of sequins and glitter in our wakes. The outfits were, for a lot of us, the first time we had shown our love of Taylor so publicly, and there was a sense of freedom in that.

Just people watching, taking in the buzz that filled the air, was intoxicating. And you saw the next generation of Swifties - the young children attending their first concert, proudly swapping friendship bracelets with fans who had been there from the beginning. Knowing they were growing up in a world where there was an acceptance and even an embrace of Swifties is something I couldn't have imagined 15 years ago. And yet here we all were, ready to dance, sing and scream along to All Too Well's "F*** the patriarchy" regardless of our age.

Such is the power - and talent - of Taylor Swift. There were moments when it was as if she glowed on stage. My friend even described it as heavenly, which only added to the Eras Tour feeling like a religious experience. Here we all were, lined up in rows - nay, pews - standing on our feet for hours on end, singing line for line as if it were gospel.

And what a varied gospel it was. As we made our way through each album, Taylor delivered on every aesthetic of her eras. The young adult romanticism of Fearless, the cottagecore solitude of Folklore's cabin in the woods, and the dark edginess of Reputation. But at the heart of every one of these albums was Swift - a complex woman who had every layer of her personality on display.

Yes, she could do a sexy burlesque-style dance for Vigilante Shit, but it would run alongside the cheerleader-like fist pump in You Belong With Me and the tassel-fuelled twirl in Fearless. It's the type of dancing once only reserved for teenage bedrooms, where young girls dance side by side ahead of slumber parties and big nights out. The safety those spaces provide allows them to be their cheekiest, funniest, sexiest, silliest selves all at once and always with a smile. And here it was on a stage for more than 83,000 people, a space that felt equally as safe, and exhilarating at the same time.

There is something powerful in that. And that's not even taking into consideration Swift's lyrics.

Lyrics that have managed to capture hearts across the world, not because they are catchy and sound fabulous when sung, but because they have managed to connect with seemingly personal moments.

My grandmother was a singer. Nothing to the heights of Swift - but really, who is? Still, she sang on the radio for a living and I dream of a day when the National Film and Sound Archive will stumble upon one of her radio recordings just so I could hear her voice one more time.

Then here comes Taylor Swift's song Marjorie, where the pop star's own grandmother's operatic voice echoes through the stadium alongside her own. It's effervescent and otherworldly - someone singing beyond the grave, creating a moment between a grandmother and her granddaughter that otherwise would never have happened. And I cried, big heavy tears because I know how special even having that recording would be, let alone being able to sing alongside it.

Everyone in that stadium would have had a moment like that. A moment they remembered when a boyfriend let them down on a birthday or feeling like loving someone is the biggest inconvenience or rather, "worst thing you've ever heard".

Swift's incredible songwriting has given words to these moments that seem as if they were written about you. It's a superpower, if I ever saw one, and created a night that sat somewhere in between reality and fantasy. Reality because you had lived every emotion in the lead-up, and fantasy because the show lived up to everything you ever wanted it to be and more.

You may not understand the Taylor Swift phenomenon, but you don't need to. Taylor Swift is not on that stage because she needs everyone to understand her. That would be impossible to ask of anyone.

But she is there because there were people all around the world who may have once loved her in private but couldn't stop loving her nonetheless. To those girls who drove around with their car windows up, singing along to Fearless at the top of your lungs - you finally had a moment to shine in all of your Swiftie glory.

And nothing is as special and as fulfilling as that.