When I say I love my job-I mean it. I absolutely love my job.
I’ve worked so hard to make the “house” feel like home. Not just for myself, but for every staff member and every guest who walks through our doors.

But at 11:34am. on a seemingly normal weekday, that feeling shattered.

As I walked toward the front of the house, just as the host stand came into view, something shifted. My body was instantly flooded with absolute rage, intense confusion, and gut-wrenching pain. I spun on my heel and as I walked away, the hatred that I have been trying to temper, brought tears rising, hands shaking, heart pounding. My breath came in short, shallow bursts-teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

I’ve never felt something like that before.
A visceral, physical reaction.
A moment that screamed this was intentional.

I’ve known cruelty.
I’m no stranger to it.

The day after my mother died, a former “friend” sent this text via a burner phone:

Your mom is happier without you
Shawn and the kids wish you were dead
You prostitute
Everyone knows.

I had seen the warning signs. Her stories about past relationships were unsettling. So when I found out she’d been sending those kinds of hate filled messages for weeks, I wasn’t surprised. Just relieved to be done.

But this recent moment? This was something else.

This was an invasion.
Of my peace. Of my space.
Of the one place I’ve fought to make safe.

It felt strategic.
A power play, wrapped in cruelty.

And I couldn’t do anything about it.
He took my power.
Maybe that was the point.

When the ground beneath you shifts, you reach for the people who help you stay standing.

I reached out to the three I trust most:

• My work wife and soul sister – who never liked him.
• My best friend and cohort – who warned me.
• My longtime friend and inspiration – who has seen our shared past used as a weapon.

They checked in with me constantly-calls, texts, video chats.
They got me through the day.
But they couldn’t stop the flood of questions:

Why?

How did I get here?
What changed?
From December to April, nothing. No contact.
Then this?

How did I become the enemy?
Have I ever acted like the enemy?

Why?

Will I get through this?
When will the truth come out?
How long do I have to wait?

How do I process someone being so intentionally cruel?

And these questions hurt the most:

How could I have been so wrong?

I’m rarely wrong about people.
I trust my instincts.
But this? I can’t even recognize what’s real anymore.

Where is the man I loved?
Admired?
Believed in?
Defended?

The man I cared so deeply for-whose well-being I held like it was my own-
Where did he go?

All of me hurts.
There’s a hollow ache where my safety used to live.

And more than anything, I feel vulnerable in a way I never expected.
Like my entire world could flip without warning.
Like everything I’m working to become-every act of kindness, grace, and patience-might be tested at the worst possible time.

And I’m not sure I’ll pass that test. I am only human. There is a good chance I will fail to be all that I long to be.

If you’re still reading, thank you.
I don’t have a neat bow to tie on this.
Just more questions. And reawakened heartache.
And a hope that writing this down might be one step toward healing.

But maybe that’s where healing begins-when we speak the truth out loud, even if our voice shakes. When we name our pain, even if it makes us feel exposed. When we stop pretending everything’s okay, and instead let ourselves be real.

This experience has cracked something open in me.

Not in a way that breaks me beyond repair-though it sometimes feels that way-but in a way that demands I rebuild even more intentionally. That I draw stronger boundaries. That I protect my peace with more ferocity. That I honor my instincts more deeply, even when I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t know when I’ll stop asking why.
But I do know this:

I still believe in love.
I still believe in good people.
I still believe in creating spaces that feel like home.

So I’ll keep showing up-for myself, for the people I trust, for the work that gives me purpose.
I’ll keep choosing kindness, even when it’s hard.
And I’ll keep telling the truth, because silence has never saved me.

And maybe-just maybe-that’s how I take my power back.

Xoxox J