Journey Coaching

This morning a friend asked me, “How are you doing?”

I love asking that question of other people because I try to be truly open to whatever comes- good, hard, or messy. But answering it for myself? Lately, I’ve hated it.

Since April, so much has shifted. Trust has been tested. The questions I ask myself never end. I’m not always sure who is safe. It’s a terrible feeling to know who’s been poisoning the well and still not know how far the water has traveled. So I did what people who care about me advised: I hunkered down, closed the windows, and tried to ride out the storm.

So when she asked how I was – really -I told her the truth: it depends on which part of my life you mean, and on the hour you catch me. News- both good and bad- seems to arrive in a wild, unpredictable rhythm. Some days it’s minute to minute.

I keep saying I’m in a dark space.

Not mentally. Not emotionally. (If anything, those are sharper than ever.) Physically, though? My Oura ring is out here waving a tiny red (or sometimes white) flag, reminding me to rest, hydrate, breathe. But the “dark” I feel isn’t a diagnosis – it’s more like something trying to press in. 

A heaviness that wants to dim me, to make me small, to get me to forget who I am.

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As I work on my book – prepping for podcasts, interviews, conversations, hopes, dreams, future goals – I keep circling back to childhood. (The first third of the book lives there, so maybe that’s why.) And in that return, a simple song keeps finding me:

This little light of mine

I’m gonna let it shine

This little light of mine

I’m gonna let it shine

This little light of mine

I’m gonna let it shine

Let it shine

Let it shine

Let it shine.

We are profoundly impacted by our childhood experiences and let me tell you – I remember being just a tiny little thing, singing and holding this little light – believing with all of my heart that no matter what, no matter what, the light inside me would burn brighter than any darkness that tried to swallow it. Brighter than anger. Brighter than bitterness. Brighter than hate or the seductive lie of revenge.

Lately, I’ve been choosing that belief on purpose. When the dark presses in, I picture the small, steady flame in my chest and I lean toward it. I close my eyes and breathe until warmth spreads back into my ribs. I remember: the point isn’t to deny the dark; it’s to refuse to hand it the match.

Here are a few small ways I’m protecting that light right now-nothing fancy, just faithful:

• Boundaries as love. Fewer explanations, more “no, thank you.” Space is how my light gets oxygen.
• Body care without drama. Water, protein, movement, bedtime. (Yes, I hear you, Oura.)
• Truth-tellers only. I’m keeping near the people who can hold nuance, not gossip.
• Gratitude in ink. Three lines every night. Even on the hard days, there’s always a glimmer.
• Tiny rituals. A candle at my desk. Hands on heart before meetings. A song that lifts.
• Release valves. Therapy, laughter, quiet prayers and honest tears-sometimes all before noon.

None of this is magic. It’s maintenance. But maintenance is how a light survives long nights.

So if you’ve asked me lately, “How are you?”-thank you for caring enough to want the real answer. The real answer is: I am both. I am held and I am healing. I am tired and I am lit from within. I am learning to trust again, carefully. And I am still, always, committed to shining.

This little light of mine? I’m going to let it shine. Not because everything is easy, but because it’s worth it.

With all my love, xoxo 

J

P.S. don’t miss the release of the book where the little girl in me shares her story!