Journey Coaching

“I hope things are getting better. You deserve all of the happiness in the world!”

“We love you!”

“You’re loved and amazing to be around!”

“I’m standing beside you and praying but refusing to do anything without you. 💕”

“You are loved, and lots of folks are thinking about you”

“I thought it might bring you a little joy 😂”

“Hi! Thinking of you!! 🩷”

“I love you! ❤️”

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These are all of the messages, every text, every call, every quiet check-in, including a surprise flower bouquet, that I received just today! My heart felt protected.

Because I need to say this plainly:

To say I’m okay would be a lie.

I am clinically depressed.

That sentence alone carries so much weight. It isn’t poetic. It isn’t dramatic. It’s clinical because it’s real. It’s measured because it has been measured- by professionals, by endless tears, by sleepless nights, by the heaviness that greets me before my feet ever touch the floor.

I am broken.

Not in the romanticized, “this will make you stronger” way. Broken in the way where you don’t recognize yourself anymore. Broken in the way where simple things feel impossible and joy feels like a foreign language you once spoke fluently but can no longer translate.

My light is pretty much gone.

It barely flickers now, and I know you can see it in my face. I see it too….in mirrors I avoid and photos I don’t recognize. There was a time when my presence filled rooms, when my energy felt expansive and warm. Now it feels dimmed, cautious, guarded.

Darkness hasn’t taken over per se- but it threatens me in a way I have not yet experienced.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just persistent. Quiet. Patient. Waiting.

And what that really means is this: I am spending every last ounce of effort I have protecting the few pieces of me that still need me to show up. Protecting the parts that still matter. Protecting the future me who deserves a chance.

From my book release in October through the start of this new year, I held everything in.

I showed up.
I smiled.
I performed “okay.”
I functioned.

I did what so many of us do, I substituted presence for authenticity. I existed instead of being. And I did it well enough that most people never knew how heavy things were becoming.

But the cracks in my demeanor were too obvious.

I can’t lie. It’s just not in me.

My body tells the truth even when my mouth stays quiet. My eyes carry what my words won’t. And eventually, silence becomes louder than confession.

So I kept it quiet. I chose carefully. I only invited a select few into the truth of my situation.

Because this isn’t just about waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the whole house to crumble.

And I am painfully aware that unless I fight now, I am defeated in my future…..

So I’m here.

Still standing.
Still trying.
Still showing up.

With character.
With integrity.
With whatever strength I can borrow on days when my own feels gone.

Someone recently told me- as she hugged me tightly, the kind of hug that feels like safety-
“I see your steel spine.”

And I broke.

Because if there is one label, one title, one identity I wish I didn’t have to keep living out, it is resilient.

Resilience is earned through pain. Through endurance. Through surviving things that should have never been required of you. And I am tired of surviving.

A beautiful friend and advocate sent me a song today.
(To know me is to know that music unlocks my soul in ways I can’t fully explain.)

She told me the lyrics were my story.

She wasn’t wrong.

I walked through fire no one saw
Spoke to the night like it was law
The mirror cracks but still reflects
A soul that ain’t laid down just yet
I bled in silence, held my ground
Each cut and bruise never made a sound
Scars don’t mean you lost the fight
They just show you stood through hell and made it right
Every line upon this skin
Is proof of where I’ve been
Not where I am
I’ve been bruised and tossed
But baby, scars don’t mean you lost

I never imagined I’d be back here.

Back in this place where the pain in my heart and soul feels so palpable- so real, so definite- that it’s almost physical. A heaviness that settles into your chest and refuses to leave.

All I have ever wanted is to love.

To love people fully.
To love people through their heartache.
To love people in their uncomfortable truths.
To hold space where others have been abandoned.

And yet I am terrified I will never see my full potential.

How am I here?
Will this be my life?
Dreams never fully lived out?
Late-night tears and whispered wishes into the dark?

Is this how people slowly die on the inside?

To say I have been broken is an understatement.

I don’t know if I can make it back.

And yet,

Today reminded me of something.

I am deeply, profoundly grateful for the unconditional support that showed up for me. Every single person. Every message. Every call. Every moment of “I see you.”

They breathed life back into this bleeding heart.

My spirit animal is a Phoenix for a reason.

The fire burns in ways I hate.
It scorches.
It consumes.
It hurts.

But the person I grow into each time will glow brighter than before.

I will not lose this fight! I promise you!

I will be someone who lives and breathes LOVE and KINDNESS, no matter the cost.

I am grateful beyond words for the people who lift me up when I can barely stand, because this is the life I have worked to build, and I am not done yet.

Thank you all.

With ALL of my love,
xoxo J