One of my favorite sayings has become:

“You get to choose who you want to be… and then be it.”

For me, that choice has always been simple.

Lead with love.

Lead with kindness.

Choose compassion first.

It doesn’t mean life becomes easier.

It simply means I get to decide who I want to be regardless of what life throws at me.

And for the most part…It’s been working…..

If someone looked only at the highlight reel of my life, they’d probably think 2026 has been one of my best years yet.

I’ve stood on stages I once only dreamed about.

I’ve watched impossible doors open.

I’ve started writing another book that took root in a culmination of life experiences.

I’ve seen dreams come true that I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to dream.

All of that happened while navigating unemployment, courtroom battles, broken relationships, financial uncertainty, and more than one person actively trying to tear down my reputation.

When I step back and look at the whole picture, I can’t help but think…

What a beautiful life.

And I mean that.

Because it is.

Which is why the last four days have surprised me so much.

After an incredible first six months of the year, I’ve entered the second half of 2026 in tears.

Not because anything catastrophic happened.

But because life isn’t lived in highlights.

It’s lived in layers.

There are wounds inside me that I don’t think I fully recognize until something brushes against them.

Then suddenly, they’re wide open again.

Betrayal.

Loss.

Grief.

Loneliness.

They don’t announce themselves every morning.

They wait quietly beneath the surface until life cracks me open just enough for them to remind me they’re still there.

Lately, my mind has become a relentless narrator.

You’re afraid.

You’re behind.

You’re not enough.

You’re running out of time.

It’s amazing how convincing our own thoughts can become when we’re exhausted.

And that’s where I find myself asking questions I never expected to ask.

How do you keep hoping for a future you can’t quite picture?

How do you keep dreaming when you can’t even articulate what the dream is anymore?

Is it because I’ve accomplished more than I ever imagined?

Or is it because somewhere along the way, I stopped allowing myself to dream beyond what was immediately in front of me?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that so many of my dreams used to include people.

Someone to celebrate with.

Someone to come home to.

Someone who looked at my successes with pride instead of suspicion.

The last six months have exceeded almost every expectation I had for this year.

Yet at the end of the day…

The house is quiet.

The celebrations are quieter.

And sometimes, if I’m honest, the loneliness is almost suffocating.

That’s the layer people don’t always see.

They see the TEDx stage.

They don’t see the drive home.

They see the articles.

They don’t see the empty kitchen afterward.

They see the dreams coming true.

They don’t always see the person quietly wondering who she’ll share the next dream with.

Maybe that’s what growing really is. Learning that joy and grief aren’t opposites. Neither are hope and fear.

Success doesn’t erase loneliness.

Healing doesn’t erase sadness.

A beautiful life can still have heartbreaking moments.

As I continue navigating whatever this next season becomes, I’m trying to give myself permission to feel all of it.

The gratitude.

The grief.

The excitement.

The uncertainty.

Because they all belong.

There are so many layers to the life I’ve lived.

So many layers to the life I’m still trying to build.

Some days, the wall in front of me feels impossibly thick, as though the box around me is growing smaller and smaller while my heart keeps longing for something bigger.

Those are the days when I honestly don’t know what’s next.

I don’t know what the next dream looks like.

I don’t know who will be standing beside me when I finally get there.

I just know that I have to keep taking the next step.

Maybe that’s what faith looks like.

Not having a clear picture of tomorrow.

But trusting that tomorrow is still worth walking toward.

One layer at a time.

With all my love, xoxo J