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  • A Year

    A Year

    I’m often asked, “How are you doing?”

    The answer depends on how often someone sees me.

    Those who see me once or twice a year, usually through the lens of social media, ask about the book. They want to know how it’s doing. And to be fair, it’s doing really well. Better than I ever imagined. Ranking in the top 0.01% of all books sold on Amazon feels surreal, and I feel more grateful than I know how to articulate. In those moments, excitement about the future comes easily.

    Those who see me once every quarter, at a networking event I casually dip into, tilt their heads when they ask the same question. That tilt is familiar. It’s the signal that they notice something is different but don’t quite want to name it. They accept my polite, practiced response of “all is well.” “Sure… all is good.” It’s enough to dismiss their intuition and protect the deeper truth I’m not ready to share.

    Those who see me nearly every month look me in the eye and ask, “Are you okay?”
    They already know the answer. I’ve never had much of a poker face. When I try, it fails me anyway. “You look sad,” they say, right as my face betrays me and the tears start forming despite my best efforts.

    And those who see me daily don’t ask how I’m doing.
    They ask how the nightmares have been.


    I’ve seen a lot of heartache in my life. Depression has knocked on my door more times than I can count. Grief has been a shadow that threatens, at times, to bury me.

    Yet, even with all of that, I had never truly felt hopeless.

    Until this year.

    2025 broke me in ways I never imagined possible.

    Most days, I’ve been moving on autopilot. Just barely. Going through motions without momentum. The broken pieces of my heart lean toward love and hope, even as they remain in direct conflict with the pain I feel in every single heartbeat.

    As this year finally comes to an end, I find that my small, fragile hopes for peace and love in the new year are starting to grow again.

    And that terrifies me even more.

    I feel as though I’ve spent so much of my lifetime trying to heal some kind of brokenness. I would love, just once, to have a season where love finds me. Where it wraps its arms around me without conditions or lessons or loss.

    I don’t need money.
    I don’t need things.

    I just want love.
    Love and kindness.
    Gentle souls.
    Restoration.

    That’s it.


    I’m not someone who puts much stock in predictions, fortune cookies, zodiac signs, or numerology. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them in a lighthearted way. But I have to admit, when I came across the symbolism tied to 2025, it struck me as strangely poetic.

    2025 is the Year of the Wood Snake (January 29, 2025 – February 16, 2026). In Chinese astrology, the Wood Snake represents transformation, intuition, wisdom, and shedding what no longer fits. The wood element adds themes of growth, flexibility, and quiet nurturing. It’s not about aggressive expansion, it’s about refinement and deep inner work.

    At the same time, 2025 is a Universal Year 9 in numerology, the end of a nine-year cycle. A year of completion, reflection, and release. A year that asks us to let go, close chapters, and prepare for what comes next.

    Together, these two systems point to the same truth:
    2025 is about shedding skin. Ending what no longer serves. Clearing space. Preparing for renewal in 2026, the Year of the Horse, a Year 1. New beginnings.

    What’s interesting is that the last time I experienced a Universal Year 9 was in 2016, the year I rebuilt my life from the ground up. I filed for divorce in January of that year. Eleven months later, when the divorce was finalized and 2016 closed, I was no longer the same person who entered it.

    This year, releasing my book feels like another closing of a door. Proof that something meaningful can come from endings. That something good can emerge when we finally let go of relationships, or systems, that aren’t just toxic, but soul-killing.

    While 2025 crushed my heart, nearly broke my spirit, and tested my faith in what I still hold true…that genuine, unconditional love can heal….I’m looking toward 2026 with cautious hope.

    Hope that passion will be reignited.
    Hope that love will find me when I need it most.
    Hope that restoration doesn’t always have to hurt this much first.

    Here’s to a fresh start in 2026.

    with all my love, xoxo J

  • The Silent Season: How High-Pressure Holidays Hide High-Risk Homes

    The Silent Season: How High-Pressure Holidays Hide High-Risk Homes

    Source: The Silent Season: How High-Pressure Holidays Hide High-Risk Homes

  • Touch

    Touch

    I imagine there’s this moment – that breath between passion and peace – after the whirlwind of laughter, kissing, and undressing. When the noise fades, and he pulls me close. Naked. Unarmored. Present.

    He just holds me.

    And in that stillness, I can feel his heartbeat against mine, his body pressed to me – hard, waiting, reverent. It’s not about rushing. It’s about surrendering to the sacred pause between wanting and becoming.

    That’s intimacy. Not the act, but the energy. The feeling of being completely seen, completely safe, completely there.

    It’s the kind of connection that makes your soul exhale. The kind that reminds you that sensuality is not about performance – it’s about presence.


    When my book went out into the world, I felt that same kind of naked. My story, my scars, my raw becoming – exposed for everyone to see.

    But here’s the thing: vulnerability can be its own kind of seduction.

    Because what I shared wasn’t just a timeline of my life – it was a love letter to transformation. Each heartbreak, each risk, each messy middle was a stepping stone to rediscovering me.

    Writing it was an act of reclamation – of voice, of body, of soul.

    I didn’t just write about empowerment. I lived it.
    I stripped away the “shoulds,” the people-pleasing, the expectations – and met the woman beneath all that noise. The one who wasn’t afraid to take up space, to speak her truth, to move through the world like she belonged in her own skin.

    That woman was always there. I just finally stopped hiding her.


    Touch has always been one of my love languages.

    There’s something healing about skin meeting skin, about the warmth of a hand finding yours, about the way a hug can stitch broken pieces back together.

    (My hugs? They’re not just hugs – they’re medicine. My friends can testify.)

    Even when I walk by a familiar surface, I find myself tracing my fingers along it, a reminder that connection isn’t something you find; it’s something you feel.

    It’s the same with people. You can’t truly connect with anyone until you’ve learned to connect with yourself – to honor your emotions, to understand your boundaries, to feel your worth without needing someone else to validate it.

    That’s emotional intelligence.
    That’s freedom.
    That’s where self-love becomes self-mastery.

    I’ve come to adore my own layers – the playful, the sensual, the deep thinker, the soft heart. I love surprising myself with how much more there always is to discover.

    And maybe that’s the point of it all – to never stop unfolding.

    To love the mystery within yourself as much as you love the magic of another.
    To understand that your sensuality is not something you earn – it’s something you embody.

    I am just waiting for the right man who wants to spend the time discovering!


    He holds me close, and I can feel the promise of what’s coming – that quiet hum of anticipation that makes time slow down.

    I smile against his neck, a little secret to myself. Because I already know how this will unfold – not the choreography, but the chemistry.
    The rhythm of connection, the language of touch, the way I want to make someone feel completely seen and adored.
    Even the deepest parts of his soul.

    It’s not about being good at sex. It’s about being fluent in intimacy.
    And darling, that’s my native tongue.

    With all my love, xoxo J

  • I Love You Most!

    I Love You Most!

    When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me, “I love you.” I would answer, “I love you too,” and without fail, he would reply, “I love you most.”
    In the sea of painful memories I carry from my childhood, these small moments stand out like tiny life rafts. They help me step back from the trauma and remember that my father was a deeply broken man trying to figure out life the only way he knew how.

    So to the one who may find themselves here – the one craving reassurance, the one who needs to know they are loved – hear this from me:

    I love you most.


    A couple of months ago, I looked at one of my clients – a man arrogant enough to double down in conflict rather than admit when he’s wrong….I told him the truth he desperately needed to hear:

    “This is it. This is your moment.”

    Instead of trying to win…
    Instead of causing more damage to the people who still care about him…
    Instead of clinging to pride…

    I told him:

    “Step back and look at what’s actually happening. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.
    You can finally get out of the abusive marriage you’ve been trapped in for the last twenty years.
    Most people don’t get to have their cake and eat it too – but this situation has flashing neon signs all over it.

    Not only do you get to walk away, you finally have the proof you need to take the lead in the divorce.

    You can be redeemed and free in one vulnerable moment of truth.

    But if you focus on winning this single argument, I promise you – you will lose the war.

    Then I told him the part that hit the hardest:

    “You’re already in prison.
    This is the moment someone is handing you the keys.
    Don’t waste it.”


    I’ve been doing the podcast circuit for the past couple of months and recently started getting invited to write articles too. The latest topic they asked me to write about?

    Trauma bonds.

    A painfully familiar theme in so many relationships today – and one I see constantly in long-term abusive marriages.
    When a relationship has been toxic for ten, fifteen, twenty years or more, those trauma bonds run deep. They don’t break easily. They often require a catalyst – something undeniable – to finally snap the cycle.

    And my client is staring his catalyst right in the face.

    But will he recognize it?
    Will he finally break free?

    I honestly don’t know.
    I hope so.

    What I do know is this:

    There is a massive lack of awareness, understanding, and open conversation around trauma bonds – especially for the people still stuck inside them. They think what they’re experiencing is “normal,” or “marriage,” or “just how things are.”

    It’s not.

    Trauma bonds masquerade as devotion, loyalty, or sacrifice, when in reality they are emotional traps that keep people tied to pain they were never meant to endure.

    So here is my attempt – one of many – to start the conversation.
    To shine a light into places people are scared to look.
    To help us finally talk about what trauma bonds are doing to our connections, our relationships, and our hearts.

    Because once you can see the trap,
    you can choose something different.

    And I promise you this:

    Freedom is always worth choosing.

    With all my Love, xoxo J


    When Love Hurts: How to Break Trauma Bonds and Choose Connection That Heals

    By Joni Woods

    Love is meant to be one of God’s sweetest gifts – a place of safety, warmth, and belonging. But for so many people, our earliest experiences of “love” didn’t look anything like that at all. Instead of tenderness, we learned tension. Instead of steady affection, we learned inconsistency. Instead of being cherished, we learned to perform, to appease, to survive.

    And when you learn love through fear or conditional approval, your heart doesn’t forget. It carries those lessons into adulthood, quietly shaping who you’re drawn to, what you tolerate, and the kind of relationships you believe you deserve.

    In my book Burned, Blocked, and Better Than Ever, I share how my own understanding of love was formed in a childhood where affection was something you earned, trust was something you rationed, and vulnerability was something you hid. I didn’t know it then, but those experiences were laying the foundation for years of trauma bonds; emotional ties that felt like connection but were really captivity.

    If you’ve ever stayed in a relationship that drained you…
    If you’ve ever felt “addicted” to someone who hurt you…
    If you’ve ever mistaken intensity for intimacy…

    You’re not alone.
    And you’re not broken.
    You’re human! And these patterns can be unlearned.

    Let’s gently walk through what trauma bonds are, how to spot emotional traps, and what it looks like to step into the kind of connection God actually designed for your heart.


    Trauma Bonds: When Survival Looks Like Love

    A trauma bond forms when love and fear become tangled together – usually long before we’re old enough to understand what’s happening. Maybe you grew up being told to “be good,” to keep the peace, to hide your tears, or to take responsibility for an adult’s emotions. Maybe affection came and went without warning. Maybe your home taught you that safety was something you earned.

    In my own childhood, I learned early on that love had conditions. Approval depended on whether I passed the test, made the right choice, or kept silent. Pain wasn’t comforted; it was dismissed. Feelings weren’t welcomed; they were inconvenient. So I adapted. I worked harder. I stayed quiet. I took care of everyone but myself.

    That’s what trauma does – it teaches you to survive, not to connect.

    Emotional Traps: The Quiet Ways We Get Stuck

    Trauma bonds rarely look dramatic. Most often, they slide into our lives quietly, through patterns we don’t even realize we learned.

    Some emotional traps look like:

    • Trying to earn love. Believing if you just give more, sacrifice more… you’ll finally feel chosen.
    • Confusing intensity with intimacy. High highs and low lows feel like passion when in reality, they’re instability.
    • Feeling responsible for someone else’s happiness. You become the emotional glue holding the relationship together.
    • Minimizing your own needs. Your fear of “rocking the boat” is stronger than your desire to feel safe.
    • Thinking your pain is the price of love. You tell yourself, “Everyone struggles… this is normal.”

    These traps are powerful, not because we’re weak, but because they mirror the emotional rhythms we grew up with. They feel like home, even when they’re hurting us.

    Why We Stay: The Hidden Glue of Trauma Bonds

    People often wonder why women stay in relationships that clearly harm them. But trauma bonds aren’t logical; they’re neurological. They’re emotional.

    Trauma bonds strengthen through:

    • Intermittent affection. Just enough tenderness to keep you hoping for more.
    • Mixed messages. “I love you” and “I hurt you” coming from the same person.
    • Isolation. Pulling away from friends or keeping secrets to protect the relationship.
    • Self-blame. Believing the chaos is somehow your fault.
    • A longing for redemption. The hope that love can transform the pain if you just hold on.

    When I was writing my book, I realized how deeply these patterns shaped my marriage and even my dating life afterward. 

    Trauma bonds don’t feel like chains.
    They feel like “devotion”.
    Until you learn what real love feels like.

    The Moment Everything Shifts

    For many women, the shift away from trauma bonding doesn’t happen in a single moment – it happens in a quiet awakening.

    For me, it wasn’t anger that finally set me free. It was exhaustion. A deep, soul-worn tiredness that whispered, “You don’t have to live like this anymore.

    Maybe you’ve felt it too – that moment where the chaos stops feeling romantic and starts feeling heavy. Where you realize you’re constantly shrinking yourself just to keep the relationship alive. Where holding on hurts worse than letting go.

    That moment is sacred.
    It’s God nudging your heart toward freedom.

    Healing begins when you no longer mistake intensity for connection – when you finally believe that love should make you feel safe, not small.


    The LORD your God is with you; He is mighty to save. He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you with His love; He will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

    What True Connection Actually Looks Like

    Stepping out of trauma bonds is only half the journey. The other half is learning what healthy love is supposed to feel like; something many of us never saw modeled.

    True connection is:

    Calm. Not chaotic. Not fear-based. A gentle steadiness.
    Consistent. The same person on their good days and their hard days.
    Safe. Your heart doesn’t have to hide.
    Mutual. You’re not the only one doing the emotional labor.
    Honest. No mixed signals. No silent punishments.
    Kind. Not just in words – in tone, behavior, and presence.

    At first, healthy love may feel unfamiliar, even boring. When you’ve lived with emotional turbulence, “peace” feels suspicious. But over time, your heart learns to trust safety. It learns to breathe again. It learns to receive!

    Eventually, your nervous system stops craving chaos and starts craving connection and you give yourself permission to choose a love that doesn’t hurt!

    The most beautiful truth is this:

    You are allowed to choose a different kind of love than the one you were given.

    You are allowed to unlearn the emotional traps that shaped you.
    You are allowed to break the patterns that once held you captive.
    You are allowed to walk toward relationships that bring peace, not turmoil.
    And you are allowed to trust that God’s heart for you is gentler, kinder, and safer than any model of love you’ve ever known.

    Your story is not defined by the trauma bonds you were born into – it’s defined by the healing you’re brave enough to walk toward.

    And my friend, you are brave.

  • Regret

    Regret

    “You’re doing the right thing.”

    That’s what I was told.

    And it was exactly what I wanted to believe.

    I am broken.
    Shattered.
    Tenderly glued together.

    But at that moment – I wished that I hadn’t hit “unsubscribe.” I wished more than anything that I could hit the undo button.

    I kept thinking “this isn’t me” – I would have let him stay if he wanted to.


    In pastoral school, one quote was constantly repeated, almost engraved into us:

    “Whoever spends the most time wins.”

    That quote shaped how I thought my life as a pastor would look – spent “convincing” people of what they wanted to hear so they could be “saved.”

    I don’t disagree with the premise entirely, but what I hated – what I still hate – is this truth:
    If you can be talked into something,
    you can just as easily be talked out of it.

    And that always made me wonder… what does that say about who you are as a person?

    What does that say about who I was?


    For me, the turning point was realizing that it wasn’t about who I wanted to be – but who everyone else told me I should be.

    I spent so much time trying to live up to someone else’s version of me. And finally, I put my foot down and said enough.

    Because again, if someone could talk me into something… then all it took was someone sly enough to talk me out of it. And that isn’t a foundation I want to build my life on.

    I wanted to believe in my own intuition. Lean into my own truth.
    I wanted to spend real time with people – to build the skill of listening, truly listening – to what they were saying, not just what I wanted to hear.

    Because if the story inside of me was screaming to be heard, then I believe the people I met were longing to be heard too.

    I know now that the only way I can ever make a real difference in this world is to stop the relentless pursuit of people just to get their commitment to my sell sheet…

    and instead – just show up.

    Show up in love.
    Show up in kindness.
    Show up when it hurts in ways I can’t explain, but somehow know will be worth it.

    Because showing up in unconditional love just speaks to me.
    That’s all there is to it.


    Do you ever just have conversations in your head?
    Redo old ones. Imagine future ones.

    I do it all the time.

    Even in my anger. Even in my hurt. I imagine us sitting down three or four years from now and finally hashing it out.

    And I know – I know – I’ll show up with more grace than I probably should. More kindness than he deserves. And more love in my heart… because that’s who I want to be.

    A part of me hopes he’ll find his way here – to these online journals – and through my unashamed transparency and authentic voice, he’ll see me differently than the version he talked himself into.


    That’s the thing for me – I want my life to be as genuine as possible.

    I want to work through the highs and lows we all face without putting on a mask. I don’t want to “win.” I don’t want to spend my life convincing people to stay, or to spend time with me.

    I want to make my life – and my love – be what draws people in.
    To make them feel safe.

    For me, that’s a life well lived.

    Because at the end of the day,
    it’s not about convincing –
    it’s about showing up.

    Soft.
    Steady.
    Unshaken.

    Even when no one’s watching.
    Even when it hurts.

    with all my love, xoxo J

  • The Good!

    The Good!

    This was not an easy weekend for me.
    It never is – but this one carried an extra layer of weight. Learning recently that his family was behind all of the August chaos added a sting I couldn’t quite shake. And yet, in spite of it, I find myself feeling deeply grateful for the good that did emerge from it all.

    If only I had planned better, I might have saved myself the 21 straight hours of sleeplessness before the trip. But nevertheless, we made the trek to Missouri for the wedding of my ex-husband’s nephew – a journey that was as emotionally exhausting as it was logistically complicated.

    The day unfolded like a collage of small, vivid moments:
    * Hotel breakfasts that tasted a little like cardboard and comfort.
    * A last-minute room switch that left us all scrambling.
    * A less-than-stellar salon appointment that I had to laugh my way through.
    * Lunch with the grandparents, filled with awkward pauses and too-careful small talk.
    * A nap I desperately needed but didn’t really get.
    * And then, a downpour that felt almost poetic as I stared out the window, trying to steady myself for what was coming next.

    Because there’s nothing quite like walking into the Lion’s Den – a room full of people who once called me family but whose presence now comes with layered history and quiet judgment. So, I did what I’ve learned to do: I put a smile on my face, lifted my chin, and walked through those doors with quiet strength.

    It wasn’t all bad, of course. And I think that is the point.

    It would be easy to replay the sharp edges of the weekend – the glances, the whispers, the emotional landmines. But I’ve lived through far worse. And this time, I’m choosing to hold onto something else. I want to look back on this weekend and remember the good.

    I have two extraordinary children.
    Children who make me proud every single day. Children who show grace, resilience, humor, and heart in the face of family dynamics they never asked for. When I think about who they are becoming, I feel nothing but awe.

    And honestly, I am so profoundly grateful that I got them out of that environment. I see the difference in them – the lightness, the space to grow freely, the courage to become their own people.

    This weekend wasn’t easy. But it was a reminder:
    Strength isn’t about avoiding the hard spaces. It’s about walking into them, holding your head high, and choosing what you carry out with you.

    with all my love, xoxo J

  • A Little Laugh, A Big Win, and a Heart Full of Gratitude

    A Little Laugh, A Big Win, and a Heart Full of Gratitude

    Someone sent me a quote the other day that made me laugh so hard I nearly spilled my coffee: “To be an author these days you have to write, edit, commission art, run a mailing list, learn marketing, pay for ads, grind on social media… All Hemingway had to do was be an alcoholic.” I laughed because it’s hilariously true. Being an author today isn’t just about writing a book; it’s about wearing a dozen hats at once and somehow keeping your sanity intact. It’s messy, loud, overwhelming, and utterly beautiful. And truthfully, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Some moments are bigger than exhaustion. Some wins come wrapped in gratitude, the kind that quiets everything else and makes you breathe a little deeper.

    October 7th was one of those moments. My “Everything is the Same but Different” day. It didn’t come with fanfare or fireworks- just that soft, quiet shift where the world looks exactly as it did the day before, but your heart knows something inside you has moved. And then the next day, a message from my marketing team lit up my phone: ✨ The book hit #5 in Family and Personal Growth. ✨ Numbers will rise and fall, like everything in life does, but this moment is mine. A tiny piece of forever to remind me that rebuilding from the ashes is more than survival- it’s becoming.

    This part isn’t for everyone. It’s for the one I will love. The one I hope will see me. I hope you see that I’m trying- not for perfection, but for possibility. I hope you see the quiet strength stitched between the pages, the late nights, the way my laughter carries both joy and ache. I hope that when you look at me- even from a distance -you see someone building something beautiful, not just for herself, someday, with you in the picture too. Every win, every page, every step forward… you’re somewhere in the heartbeat of it all.

    And to everyone who’s read, shared, reviewed, or simply whispered a kind word into the universe on my behalf- thank you. This isn’t just about a book. It’s about love, resilience, and the people who hold us up even when they don’t realize they’re doing it. I feel every ounce of it. I carry it with me. And tonight, I’m ending the day with a little laugh, a big win, and a heart full of gratitude.

    With all my love,
    xoxo
    J

  • A long Road

    A long Road

    It’s been a week since he left, and I just miss my friend.

    That afternoon in the parking lot, as we stood under the warm sun, he wrapped his arms around me. He told me he loved me and in that moment, his love filled me with warmth and strength. He doesn’t even realize it, but he’s the one who got me through.


    It was around 10 p.m. when a man handed me the 100+ page document. I remember smiling, almost reflexively, when I saw the name on it, and the man apologized for being the messenger.

    “Thank you,” I said quietly, because what else could I say?

    I flipped through the pages quickly at first, honestly impressed at the sheer level of detail. I didn’t need that much effort, but I suppose if you want to give someone a hundred reasons why you don’t want them in your life, a hundred pages is one way to ensure they’ll never come back.

    The next day, I couldn’t get out of bed. Knowing I needed to face it I texted my work wife, and she came over without hesitation. She crawled into bed with me, wrapped her arms around me, and only then did the sobs begin. They shook me until I could barely breathe. Tears soaked my pillow, and I felt myself unravel.

    When the wave finally passed, we poured two glasses of wine and she went through the document with me.

    Each page was a sharp stab.
    Each lie cut a little deeper than the last.
    Each “discovery” burned.

    And then there it was – the weaponization of my past. In that moment, he crossed a line I will never forgive. Rage and hate tore through me in a way I never thought I’d feel toward someone I loved so deeply.

    My work wife hugged me again, left me with the rest of the wine, and I immediately called the only person who could ground me: him.


    He didn’t hesitate to apologize yet again. His regret was palpable, his voice steady, as if he were physically pulling me back from the edge. This old wound had been reopened and used against me and he stayed with me through every jagged moment of it.

    Over the next six months, his love, our shared past, our healing journey – they sustained me. They kept me warm and alive as I healed from the 100+ wounds that nearly killed me.


    I always write when I need to process pain. In that first month alone, I wrote nearly ten thousand words – rage, hate, disgust spilling out of me.

    But as my friend and I healed our relationship, my wounds began to heal too. The rage softened. The hate dissipated. I could finally swallow my disgust. Months ago, I set the document aside.

    Last night, out of curiosity I picked it up again and I was struck by sadness as I read my own words. The broken woman in those pages leapt out at me – her pain so raw, her late-night despair so vivid. Her words were biting, desperate to convey damage she believed could never be fixed. All hope was lost.

    But last night wasn’t just about revisiting the pain. It was also about seeing how far I’ve come.

    As my friend held me, during our goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude. Gratitude for him. Gratitude for our shared journey. Gratitude for the power of love to do what I once thought impossible: keep me alive, keep me moving, keep me believing.

    Our love for each other – not romantic, but deep, abiding, and true – is why I believe in the power of Love. Genuine and unconditional love can save even the most brokenhearted people.

    And it saved me.

    with all my love, xoxo J

  • With all my love, xoxo J

    With all my love, xoxo J

    Lately, I’m surprised by how guarded I’ve become. Not cynical…..just tender in the places that were once hurt. Hope feels a little threadbare some days, and my heart is still relearning its way.

    I was listening to Travis and Taylor’s podcast, and what struck me was her realization that all his big, sweeping gestures, what she jokingly called a “mantantrum”, were the very love songs she’s been writing all along. A story John Hughes or Garry Marshall would have taught us to root for.

    When I try to name my own love story, words tangle. Sometimes the hope of it makes my eyes sting more than the possibility itself. Still, this is what I want:

    • to laugh until we’re breathless
    • to talk about everything and nothing
    • to dance in the kitchen (maybe a little Dirty Dancing)
    • to be absolutely silly
    • to be a partner I’m proud of, and proud to stand beside
    • to dream new dreams together
    • to grow, on purpose and hand in hand
    • to share comfortable, unhurried silence
    • to lie under the stars
    • to trade slow kisses and long hugs
    • to know deep, steady intimacy

    It sounds like a movie, I know. But here’s the part that makes my eyes well – the part that would make love feel safe enough to give away freely: I want someone who feels it in his stomach when he realizes he’s hurt me. Someone humble enough to say, “I was wrong,” and brave enough to make it right. I don’t want to fight to be seen, or to be acknowledged, or to be validated.

    We’re human. We have off days. We snap when we should stay quiet. We react when we meant to respond. The difference, for me, is repair – stepping back, softening our voices, choosing us.

    Some wounds, even well-tended, become scars. Love doesn’t erase them; it learns their map and holds them gently. And so I keep a small, steady candle of hope- bright with romance, edged with the thinnest sliver of fear- trusting that the right heart will see the light, and stay.



    To my future love,

    I don’t know when you’ll come into my life. Maybe in a quiet, ordinary moment when neither of us is looking. Until then, know I’m doing the work, softening old edges, tending tender places, building a life I’m proud to invite you into.

    When you arrive, you’ll meet the best version of me so far – unfinished but honest, hopeful and steady. And I’ll keep growing, not for perfection’s sake, but because you deserve someone who keeps showing up with curiosity, laughter, and courage.

    I’m saving slow mornings and stargazing nights, quick apologies and real repair, the kind of love that learns and stays.

    Take your time. I’ll be here – becoming, for me and for us.

  • Not Tests, Affirmations!

    Not Tests, Affirmations!

    I had the pleasure of being on another great podcast this week and a lot of what we talked about just reaffirms what all that I want to be and do in this life! 

    My heart is bursting from this conversation! 

    What I normally would talk about here – I was able to share on this podcast! 

    I hope you will take the time to watch this – and SHARE! 

    With all my love, 

    Xoxo Joni

    __________________________________________

    Here are some of the quotes from Jason and I’s conversation – 

    “Consistency happens when you schedule it and make it intentional.” (0:18–0:24)

    “The thing you give away because it’s easy for you? That’s the thing you should charge for.” (2:20–2:36)

    “Once I got clear on what I wanted, opportunities opened.” (3:11–3:24)

    “Don’t allow your story to define you. You’re bigger than the trauma.” (8:51–9:05)

    “No one wants to be remembered for being bitter—people just get stuck not knowing how to let go.” (10:04–10:26)

    “People say what they don’t want… then attract it in abundance.” (10:32–10:43)

    “Forgiveness is for them—but it’s also for me.” (11:23–11:34)

    “These aren’t tests; they’re affirmations of who I want to be.” (12:34–12:47)

    “I want to be someone who pauses, thinks, and considers the other side.” (12:47–13:07)

    “Common sense is simple—our emotions block us.” (13:33–13:46)

    “Forgiving doesn’t make me weak; it frees me from what holds me back.” (14:14–14:25)

    “The one that wins is the wolf you feed.” (25:36–25:43)

    “I’m going to let my light shine—I refuse to succumb to the darkness.” (27:12–27:26)

    “Every wall I hit just makes me more passionate about getting my story out.” (24:27–24:34)

    “I’ve learned the art of pivoting.” (24:14–24:20)

    “Hold on to the good; the bad will sort itself out.” (23:54–24:04)

    “You get to choose who you want to be, be it, and love yourself for it.” (32:22–32:37)

    “That’s who I want to be with my dying breath—kind and full of love.” (9:42–10:04 & 34:26–34:30)

    “Your message is the vulnerability.” (44:16–44:22)

    “We all have relational scars. How you let them affect you is in your hands.” (47:52–48:06)

    “You only get one life; live it for yourself or live with regret.” (1:13:53–1:14:09)

    “With change, anything is possible. Without it, I set boundaries and let go without bitterness.” (55:20–56:08)

    “You can’t build authentic relationships with a fake version of yourself.” (37:15–37:38)

    “Be who you are. If someone needs you to show up as their version of you—that’s on them.” (37:43–38:07)

    “Accountability is taking responsibility; vulnerability is explaining why.” (41:18–41:35)

    “If you keep going back to misery, at what point are you accountable for the environment you choose?” (1:04:44–1:05:06)

    “I stayed too long—that one’s on me.” (1:05:26–1:07:06)

    “Relationships are everywhere; if you don’t learn to work through them, you’ll always struggle.” (1:00:48–1:01:13)

    “Your relationships shouldn’t be a rollercoaster—build equilibrium.” (1:21:30–1:22:03)

    “I don’t want carnage behind me.” (1:19:42–1:19:45)