As a kid it’s not that I didn’t like change, I didn’t have a choice. My life was in an almost constant flux of my mother’s whims, boyfriends, and living situations, so I just learned to lean in and hang on.

But my Nana’s house, that is a sacred ground to me. Its the only stable place I’ve ever known, even its imperfections it looked like a masterpiece …

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I’m staring at my blank screen watching my cursor blink repeatedly as if to mock my brainlessness with every pulsing glimmer.

I showed up to write and sort of just hoped things would flow along. I normally think about a topic or subject for awhile before posting, even sort of pitching myself ideas like a one woman publishing hub. But today I am tired because I spent the previous 3 days of this week installing flooring in our attic (which I assure you I am not qualified to do or had any knowledge of before watching 3 YouTube videos), then painting the entire space into the wee hours of the night, causing my children concern because “usually I’m dead to the world by 8:30pm” kind of person. So, now today my almost 40 year old body is feeling well, like an almost 40 year old chubby woman who doesn’t exercise, eats what she wants, doesn’t stretch, and drinks too much coffee, might feel like.

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There’s likely not enough ibuprofen in the world to undo the pain down the back of my arms from painting a slanted ceiling for five hours that could’ve been easily been avoided if I just woke up 10 minutes earlier a day and touched my damn toes or something.

But achey and all, here I am.

My Substack timeline, while still better than most social media forms, is starting to take the shape of everything else. Between the honest thoughts of real people, hilariously relatable images, long form musings are countless posts and essays on “how” to do Substack so you can make money, quit your job, go viral, etc. etc. etc.

But what if I’m just here to make stuff? To show up and write and and read other people’s writings, and fill my creative tank. What if I’m stretching my creative muscles like I should probably be my physical muscles in a hope of creativity flexibilty and fluidity.

I love how every platform starts as some creative outlet, only to become a “how to” on capitalizing off it. I have no smoke if you do make money off it-who would I even be to judge as someone who has made money off content creation for years now. But I guess I hate the notion of it becoming an equation to solve instead of people just genuinely connecting to your work and supporting it.

In a buzzing world of noise pollution and overconsumption, is it okay to just want to create a practice for the sake of my sanity? even if only 5 people read it and I make absolutely no money from it? Is it still worth making?

The answer for me is yes.

So my goal is to keep making shitty Substacks with improper grammar, spelling errors, and run on sentences. My hope is to keep sharing in whatever capacity I have because its good for my soul or whatever and helps me keep making sense of the endless semi-psychotic loop that’s in my brain which I find both terrifying and brilliant. I keep you keep stretching your creative self and showing up to the table in whatever capacity you can, I’ll have coffee and ibuprofen for you.

x j

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So, when my last book check hit my bank and I paid off all my bills I had a real honest moment of… “now what?” I felt like my career thus far had been building to that milestone and now that it was here I was expecting hoping to feel a sense of arriving that was absolutely no where to be found.

What I actually was feeling was scared. Like, BIG scared.

I had worked so hard over the years to build an audience, market myself, create a body of work, and connect But both me and the world were in a place that had drastically changed from the three years prior when I started writing. The team that bought my book was not the same team that launched my book. I could tell how much the climate of things had shifted with the new administration, it felt clear a book about mental health, coming out queer, non-traditional families, and, being messy and human was no longer the sort of book people were wanting pushed to the forefront.

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After a whole summer traveling to indie bookstores, author talks, craft classes, and meeting so many amazing people in so many different places between America and Canada, I had to get radically honest with myself about how I was going to make sure you know we could buy (almond)milk and keep the lights on.

I made the decision I needed to start working a more traditional job, for a more traditional paycheck. I won’t even pretend here, I was devastated. I felt this was clearly the right choice for family while simultaneously feeling this meant I had failed as an author and an artist. Like my almost decade long success working for myself was dead.

I would be totally misleading if I didn’t mention how anxious I was about people finding out I went back to a day job assuming they would also consider me a failure and after the gossip I endured from two public divorces, I just couldn't handle being perceived. Thankfully now, I realize how much time I wasted now on peoples perceptions and opinions of me that truly do not matter.

I went back and forth on the type of job I wanted to take. I sat with myself and my partner and decided that I wasn’t going to take on something all consuming, I was going to try to stay in an environment that inspired me but that I could emotionally leave behind when needed so I would still have space to keep practicing my art. I knew this meant maybe not making as much money or working as many hours but to me it meant more because it meant I wasn’t giving up and I was still prioritizing my practice.

I started working at a little local bakery that I happen to frequent owned and run by a 64 year old gay man. I thought I was gonna be just helping out with customers and ended up running the social media and whole front of house. The biggest thing I didn’t expect to come from “getting a regular person job” was actually loving it. I love the creativity, the collaboration, I love my regulars, I love being more immersed in my community again. My fears of failing began to dissolve as I actually felt more and more drawn to my practice. Did you know that when you have steady money coming in that stability can actually help your creativity blossom? Who knew not operating from minute to minute isn’t always best for your nervous system! I don’t know why in my mind success in a career meant only having one stream of income as most people do. But that has never really worked for me and probably never will. Between my ADHD and being an Aries I am constantly moving and finding new things that make my insides feel alive.

I realize my art making, like most things once holy to us, became commercialized because ya know.. capitalism and stuff. I started staying in a lane I maybe never really wanted to be in because that’s what people were hitting the like button on and let’s be honest who doesn’t want to feel liked? And while I love the connection I am way too multi-faceted to ever stay the same. It took me time to understand outgrowing yourself is part of the process and it’s okay that not everyone grows with you. Which is true of your personal self and your art.

May path is my path and as long as I am walking in my own purpose, there is no failing. As long as I am still making things that make me feel deeply, there is no failing. As long as I am showing up for my family, there is no failing. As long as I am feeling stable financially even if it comes from 16 revenue streams, there is no failing.

There is no failing if I keep showing up for my life. There’s failures, sure. Setbacks, absolutely. But loss? losing? No, there’s none of that as long as I stay wholly connected to myself.

Thankful my little day job helps our family thrive while still giving me space to create freely and honestly. And the free croissants are a huge plus.

xo J

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I honestly envy people who can be so committed to things like newsletters and blogs and mail clubs- I desperately want to be that person but instead I’m the chaotic creator. The one that’s on it for a while but then her depression hits and it feels crippling to even open the computer or the one who reads 700 other blogs and thinks everything worth saying has already been said. Or the one that thinks every post or newsletter has to be some weird earth shattering, soul moving, epiphany for the reader or else it means total failure.

That’s where I’m at now, missing writing but feeling the guilt of how dare I just jump back in without something substantial to say. I think the not enough-ness plagues us all a lot, especially creatives. And to be honest having the luxury of being a successful working artist over the last decade has left wondering who are we when we aren’t working toward a deadline, or an order fulfillment, or our next payout.

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But here I am post writing AND publishing a book with a very reputable publishing house, going back to a day job because the bills are a coming and the brand deals, paid partnerships, and freelance jobs are not. The climate of being a marketable queer artist has drastically changed and we’re now looked at as a “risk” for being outspoken about the ongoing atrocities in the world and our identities up for debate as we .

But why do I feel more creative than I have in quite some time? I have this conviction that maybe it’s because I feel like I get to make whatever I want again. Like the high school girl did on the bedroom floor- cutting up magazines and making birthday cards for all my friends. This deep innate feeling like no one is watching. I have this deep gratitude for everything that has come from being an artist online who “made it” but there is also a sense of creating for people, that has tied me to a place I’ve outgrown. Maybe we’re no longer each others people. Maybe my audience has outgrown me just as well. And maybe some will bloom into our new state of being alongside each other (that would be super nice too.)

But whatever the case, I can feel the shift. It feels palpable and ignoring it feels like I will only be holding back my own creative path.

It feels like a fresh start but in this chapter I don’t have to burn everything to the ground and start over. It’s like a grown-up, healthy, stable, fresh start (for once). Where I use everything I have learned and everything I’ve been through to propel myself forward. Instead of rebuilding, I’m just creating more rooms inside myself so I can continue to expand and unfold.

Is it embarrassing to admit I am excited?

xo jess

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ps. I just wanted to be transparent that the millennial urge to write “LOL” after most sentences in this post was very strong and resisting it was very hard but I did it.. lol.

here’s a quick recap if you’re interested:

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It took me so long to even share it publicly because of that feeling of anxious anticipation you get when someone is going “too well” and you’re wondering what the catch is? Ya, that was me. But I was six weeks into this job and loving it and so I decided what the hell. I got so many affirming messages and I also tagged the bakery and watched their follow count climb which made me so happy to see as someone committed to growing their online presence.

I was hired to work the front end, take pretty pictures of pasteries, and help out with the social media. It seemed intuitive and simple and like the easiest transition in my life in a real long time. Then a “friend” of the owner started helping out with the website. He immediately inserted himself in a way that made him feel much bigger than me. Now, he is in fact much bigger than me, a 6’2ish gay man towering over my small 5’4 lesbian body telling me I need to meet with him outside of work to talk about the social media. But I was so confused why this person was inserting himself so heavily. I tried to talk to my boss and he said we were to “collaborate” on the social media. I already had pretty bad vibes happening but I agreed for the greater good of the bakery.

I then began getting sent google.docs of how to run a social media, and edit photos, from someone who has absolutely no experience or qualifications and here I am 200k+ followers and 10 years into content creation as my actual job. Published more times than I can count on two hands. And literally having had just written a book with a major publisher.

I asked my boss if I could back out of the social media. I said I didn’t know what the drama or domineering behavior was about but my intentions were just to help out the bakery (as I was not getting paid extra for helping with this). He said he did not want that and just wanted a way for me and this person to both be able to work on this. So we made an agreed upon schedule. I would post the days I was at the bakery and take the photos, and he would do everything else because I wasn’t about to fight over fucking instagram with someone who is so unqualified anyway.

We carried on, it wasn’t perfect (because his photos are garbage and his approach is definitely designed by chat GBT), but whatever we figured out how to both do it together.

I was getting a lot of great feedback at the counter about the photos I was taking and people were visiting just because I had posted on my personal that I worked there (thank you to everyone its been great to meet you all!)

Then my boss told me the other day we needed to sit down, “the three of us”, and talk because this other person was feeling uncomfortable with me in the bakery. Me, confused, because I don’t even speak to him, wondered what could possibly be wrong now as I am posting on my days, never complaining about him to anyone but my wife, just like, ya know, doing my job. I felt this to be insane and decided to just go and speak to this person directly because we’re adults.

He immediately had a demeanor of authority over me. He spoke to me as if he as both a robot and an HR rep. He informed me that he has now given himself the title of, Digital Content Manager, and moving forward I would have to would have to okay any of my posting with him. Which again is wild to me for many reasons: 1. as he doesn’t even actually work there, & supposedly “doing this all from the goodness of his heart” 2. has no experience 3. WHATTTT?

He told me that I was never to speak to him again without a third party present or he would be forced to record our converations.

He told me I am an almost 40 year old woman and needed to act like an adult.

He refused to answer my questions about why he felt such ways.

I asked him why I coudln’t talk to him face to face alone but he could privately text me outside of work hours.

This went around until I ended the conversation to which he said, “thank you, have a nice day” as if I was being let out of his office.

I had a big cry when I got home and napped for like 3 hours and tried to decided how I wanted to move forward. The next day at work he made his presence known and used many intimidation tactics, which made me feel very unsafe. He would not let me be alone in any space with any person. He kept coming into my area without cause just scrolling on his phone so I would know he was watching and I just tried to breathe and breathe.

When I have tried to speak to my boss about this behavior he has said he doesn’t want to hear it and doesn’t want the drama and just wants to work together as we are “all part of the same tribe” (his words not mine lol).

Now I FUCKING WISH being queer was this innate unified binding factor but in most queer spaces I have operated in, misogyny always overrides camaraderie. The boys all deem me emotional and any sort of boundary setting or god forbid standing up for myself is referred to as “lashing out”.

So, here I am again, the tiny lesbian against the gay boys, not knowing what the fuck to do.

I couldn’t sleep the other night. Laying in bed, watching the minutes tick away and me getting more anxious at the end of never falling back asleep. Like almost everyone, I grabbed my phone to mindless scroll in the dark of our bedroom. The phone light feeling blinding even with the brightness all the way down. I went to the bakery page and saw that this person had taken all my posts down and only left his. We both had access to the account so I was able to go into the recently deleted and actually see all my photos and posts stacked on top of each other in the digital trash.

Guys, do you know how self-important and entitled you have to be to do that on a business page you do not own and you are trusted with someone else’s information and platform???!!!

Spinning in my head, wondering why I even shared I worked there, and if I could even continue in this sort of environment. I spoke to him at work in front of my boss per his request, and let him know he was extremely childish and succeeded in his attempt to push me out of the social media and from now on I wanted nothing to do with it.

And likely there will be no real consequence cause the boys got the boys. And he is going to continue to run the account with ill intentions and entitlement. But I'll be damned if he takes my stability, peace, and joy. I will work upfront and make room for my own creativity. I was spending a lot of time making things for the bakery and researching and dreaming up digital growth and now I have had a lot of time to just put that back into my own art. And to be fucking for real, it’s totally his loss.

I wish I knew the right thing to do. I have been in so many abusive situations my whole life that I sometimes literally can not tell if I’m just ignoring things or if I’m taking space for myself. Am I egg shell walking or am I standing ten toes down in my own power.

until I figure it out,

xo jess

Any and all advice genuinely welcome. I truly have been out of work environments for so long I do not know what is “normal”.

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So between, ideations, tears, unnecessary fights with your partner, and somehow you’re supposed to gather the will to carry on and overcome this all. Usually I am pretty buoyant, the episodes don’t last too long and I bounce back to my rather optimistic, chipper self. But we’re going on almost three weeks of this shit and lemme tell you its getting old.

The thing about making art is the times when you absolutely dont want to do it are usually the times its most important to. Creativity is a muscle and without use it does get stiff. So yesterday after a huge melt-down snotty nosed snob where I shared everything thats been weighing on me to my partner. They suggested we go get ice cream at our fave place (even in a brisk 40 degree weather) and ride with them to make an exchange at the bookstore. I very reluctantly agreed, knowing it would probably be best for me to get out of the house. I threw on sweatpants, my glasses and two hooded sweatshirt things, and headed out the door.

I marched myself right over to the magazine section grabbing anything that caught my eye on the way in then tossed my glossy stack on the ground and tossed my exhausted body down next to it. Magazines are still one of the most inspirational things to flip through for me. I still love having something to hold in my hand, I love the bitesized articles, the luxe images, and the way it’s laid out with so many little tis-bits, all messy but makes sense. Magazines are perfect for people with ADHD.

After sifting through a dozen or so and taking photos of recipes on my phone because I have no money to buy them right now, I meandered over to Sarina to see what they were looking for. It’s weird being a “writer” now (I say still feeling like a total imposter) because I see so much more about books now. I see the books of so many of my online pals, some even that they sent me advance copies of. I see books my agent worked on, and I see books from my publisher. Then I look down at my tie-dye crocs and my sweatpants and wonder how this depressed mush ball could soon be displayed in this very space and why I feel like I'm still just trying to catch up.

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My partner crossed Amie McNee’s, WE NEED YOUR ART: Stop Messing Around and Make Something, they flipped through it and kept turning the pages toward me to read or reading excerpts out loud. “These are all the things I am always telling you!”, they say, “just nicer.” I laugh and flip through a little and then find a chair and start reading. Sarina brought me the book hoping “maybe hearing it from someone else will be better.”

I don’t know if they’re right but either way it’s already been nice to read. Things like this clear my head of social media fog and remind me that I’m a real human making things. Sometimes the way I see myself through the lens of the screen distorts my self-understanding and purpose. But I was an artist long before people knew or cared anything about me and I’ll be an artist long after. It’s my blood flow, my breath. So, I gotta just keep showing up like it’s my actual job (because quite literally it is.) That means being okay with shifting and fluidity and understand as I am not the same neither will be my art- or how I create it, or how I share it.

You can preorder my book: here! it comes out 6/3 and im really fucking scared.

Some other random updates:

-growing my hair out even back to a bob sucks so much

-Frankie (our pug) gets me through so many sad days

-turned 37

-yesterday I heard Heart Of Gold by Neil Young in the bookstore and wow, I love that song .

-our chickens are laying again!!

here’s the book if you have any interest in it for yourself

more soon x j

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Recently, somewhere in the endless scroll I saw someone post that the beginning of the year used to start in March and only had been changed to January in the last 200ishhh (heavy ish) years. I felt very gaslit and weirdly vindicated?

So, what was my ADHD brain to do but go down a googling rabbit hole to find out? And sure enough, it has actually changed more than once. DOESN’ THAT MAKE MORE SENSE THOUGH?! First, I am an Aries baby and always thought it was interesting that Aries is the first sign of the zodiac but not the first sign of the year, but a March 25th new year would support that.

Second, no wonder it feels like such an insane struggle to push over into this new year, running, inspired, ready for newness and starting over, and resolving. Because this should still be the season of slow. These should still be the days of comfort and quiet and rejuvenating. No one should be worrying about who they will be, or doing it right, or better. It’s not the planting season, the ground has yet to thaw. Were supposed to be sleeping, staying warm, dreaming. DREAMING! No action, no process, just dreams.

Third, sometimes when I learn something like this I remember that everything is completely fucking made up. Someone usually decides something and then it catches on and then you do it that way without question for years and years. Never realizing that at any moment some higher overarching human could decide thats its going to be done differently and you would just have to adjust. Isn’t that wild? Just like that everything could be different even if we did it one way for 200+ years.

All this to say: THERE ARE NO REAL RULES. I know it’s the 5th day of January and some of you are already feeling disheartened. Like you fucked up your fresh start. Like you can never follow through. Like you can hold yourself to commitment. Well, I have a few things to say to that inner jerk in your head.

1. You have infinite day one ‘s. You can start over and over and over again. Nothing is ever going to be perfect.

2. YOU’RE NO EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE AWAKE YET, SO WHO CARES! We weren’t supposed to begin yet anyway! Don’t rush! Move slow! Move with intention!

For now, be cozy, light candles, do crafts. Make spaces in your home with your loved ones to gather and be grateful. Cuddle. Make meals together. Foster your imagination and speak life to

I cannot wait to continue to dream this winter and prepare my heart for what will be when the ground thaws.

xo jess

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Have you ever considered starting an art journal? do you have any questions about journaling? I would love to help people work through ideas, and get past the initial hurdles of starting something new. Leave questions in the comments!

xo jess

We had our first family photos taken a few weeks ago. After two years of dating I decided I was finally ready to commemorate this time in our lives.

When I was in my first openly queer relationship I was only a few months in when I had a whole photoshoot taken with me and the boys and the person. We all barely knew each other, had never lived together, but I wanted to make it look like we were already this tight knit unit. I don’t know if I was trying to convince other people or trying to convince myself but there was a deep desperation in me to see the person I was becoming reflected back at me. I wanted to be able to look at a picture and dream about the life I thought I was building. But looking back now, seven years later I see how those moments were so detrimental to me the boys and trying to find myself and my voice.

From the moment I publicly came out I was tethered to someone. I wanted to show everyone that I could be out and happy and still have a good life. I wanted everyone to see the kids liked her and we were gonna be a family and still do everything the way everyone deemed a successful family to do. But in reality I had no idea what I was doing, who the fuck I was, and I wasn’t even sure myself about this person or our future. I was still chasing the approval of everyone else. I was still begging for someone, ANYONE, to tell me I was doing a good job and making the right choices. I took no time to really process for myself. I fucked a lot up and was scared of how to move forward alone.

I overlooked a shit ton of red flags and I also pushed a lot of my own boundaries and things I should have taken my time on, and thats on me. When I look back it’s reflected in the pictures. I’m smiling, I think because I’m finally free in my queerness and I did in fact deeply care for the person but it feels very staged, I can tell were all strangers ourselves and not even the most brilliant photographer can hide those things.

With Sarina I feel like it’s been such a slower more intentional process. We uhauled— ya ya ill admit that. But I never pushed us all to be family in the traditional way I’m used to. I’m not trying to give my kids another mom- I’m just letting this person show up for them and love them. I’m letting them decide who people are to them and how they feel about them. I’m making damn sure they know they are my day one and no matter what my love and dedication to them will never falter.

I’m not trying to make it look like we have it all together because honestly even two years in we’re still navigating on the daily. But we do have a lot of love and undeniable amount of joy. Sarina built friendships with the boys that turned to caretaking that turned to love. What I see in these photos I see us. I see silliness and laughter, and big teeshirts and no socks, our dog were all deeply obsessed with. We didnt need props to curate what our life looks like, it’s real as fuck. It is how we exist in spaces together, it is how our home feels.

So I lean into gratitude. For my missteps, for reflection, for my humans. For the ability to fuck up and continue to show up. For the creating a life with love.

see you soon,

x jess

“I’m not interested in anybody’s guilt. Guilt is a luxury that we can no longer afford. I know you didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it either, but I am responsible for it because I am a man and a citizen of this country and you are responsible for it, too, for the very same reason… Anyone who is trying to be conscious must begin to dismiss the vocabulary which we’ve used so long to cover it up, to lie about the way things are.”
— James Baldwin

I had last Sunday’s post all cued up and I just couldn’t press post. I think it was all just too heavy. This was the sentence I had written in this first paragraph:

“We’re two days away from the us election and I feel mostly numb for a myriad of reasons pertaining to it all.”

Then on Election Day I felt like that numbness was washed into panic and then washed into fear. I am not dumb or naive enough to think an election would ever fix our country. But know that things were not going to be systematically changed by the election and I do believe there clearly was a wrong answer.

I remember on my 18th birthday my high school U.S. gov teacher left a voter registration at my seat as he did with all students. I remember being a dramatic teen and ripping it up in front of him and telling him I didn’t believe my vote actually changed anything. To be honest, I didn’t. I was a poor kid, in an unstable household, and really felt like people who were lucky enough to even understand politics let alone have the bandwidth to vote probably had two parents, a normal “dinner time”, food in the fridge, and likely their own bedroom.

Now here I am thirty-six, feeling that same kind of hopelessness or I guess apathy as I did then.

I guess less so about voting- because I do in fact vote. But hopelessness. When I saw that map of our country, So widely and brightly red, that was the where the real fear set in for me. And the two things I know more deeply than ever before after this election is, the patriarchy is alive and well and that whiteness will forever protect whiteness.

I once watched a video of Sonya Renee Taylor talking about our political system. She explained how if you’re baking a cake and accidentally use salt instead of sugar, it would be impossible to remove every grain of salt from the cake because its quite literally baked in. You have to throw the whole cake away. Our country quite literally has whitness baked into it. It’s the bedrock, woven into every fiber of our systems. So no amount of forward movement will ever be able to fundamentally fix something that needs to be thrown away. Does that mean we shoudn’t vote? No. I mean I don’t think so- but I think we have to be actively aware that we need to be working on something way bigger. A shit ton of frosting might help make a few bites tolerable but the salt will always be there. We need to start over. We need a new fucking cake.

Any real change implies the breakup of the world as one has always known it, the loss of all that gave one an identity, the end of safety.”

— James Baldwin

My partner has kept asking me if I was going to make art. If I was going to make a post. If I was going to share my thoughts. And I just felt like why? For one, I’m scared and defeated myself. Two, who the hell cares right now? I felt it to be insensitive and inauthentic.

But I do know when the world gets darker, its artists, creatives, and entertainers, that the world turns to for comfort, understanding, and hope.

So, as I write this last paragraph another week has passed. This tab has been open on my computer since November 3rd and I finally feel ready to sort of find my way back to showing up in the world.

more soon,

xo jess

I was 17 the last time I lived with my mom.

She hadn’t come home for 3 days and CPS was called and took my younger sister because no one was home and my mother told me that was my fault.

She told me she planned to move in with her boyfriend who was an abusive drug dealer and I better “find somewhere to live”.

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Part of how I heal has always been going places. Change of scenery, change my perspective, get me out of my head and routine.

I do sometimes need a push. Be it my age, my general anxiety, having kids, whatever- can always find a reason “maybe we shouldn’t go”.

Deadlines, dishes, co-parenting schedule; sometimes I get stuck. Like when CDs would skip and just glitch until your CD player said error. I don’t want to disrupt the ecosystem. So, instead I just keep glitching until I implode.

But thank the universe I have a partner who catches my glitch, and skips to the next song. They know when I need to get out of my depression and my space, and breathe some different air.

One of my favorite moments from this trip is so simple seeming but so healing and loving in practice. Because of my AuDHD and my eating disorder new foods are very very hard for me. I love to try things but in the realm that I feel safe. Combine that with my childhood trauma fear of going without food and you have a quick and easy recipe of an overstim meltdown. Sarina really wanted to go to this Japanese BBQ place that looked exquisite as well as fun because you cook everything yourself in front of you. I was so hungry and so scared of *my stuff* getting in the way of them enjoying the experience. So, they walked me to an Italian place nearby. We sat at a tiny table for two listening to the different romance languages float through the air. They sat as I ordered and ate my way through three courses, sharing food, laughing with me, and making me feel deeply at ease. When I was done we walked back to the Japanese restaurant for our reservation. I happily sat and drank while they indulged. Because I was not sitting there with an empty stomach worrying about food textures or if I would go hungry, I actually was able to try some things at my own pace. They never pressured me, just let me take bites and bits as I felt comfortable. I’m so grateful for their ability to remind me to take up space and do what’s best for me. It’s a reminder I often need.

Keep collecting memories and moments,

xo jess

I feel like I’m slowly reemerging from a depression. I tend to retract inside and self-isolate when I feel the need to self-protect and heal.

I went from an absolute high, as the community rallied around us to make our last minute financial deadline. I watched as people from all over gave to my family without pause and helped us secure our safe haven.

But after, the weight of all my “grin and bare it” days over the last two years caught up with me. Trying to keep a calm outward self for my kids, trying to act like I wasn’t scared to my family, trying to write a book, close my studio + community space, make enough money, and find a loophole for a bank to take a chance on a self-employed, single mom, with an income that is more inconsistent than my menstrual cycle.

So post-home-securing, I took a few months to be slow. And honestly be sad. I made a lot of art for myself just to process and let go. I left my phone behind and hung out with my kids. I merged my worlds. And found a new normal.

Thanks for always being patient with my low-lows. I have lots to update but Im having trouble just posting in a rhythm that works for me and everyone else. So I figured I would just ask some insight and stop guessing!

Thank you in advance for your input. Looking forward to making the best content for y’all who invest your time in this space with me.

xo jess

48 hours ago I swallowed my ego and admitted I needed help, like, realllllly publicly. I made a gofundme to help cover the closing costs for the refinance of me and my kids home.

It’s been the most tumultuous process. I think when you go into something like a marriage or buying a house you never expect to be dismantling it. And even more, you never assume the person you once chose to enter those huge life decisions with would be the person trying to harm you. But there I was looking up apartments in my kids school district, communicating through lawyers and legal jargon, trying to decide the fate of the magical dwelling place I had worked so hard for. I felt so much anger and so little control. But I kept moving through the process, slowly.

And now, 8 months later, it end is finally near. But a small hiccup last Friday sent me into a tailspin.

I sat outside by the fire pit in a lawn chair I found by the side of the road. My legs dangled, and my flip flops shuffled on the brick patio. Reading and rereading what I had written: backspace-backspace-type-type-backspace-type- the anxiety welling through my fingers. Hoping my needs were clear and not too desperate. Even though I was, in fact, fully desperate. A last minute glitch of unpaid taxes from when I was married needed immediate attention to clear for closing and left me about $10,000 dollars short. Now $10k is not the kind of money I see on a regular basis, so how the hell and how fast I could make that kind of money (legally lol), as I was due to close this coming week. I sold a bunch of stuff. I sold my beautiful vintage 8ft kitchen table, I sold my couch, my partner (whose car is paid off) even went and had their car appraised so we could make up some money fast.

The back of my mind loomed the idea of crowdfunding. I usually shrug off the notion by convincing myself it’s not that dire. That I shouldn't be asking for help because people got their own shit. The words that flood my mind as I inch closer to the idea are deadbeat/loser/fuck-up. Why is it SO hard to bring myself to ask for help? Why is struggling always coinciding with failure in my mind? And I’ll tell you the conclusion I came to, it’s being white. It’s white supremacy that is coated and coded in a mindset of superiority. It’s this gross “never let them see you sweat mentality”. As if receiving help was something to be ashamed of. It’s all some weird white people shit. “Keeping up with the Jones”. White folks try to cut community out of communal existing. This idea that we keep it in the home, we keep it in the family. My Nana tells me all the time about raising a family in the 60s with an abusive husband “we just didn’t talk about stuff like that” is what she always says. It’s rooted in feeling above or better than people. It’s rooted in shame. And along the way I adopted that mindset. I used to starve at lunch rather than use my free lunches at school because I didn’t want my friends to know I couldn’t pay. I spent too much time to look put together, clean, and fashionable, so no one would question what my life might look like at home. I have had a job since I was 14 years old. Even stupid shit like never swearing because I didn’t want anyone to see me as uneducated or less than. As an adult I let my WIC credits expire because I would hang my head in shame every time they flashed the light to have the manager come over. Acting like it was immoral to need help with groceries. White people always feel like it’s a crime to struggle, because whiteness taught us that. Whiteness taught us to look down on people who need help. That somehow its laziness and not a society built to make people fail. Whiteness taught us it shouldn’t be our job to "bail” people out. And even as a poor kid who grew up waiting in lines downtown with my mom for public assistance, I still have those seeds planted in me.

Uprooting that kind of bullshit is the type of thing you need both a machete and a fine tooth comb.

So, I hit publish, post, and set my phone aside. My brain flooded with thoughts of people mocking, people sharing wondering why I cannot handle my shit, people talking, and then I realized I had to stop. The truth is there’s a good chance half of the people in my brain don’t even give a shit what I’m doing and the other half that would talk shit is honestly none of my business. I cannot control others narratives about me. So I have to let it all go. It’s doing nothing for me or my family to spend my time worrying. I turned my phone back over and was in disbelief of the generosity, the care, and the heart sharing of so many people.

In 12 hours we were over halfway to the goal. I kept refreshing in disbelief. Why were people being so generous? What do they want in return? Will this be held over me? The back talk of my trauma fuels my fears. But it’s truly time to put it all in check. Real community isn’t shaming or blaming you for needing help. real community is celebrating your vulnerability. Real community sees your struggle as our collective mission. Real community is Love.

Needing help is not failing. Needing help does not make you less than.

I have been overwhelmed with emotions as I process my gratitude for the way everyone has showed up for my family. I felt like I was falling and then caught by the net of community that weaves us together safely.

This morning the goal is nearly met. The closing is scheduled. My home is almost mine (for good).

Thank you everyone for your love through this process- it is a gift to be seen and loved and cared for.

x jess

help secure our home

Last year on my birthday, I welcomed 35 by starting a partial hospitalization program, fun right? I had attempted to take my life at the end of January and there was a long waiting list for the program. When I finally received the call there was a spot available, I felt relieved to finally get some focused help. The woman on the phone taking my information said my start date would be March 27th and I hung my head on the other side of the line thinking to myself, k universe, I see you.

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Surrender isn’t a word I generally associate with my vocabulary. Surrender has always correlated in my mind to giving up, failing even, which is not something I like to do. I am more the “I rather die trying than let them see me sweat” kind of person. I have always felt like I had something to prove:

I had to show my dad I was worth adopting so he would love me like my siblings, I had to show my biological father I was worth knowing and coming back for, I had to convince my mom I was worth more than her addictions, I strived to be a societal standard of attractive, I had to be good kid despite my home life, I had to be smart enough so people would think I was incompetent, I had to get into college cause no one in my family ever had, I had to be a wife worthy of a good man, I had to be a Pinterest party mom, I had to prove I was still good after coming out, I had to make sound decisions, I had to prove my job wasn’t just a cute hobby, I had to keep smiling to show I was strong.

Yea, I know, I am exhausted by myself too.

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I was a music “scene” kid growing up.

Like the baby barrette, hair swooping, mini skirt, myspace selfie, way too much eyeliner wearing, emo girl.

I spent the better half of my high school life in questionable dicey dark venues in any city in a drivable proximity, seeing bands perform at volumes I’m certain have destroyed my hearing. I would stand sweating and screaming my sixteen-year-old-soul out into the ether with anywhere from 20-100+ other humans who felt weird and alone like me and were certain no one understood us like the 3 lines of that song.

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Quick note to say hiiii. I am emerging from my sad girl hibernation period and am ready to get back on track with all things. Does anyone else feel extremely disoriented after the idyllic and romanticized anxiety of holiday season just to be plopped into the cold void of January? Being an artist/working for yourself can so often be glamorized for its perceived freedom during times like this. Making your own schedule, working from anywhere, it seems like theres endless perks -but less talked about is when your sad mode is activated and you can barely get out of bed, the money coming into your bank account also sort of stops. That part really sucks. Working for yourself is a “you get what you put in” vibe but when your body and brain are actively against you, telling you no one cares about what you’re doing in the world and you’re dumb and also maybe ugly for good measure, you really don’t care to put anything into work.

The good news is I have been writing from my blanket fort of feelings, so I’ll be posting a backlog of musings for y'all. I wanted to take a minute and genuinely say thank you to all of you who have been steady in your support of my work even when I seem absent. Sometimes that financial support is the only consistency I really have for my “job” and no matter how much or how little it may seem to some it really does give me security in creating to be able to count on anything.

here’s to taking a shower and seeing the sun.

xo jess

The turning of the new year is one of those moments that begs to be content, in my honest opinion. It is the perfect time to write something super spiritual and moving about closing one chapter and starting anew. It always seems like a refresh that I honestly look forward to. I like writing those posts, I like making that art, I like symbolism, and I like reminding people theres hope after midnight.

I have at least five drafts on my Substack right now where I tried to convey these sentiments in a way that felt right. But it seems I cannot unstring my thoughts from the places they've been pinned up in my mind throughout the year. This one was MASSIVE for me, not all together bad or good just BIG in the way of being a human being trying to figure it the fuck out.

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