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Have you ever had a dream, a vision, and you shared it with someone and they shook their head and kind of chuckled, “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

Or, “That sounds a bit Herculean, maybe start smaller?”

Or, “How will you pay your bills? Maybe you could get a job doing — instead? You’d be good at that.”

If you haven’t had a lot of encouragement in your life, it can be easy to let someone else’s words land as defeat in your mind, and even keep you from pursuing your goals.

But please don’t do this.

What a person speaks is a reflection of them, not you.

You can thank them for their thoughts or maybe even ask them if they ever had a vision that they wanted to pursue. See if they’ll share what it was, and see what they wound up doing with their own ideas.

Might be that they used this same self-defeating language on themselves first.

Then you can leave it alone or say, “I bet you could still make that happen for yourself! Why not? Stranger things have happened!”

Never let someone else’s discouragement be the stop sign on your path.

Their discouragement is an extension of their belief system, not divine guidance for your future.

-JLK

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Did you ever try to explain your actions to an authoritative parent figure and were interrupted with: “Stop making excuses.”

This right here is how we start to dismiss our own perspective as an excuse, as an interruption. As something to keep secret. As something to doubt the validity of.

When we weren’t offered a space to contribute the story of what happened through our lens, we get stuck with what reality looks like through other people’s lenses.

But the truth is—your perspective isn’t an excuse. It’s valid. And it deserves space in every conversation.

Everyone has a point. But when our points are squashed so long, some people forget their own point and turn to being defensive instead.

They put all their efforts into needing desperately to be heard without even remembering the original value of what they had to contribute.

Your perspective matters. And other people’s perspectives also matter.

When we are aware of this truth, we can shift our efforts from being defensive and/or keeping ourselves a secret, to expanding our spaces so that everyone, including ourselves, gets to be heard.

And when we finally get to understand the context of where we’re all coming from, we might be surprised to discover a reverence for each other bc of it.

And then we can begin to build more authentic connections instead of building more walls just to survive each other.

-JLK

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If all you had was chaos growing up, it makes sense that you’d need to control every damn thing and I get it. You’re trying to protect yourself from chaos. You’re trying to dot every I and cross every T.

But the trouble is—you’re also craving something new for your next chapter.

So here’s the big question—can anything new show up when you’re controlling everything, making everything predictable?

It really can’t.

For new things to show up, you’re going to have to let go of some of that control so that new things have some space to show up.

There’s no such thing as a fitted sheet that wraps around life.

Life is wild. Uncontainable. And yes, sometimes dangerous and disappointing.

But there’s a difference between this kind of chaos and the chaos you grew up with.

You now have the freedom to choose—choose who to let in new and choose when to let go, choose where to go and when to leave.

You get to try out new things and say ‘no’ if these new things don’t feel right.

You get to manage your safety using the skills and experience you’ve acquired. And you get to discover that you can actually trust yourself to keep yourself safe.

You might also decide you don’t need anything new. And that’s ok too.

Go at your own pace—new things don’t have to be big things. Tiny new things expand the space as well.

The point is to make sure you’re allowing yourself enough space to blossom, bc no matter how long you’ve been on this planet, there’s no expiration date for blossoming.

The point is to make sure you’re not inadvertently duct-taping yourself closed bc you’ve convinced yourself it’s more valuable to be safe and secure or resigned and cynical.

Because by keeping yourself contained in what’s familiar, you may be inadvertently stunting your own growth.

-JLK

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Reminder to myself…

Instead of feeling perpetually disappointed when your needs aren’t being met, consider that maybe you’ve just been trying to get your needs met at all the wrong places.

This doesn’t mean friendships or relationships need to end. It simply means that we haven’t yet explored the many different kinds of outlets that are available to share ourselves through.

And an outlet isn’t always a person. Once we get clear about what we’re looking to give and receive, we can seek out the right kinds of places that will be naturally receptive to these parts of ourselves.

-JLK

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(Of course I recognize that this is an enormous simplification, but these are just things I’ve noticed, things that help me find peace instead of chaos.)

My brain is the hard drive—everything I’ve ever experienced is stored here.

My mind is the user of this data.

My attention/awareness is the access to my mind.

And impulses are reactions to my brain’s data, activated through sensations that trigger associations from my past.

My impulses get my attention bc they’re fluorescent—like warning signs, alerting me that I need to go toward or away from something, for the sake of my safety and/or sense of self.

But with my mind as the user, I get to choose what this data means about me and my life.

I get to choose which data is useful and which is just the radio station playing all that data in whatever order it shows up based on whatever associations have been activated by my circumstances.

Without my mind as the user, I am at the effect of my circumstances and these impulses, and I may interpret these associations as important messages to consider.

But with my mind as the user of my brain, I get to be aware of my processes—not in order to control them, but to witness these processes with compassion and fascination for this incredibly mysterious, creative creature that I am—not perfect, but complex.

With my mind as the user, I can choose which stuff from my brain might be useful for taking myself to places I want to go.

And I can also tell which stuff is that wild associative noise that can sometimes drag a person to places they’d rather not visit.

And I can choose to see that a lot of the stuff that keeps resurfacing is the old unresolved pain of my younger selves, who have been waiting for someone to invest their time, attention and understanding—and I can choose to recognize that this someone is me.

-JLK

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(An affirmation—something I’m working on.)

I think of myself as a gardener.

I imagine the future and see my garden in full bloom.

I take seeds from that future garden and I plant them metaphorically right now.

How I water these seeds is with my nurturing-in-action.

There will be droughts. That’s expected.

Sometimes my energy has to go to watering myself in order to just survive. And that’s ok.

And other times I know my brain will get overwhelmed—I’ll start getting new ideas and before I know it, I’ll be planting new gardens—watering new seeds and neglecting the old.

And that’s also ok. Sometimes flexibility can lead to blossoms I would have otherwise never expected.

But no matter how it goes, knowing that whatever I water is what will grow helps me remember to focus on watering the seeds I *want* to see grow, instead of the ones I would never want to see in my garden.

This means that I refrain from watering the seeds of shame, because I know those seeds will blossom into a shame garden.

And this means I refrain from watering the seeds of ‘I’m not worthy,’ bc I know those seeds will grow into a garden that would never reflect the wonder of who I am.

And this also means refraining from watering toxic people, expecting that they will one day blossom in my garden, bc I know that other people are responsible for their own growth and I’m responsible for mine.

With practice, I can learn to trust myself and be a reliable gardener.

-JLK

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For some people, this world can be especially brutal.

They have to constantly pretend they aren’t being bombarded by all the circumstances of life.

They have to paint smiles on their faces and push through the day even when every drop of harshness hurts.

They’re raw. They feel the elements from the environment around them penetrating to their very core. Including the immense beauty that others tend to miss.

Some people can armor up. They can protect themselves from the elements of life. Maybe they turn harsh to keep all those drops of pain away from their hearts. Maybe they bury their hearts in the process, but a buried heart feels better than a hurt heart.

But some people aren’t equipped with armor, and their efforts to create it are useless bc these raw people need to feel the stuff that’s alive.

They say, “Wow, look at this! My god, I have to get closer! It’s wild, it’s alive!” And they go over there to the aliveness and then boom. Something harsh lashes out unexpectedly, and they get hurt. Seriously hurt. But yet they don’t say anything bc they already know what all the well-armored people will say: ”Stop being so sensitive, so weak.”

Or, “Ha. You think you’re hurting? You don’t know what I’ve been through, and I’m fine, so you should be fine. You just have to toughen up.”

Or worse, “You know what, I’m tired of your constant pain. It’s actually painful for me now. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

So the unarmored hurt people pretend not to be hurt.

And for some, the private pain can be too much. And maybe they decide the armored people were right—the world doesn’t revolve around them. They’re just broken. Too broken. So they give their last smiles to their loved ones and that’s it. They finally extinguish their pain the only way they know how.

And it’s fucking awful.

Unarmored people do not need shame. They need resources—not to learn how to be armored, but how to be boundaried…

How to feel without letting their feelings drown them, so that they’re forced to numb out through substances. Or through hurting themselves so at least it’s a pain they can allow themselves to feel on their own terms.

Boundaries:

Taking the time to learn how to craft boundaries for ourselves so that the aliveness gets in but the toxicity stays out.

Boundaries:

Taking inventory of which feelings belong to us and which belong to others, so we can stop storing other people’s stuff inside our bodies.

Boundaries:

Finding safe outlets to share our pain. Not with an armored person. Just as I wouldn’t get my groceries at the post office, I would never go to an armored person with my raw feelings. How in the would could I expect them to feel my feelings when they can’t even feel their own?!

Boundaries:

Find a safe person who knows how to reflect your pain. In this society you will probably have to pay for this service. But you know what? It’s better that way sometimes, bc at least you’re clear about what you owe. You owe however much money it costs for your session, not your loyalties or first born child or your unconditional love.

Boundaries:

Find an outlet for transforming your pain into art: anything that takes your hurt out of your body and into a medium like painting, writing, whatever, so you can see it from your perspective and realize it’s fucking beautiful, bc it’s an extension of you understanding yourself.

Boundaries:

Vitamins. This may sound ridiculous, but without nutrients, my mind is a mess. I so often neglect my body, imagining that it will run solely on will power, thoughts and feelings. It’s as though I completely forget that I’m a living being who requires nutrients from the world, just like the rest of the living beings here. So one way of being boundaried for me is by taking my vitamins.

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And for those who are reading this and you’re secretly planning your way out—please wait. Please be willing to try creating some boundaries to protect yourself. It may sound trite, but I know without a doubt that it’s true: you have gifts to share that the world needs. You are irreplaceable.

For anyone in pain, feel free to reach out. I’d be glad to lend a listening ear.

-JLK

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1.

That scene in The Elephant Man, when those horrible jerks forced that woman to kiss Joseph Merrick and then threw a drink in his face when he could hardly breathe. The depth of that man’s objectification, his identity so discarded, his soul, so deeply inaccessible to those surface dwellers who violated him.

2.

The time my mother reached the bottom of things. It was about a decade before she passed, when her zest for faking her way as a well-adjusted person seemed to run out of fuel. It was as if the gift she’d had, where she pretended she knew how to do everything and actually exceeded everyone’s expectations, even her own, had expired.

She’d gotten a freelance job as a muralist, something she’d never done before, but this time, the paint stayed tacky. She showed it to me when I visited and when I touched the paint, she shrugged, a kind of, “Well, what the fuck are you gonna do”.

But for me, it was a day of demarcation—the day her facade failed. And ever since, I wonder when my day will arrive, when my own paint stays tacky.

3.

The time I was running to catch a train and I swear I heard a stranger yell, “Wait!!! You left your beauty back there!”

4.

The time right after my son was delivered. I had to have emergency surgery. I had asked for no anesthesia since the epidural was still keeping me numb. And I think the doctors forgot I was awake.

They were talking about snow tires and other things besides me. And I was lying there, so freezing cold, so afraid I would die. So afraid I wouldn’t get to be a mama to my new baby.

But then in the ceiling fan, I saw what looked like the shadow of an angel. And I suddenly warmed up and knew all would be well.

5.

The time after my mother died and I visited her apartment in Florida without her in it.

Her necklace that she’d worn for decades was resting on the bed, ripped at the middle of the chain as if it’d been yanked. Her rings, placed near the chain.

It was somebody’s job, to remove her accessories. Perhaps it was not the first body they’d taken away that day.

I thought about the 911 call she’d made when she feared she was dying. How they couldn’t locate her address because the phone was on my account, 500 miles away. How I’d been wide awake looking up chocolate chip cookie recipes, completely unaware that she was dying.

6.

The time I walked miles with my mother in the Florida heat to St. Vincent De Paul’s to find treasures.

Back then I usually wore heels but not with my mother. With her, I felt comfortable in flats. I loved those warm fuzzies I felt, knowing I could finally be myself with my mother.

Later that day, I accidentally broke some piece of pottery she’d found. I was so worried she would be disappointed. But instead she said, “Jessica. Are you fucking serious? Me and you, honey—let’s work on healing the broken things that matter.”

—JLK