A writer's year in review (kind of)

On Writing: My word of the year, gratitude, and what's happening with this newsletter next year

In January of this year, I chose simplify as my word for the year—an ironic choice then, and perhaps even more amusing now. My life's anything but simple; if anything, I've welcomed more into it this year rather than cutting back. It's a beautiful and full life, but sometimes it's a bit chaotic. I grappled with simplify then, and I'm still wrestling with it now. So, for next year, my word is focus.

focus, noun: 

fo·​cus 

1. a: a center of activity, attraction, or attention 

   b: a point of concentration 

2. directed attention 

Attraction, concentration, attention. 

Attention, attention, attention.

Focus means putting your attention somewhere, and this year, my focus scattered in so many directions—it was like peering through a kaleidoscope. In my post last year, I wrote about wanting to simplify my writing life to tackle a larger project, maybe a novel. I managed to write a detailed outline and a few key scenes, but nothing more. Since my son was born, working on a bigger project has been a struggle, which is unlike me. Usually, when I set a goal, I meet it. I get it done. But I think the snag this year was having too many goals—I couldn't possibly do them all and still keep a sane and present life. The list of goals was never-ending, but there are a few things I committed to and am proud I did.

- I grew herbs and tomatoes with my son for the first time, and we cooked from our bounty all year. 

- I baked at least three loaves of sourdough bread every single week—two to keep and one to give away—throughout the entire year. 

- I traveled as much as I could afford, and even sometimes when I shouldn’t have.

Us on film in Charleston

- I did my first live in-person reading from my book, From the Dust in front of a full audience for the Sundress reading series.

- I wrote an essay currently being judged for a contest. 

- I reread my memoir, written almost four years ago now, and cried because I am still proud of what I’ve created. I still feel like it has a shot at getting published. 

- I read at least one book, sometimes more, every month. 

I abandoned Of Woman and Salt + I’m still reading Braiding Sweetgrass

- An essay of mine was picked up by Marrow Magazine and will be published next month. 

- I wrote a short story about the time the cops raided our home when I was three and am currently submitting it for publication. 

- I sent my memoir to my dream agent, per her request. 

- I launched my first writing + wellness women’s retreat and sold it out within a week. 

- I attended therapy almost every single week, except for when I was traveling. 

- I went to couples therapy with my partner, even though it made me crawl out of my skin.

Us on film

 - I meditated more days than not, currently on a sixty-day streak. 

- I made time for my friends almost every week despite my crazy-packed work/write/Mom schedule. 

- I kissed my son goodnight every single night.  

My heart on film

- I took my dogs for a walk multiple times a week, even though it’s easier to leave them at home. 

- I published to my Substack every single week, and I’ve done this for two years; this is the other thing I want to talk to you about.

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I launched this newsletter during the early throes of motherhood, amidst the challenges of breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and doubts about whether I'd ever write again. It began as a tool to hold myself accountable to writing, a reminder that I could navigate both the roles of mother and writer without losing my voice. 

In the initial stages, most of the pieces were about motherhood and nothing else, but as I wrote my way through I rediscovered myself—a self that was both seasoned and renewed, shaped by the experiences of motherhood and the act of writing about it. The page became a meeting ground with myself, guiding me through birth trauma, marital struggles, and my Mom relapsing on oxy and nearly setting my damn house on fire. Some pieces grew and shifted and evolved into essays that I later submitted for publication, while others resonated with readers who reached out to express their connection to the writing, saying things like:

I enjoy your writing for the way it shows the life that can hide in the dark corners of our human experience and for the lyrical sentences woven through, I enjoy it also for the kinship I seem always to find in it.

Your writing always speaks to my heart, but this one really hit me. This was so simply beautiful that it made me cry. Thank you for reminding me to feel all the emotions.

Wow, Jessy. This is incredible and heartbreaking and true art.

Your work is brutally honest in a quiet, reflective way, like a mirror that doesn't hide any imperfections.

You touch the weightiest things with such light, eloquent fingers. 

Oh Jessy I am crying!!! It moved me so much. Your writing is medicine.

Every time I open your latest essay I end up with tears in my eyes.

You are such an epic writer. Your writing is so clear and crisp. You perfectly captured the profound pain & beauty of motherhood. Thank you for sharing yourself with us.

This is so beautiful! I can feel so many of the words deep in my being.

You have so much to share with the world. I devour your posts.

I just clicked on this and thought I’d read the rest later, I didn’t. I couldn’t stop.

Your words help make me feel like that me, that kid, was not alone because someone else was going through something similar.

I felt every word of this and it's so comforting to know I'm not alone!

It's as if you somehow broke into my heart and stole the words it's been trying to scream.

I mean, seriously, y'all. Now, I'm the one shedding a few tears. I just can't express enough how grateful I am for the community I've found here. This place has felt like a home to me. A safe place where I can share who I’ve been, who I am, and who I am becoming—exactly what I always hoped it would be. 

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I’ve shown myself that I can devote time and energy to my writing every single week, showing up and honoring my writer self even in motherhood, even when my toddler is yelling mama, mama, mama from the bottom at the stairs, or at my bedroom door, or even sitting on my lap drawing on a piece of notebook paper that was once a to-do list while I type away over his tiny shoulders.

The thing is, I need to channel all this focus and dedication into creating a larger work. Every week, I have to prove to myself that I can show up for the author self—the author I want to someday be. To do that, I can’t keep my commitment to show up here weekly AND tackle a larger writing project at the same time. I tried that last year, and I wasn’t able to do it, so something has to shift.

I'm taking January off, during which time I'll be pausing all payments from paid subscribers. The month will be centered around hosting my first women's writing + wellness retreat, which will need all of my attention. Additionally, I've enrolled in the 10-week Deep Dive Series hosted by

The Shit No One Tells You About Writing

. This marks the first time in three years that I'm investing in my writing self at this level, and I'm thrilled to get back to what I love about writing—the craft itself. It feels like the perfect way to kick off taking my author self more seriously, and I'm eager to see what unfolds.

After my January break, I won't be publishing posts behind a paywall unless a piece feels particularly sensitive and private (and I feel like I need a safe place to share it). Next year, I’ll still be showing up here, but I will no longer be committing to a set number of free or paid posts, meaning I won’t be posting weekly. I’ve struggled with this decision and felt guilty as if I'm letting my readers down or not doing enough. However, it’s the only way for me to honor both this space and FOCUS on my future writing goals. I’ll write as inspiration strikes, grateful that my writing still has a home here. I share this to be transparent so you know what you can expect from this newsletter moving forward.

You're still welcome to support my work with a paid subscription simply because you want to support my writing. Every subscriber is special to me, and I hope you'll continue to support me in whatever way feels right for you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading and commenting and sharing a piece of yourself with me. I’m sure you'll be hearing from me soon, as the writing always calls. I hope you'll be here when it does.