I appreciate this take, Jessy, because you clarify why writing our stories feels exhausting and depleting. It's because trauma lives in our bodies and when the stories come to our consciousness, the trapped trauma responds. This was such an important and valuable revelation you shared with us today. Thank you for that. And for all you are doing to share your story.
Thank you for reading, Jeannie. It’s taken me years to understand that the exhaustion isn’t a flaw—it’s a response. The body remembers, and when we write from the deep places, we’re doing so much more than putting words on a page. We’re metabolizing what was never fully processed. I’m so glad this resonated with you. We’re not alone in this work, and that makes all the difference.
Incredible wisdom, Jessy. It’s good you are sharing this with others, because I have a feeling there are many reading your story who haven’t quite understood why writing their trauma is so hard for them. You have shed light on something important that might help other writers recognize where the trauma lives in them and how to tend to it with kindness.
I think for a long time I resisted owning that part of myself, but the more I walk alongside others through this work, the more I realize how sacred it is. There’s something so powerful about bearing witness to someone else’s truth as they learn to hold it with both hands. If I can help create a little more space, a little more safety for that process… then I feel like I’m doing what I came here to do.
Yes, I believe so strongly—based on what you and I have been conversing about here—that you are already doing this, Jessy. If you need support in any way, I’m inviting you to reach out to me. I love to celebrate others, encourage them, help them when they feel stuck or alone, and I would love to be that person for you.
Oof. That last line really got me. This is exactly why I share what I share. I want people to be able to write about the hard things without losing themselves in the process. To let the stories that have lived in their bodies for so long finally have somewhere to go. I believe writing can be such a powerful path to healing, not because it fixes everything, but because it gives us a way to tend to our pain with compassion. Thank you for seeing the heart of this.
It sounds to me like you might have a calling within a calling here, Jessy. What I mean is, not only are you meant to share your specific story, but maybe you are also meant to help others heal by way of writing through their own traumatic experiences. That is a very specific task and important work.
Thank you. That really resonates. I’ve been feeling this deeper pull for a while now—not just to tell my story, but to hold space for others to tell theirs. Writing through trauma is such sacred, necessary work, and I know how lonely it can feel. If there’s something I can offer that makes the process feel a little more possible, a little less isolating, then that feels like work worth doing. I appreciate you naming it so clearly.
That’s really a beautiful gift you can give others, Jessy—to help walk with each person who is trying to navigate and alchemize their pain through the written word and storytelling. It takes a special person to be able to do that, and I am glad you recognize that ability in yourself.
Hi Jessy. I’ve been following along with you on Instagram for a couple years. I found you through my darling friend/photographer Mari. Thank you for putting your story down on paper and going through all the emotions that came with that. Your story is worthy of being shared. You are such a talented and genuine writer. I very much look forward to each chapter you post.
Thank you so much for this. It means a lot that you’ve been following along all this time (and Mari is an absolute gem, isn’t she? Ugh, I love her.). Writing this story has cracked me open in so many ways, and hearing that it’s landing with someone is everything. I’m so grateful you’re here and reading along.
Thank you so much for writing this💖 I have a different childhood story from yours but the constant fear and its effect on the writing process is the exact same. I dissociate a lot, it can get extremely hard at certain times, especially when I’m depicting hard feelings and it can feel like a burden. But I keep showing up, and progess in my own pace
That constant fear we carried… it really does imprint itself in the body, and when we write, it can feel like we’re living it all over again. Dissociation is such a real and wise response. And I love that you’re still showing up, honoring your own pace. That’s everything. You’re not alone in it, and I’m cheering you on as you keep returning to the page.
You touched my heart Jessy. When I wrote about all the agony I survived, it made me feel unsettled and sick. But I had to do it, to free me from the bonds.
Every word of this. I started writing my memoir in 2021 about abuse and addiction. I did okay with some of the early addiction stuff, but shut down when it was time to talk about the abuse. It's now been two years since then, I am trying to make sense of all the frantic scurrying I did to keep myself safe rather than write, but I am slowly finding my voice again. The courage and honesty of other writers on Substack has helped, and none more than this piece. Thank you for being here and sharing your strength and wisdom with us. I am between jobs right now, but as soon as I get income again, I can't wait to read your book.
Thank you so much for sharing this. The body has its own timeline for truth-telling, and sometimes safety looks like silence for a little while. There’s no shame in that. All those moments of frantic scurrying were acts of protection. You kept yourself safe. And now, little by little, you’re letting your voice return. That’s powerful, love. I’m so moved that this piece helped you feel less alone in that process. And I’m cheering you on as you keep returning to the page, in your own time, in your own way.
I’d love to hear more about where you are with your memoir, what’s coming up, what’s feeling possible again. Are you still working on it? I created a gentle, body-based framework to help with exactly this—writing through the fear and freeze, staying with yourself when it gets hard. I’ll be offering it soon here on Substack, but if you feel like it might be supportive, I’m happy to send it your way when you’re ready. No pressure at all. Just here if it’s helpful.
Thank you so much for these wise, kind words! I eventually realized that in order to continue telling my story, I would need to first forgive myself for emerging from addiction alive and intact when some of my loved ones didn't, and then for all the ways I have kept myself safe over the years, whether abandoning myself in small ways or even having to temporarily step away from my writing as an act of self-protection and, ultimately, self-love. I've been creeping back toward my memoir by working on some smaller pieces and publishing them here, and right now I'm working on one that will eventually go in a later chapter of my memoir. I still have not returned to the chapter I left hanging, but I feel okay about that - I know it will come when it's supposed to!
I so appreciate how seen your comment makes me feel, and knowing that other writers have been able to alchemize these feelings into words is so powerful! I am reading a book about resetting the nervous system, but it's dense and science-y. I tend to relate much better to more emotive writing, so would love to read your body-based offering! Thank you so much!!
There’s something so profound, so quietly radical, about the moment we choose to forgive ourselves. Especially what you’re talking about, love. That kind of forgiveness isn’t passive… it’s an active reclamation of your own life. It’s the foundation that allows the rest of the story to rise.
I think it takes immense courage to not just revisit our hardest truths, but to meet ourselves there with compassion instead of critique. That shift is everything. You’re doing it. And I’m so inspired by your strength. Thank you for sharing this with me. I’d love to read your work when it’s ready.
Thank you so much! I’m gonna check this out tomorrow morning in my quiet holy writing hour (there’s nothing like that hour!) - it looks peaceful and empowering and I can’t wait to experience that!
I’ll definitely give you a shout out when the piece in question is live. In the meantime, I’m gonna sit with the phrase “active reclamation of your own life.” That, too, is so empowering. Thanks for being here!
Jessie, this really spoke to me. I’ve just finished my own memoir and haven’t yet been bold enough to publish to more than friends and family. It’s about my own trauma response -hallucinations and warped tricks of the memory kept me in an alcoholic haze for 30 years. Love to trade notes offline.
Wow, thank you for sharing that with me. Finishing your memoir is such a huge, brave thing. Truly. And the tenderness of holding it close for now, I really get that. Memory, trauma, and altered states are such complex terrain to write through. There is no rush, love. Take your time and give yourself grace. Feel free to reach out. I'm an open book. Cheering you on so hard.
When I was writing my brief biography for my Trauma-Informed Breathwork Facilitator training, right at the beginning for ages 0-7, I got up and cleaned the house and didn't go back for months. I didn't even realize at the time that I'd gotten up and walked away. I still have no memory of my really early years, but that myself at 3 years old still doesn't feel quite safe enough to come to me and be held. I continue to slowly let that sweet, sweet girl know that I'm here when she's ready.
I feel this so much. It’s wild how we can step away from the page without even realizing it—how our bodies just know when something’s too much. I love the tenderness in how you're holding space for that 3-year-old version of you. That kind of patience and presence is everything. Also, your breathwork facilitator training sounds incredible. I'd really love to hear more about it if you're open to sharing. Breathwork has been such a powerful tool for me in moving through fear and coming back to my body while writing.
I actually created a gentle framework I use when the stories get hard. It's kind of a blend of nervous system care and creative practice. I’m going to share it here next month, but happy to send it your way if it feels supportive. No pressure at all.
Thank you for sharing so much of YOU. I, too, struggle with so much of what you said - much of it felt like pages from my own journal. I am trying to be brave.
Thank you for sharing that. It really means a lot. And honestly, just trying to be brave IS brave. I feel like so many of us are just figuring it out as we go, doing our best to stay honest with ourselves. I'm really glad something in what I wrote resonated. It’s always comforting to feel less alone in it.
I’ve actually created a gentle framework to help move through fear when writing the hard things—a process I leaned on again and again as I wrote my memoir. I’ll be officially launching it here on Substack next month, but if you’re curious, I’d be happy to send you the link now. No pressure at all—just here if it feels like something you might need.
Wow Jessy, thank you. This message came to me exactly when I need it, as I begin to sit with mine and my son’s story. You have such a beautiful way with words and storytelling. Thank you for your medicine 🤍
Aw, Scarlett. You're such a light. I'm so moved that these words met you in this moment. Sitting with your story, and your son’s, takes such courage. It’s no small thing, doing this kind of work. Please know I’m here if you ever need deeper support or guidance as you move through it. You don’t have to carry it alone. Truly. I’m holding you in my heart as you write.
I feel this so deeply. That wave of exhaustion is so real and so often misunderstood. When we try to write something that holds emotional weight, our bodies sometimes go into protection mode. What’s helped me is learning to work with that response instead of pushing through it by finding small, grounded ways back to the page that don’t override the body, but support it. I actually put together a gentle framework that walks through the exact tools I use to write through fear and stay with myself in the process. I'll be launching the offering here on Substack soon, but would be happy to send you the link if that sounds helpful. Just say the word.
This framework really came out of my own need to find a way to move through the fear and tenderness of writing the hard things. It’s what helped me write the memoir, and what I still use whenever the words feel too big to hold. Here’s the link if it feels supportive for where you are right now. https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
It’s wild how writing something emotionally true can feel like physical labor—like each paragraph is its own little mountain. Your body is doing the heavy lifting of truth-telling. Be so gentle with yourself, love. You’re moving something real.
I’m so sorry this story belongs to you, but I’m so grateful that you’re sharing it. It matters. You matter. And you’re a beautiful writer. I’ve had the same roadblocks telling my own story, and I will take your advice with me.
Thank you so much for this! As hard as it was (and still is—hello, weekly therapy bills), I honestly carry so much gratitude for my story. It’s mine. It made me who I am. And I really like who I am now. I know I’m a more present mother because of it. A deeper friend. A better partner (…on most days).
And I’m so touched that this resonated with you. I know how hard it can be to face the page when the story is heavy. That’s actually why I ended up creating a process for myself—something I come back to every time fear shows up and tries to shut me down. It’s gentle and grounding, more nervous-system support than writing advice, really. I’ll be sharing the offering soon here on Substack, but if it sounds like something that might help, I’d be happy to send you the link.
Yes! There are always gifts that come from our pain. I feel the same about my own -- I'm definitely a better mother for it, and all around a better person too. You are a cycle breaker and that is no easy road.
The idea that our hardships don't happen to us, but rather, happen for us, is a reframe that has helped me along my journey. Every painful experience is a catalyst for personal growth and our soul's evolution. You are a strong and bold spirit. <3
I would love the link when you're ready to share! Thanks, Jessy!
That’s such a powerful reframe, and I’m right there with you. Grateful for the growth, even when it came through fire. And thank you for naming the cycle-breaking for what it is: sacred, exhausting, necessary work. I appreciate you seeing me. Here’s a link to the framework I created that’s been guiding me through this kind of writing. https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
It’s the process that carried me through the memoir itself, through writing about birth trauma, and it’s still what I return to as I share the more behind-the-scenes layers of each chapter.
Aw, Bryn! Thank you. That really means a lot. I actually wrote this piece yesterday morning, and later that day I joined a writing workshop on Zoom. We get a prompt or two and then have just 5–10 minutes to write, which has always felt so hard for me. That kind of fast, pressure-cooked writing never flows easily.
Everyone reads their work aloud afterward, and it’s always so beautiful, so detailed and visceral and felt. And I’m just sitting there thinking, How did you write that in five minutes?! It would’ve taken me at least an hour, probably more.
Cue my inner critic… See? You’re not a real writer. Real writers can write like that. It’s brutal, honestly, to still feel like I can’t do the thing I love to do, but I just keep showing up anyway. I write through the doubt because I know I couldn’t live without writing, and I hold onto the hope that somewhere, someone finds what they need in the words.
I know from years of teaching that critical responses are much better when specific, so here they are. Your writing is engaging, keeps me moving through your thoughts. Excellent! Resonance comes indirectly with your childhood. My wonderful parents who I love dearly—both long gone from this physical realm—were both alcoholics, and it shortened both of their lives. I and my sister suffered deep trauma from this. It was so confusing that our parents loved us but somewhat neglected us and we did not live in a very nice place. Suffice it to say I understand, even if much less serious than yours, your young life. Awakening to my Heart has allowed me for many years now to reframe the story of my childhood—not deny it or change it—and my parents’ love. I am filled with gratitude for all I understand and have experienced. Thanks again for sharing. And no response required—I just saw your comment and thought, “Wow! what a bare statement I made. All the best
This made me emotional. Thank you so much for sharing this with me. The complexity of being loved and neglected at the same time is something I feel deeply in my bones, and I’m always moved when someone sees that and reflects it back with such honesty. Your words about reframing without denying really struck me. What a powerful, compassionate way to hold the truth.
And please don’t diminish your own experience by saying it was “less serious.” Your story, your pain, your healing—it’s all deeply important. There’s no hierarchy in heartbreak. What matters is that you felt it, lived it, and are still here holding it with so much grace. I’m honored that my writing resonated with you, and truly grateful for your presence here.
I'm writing about my experience in a cult church. The pastor sexual assaulted several of the women and went to jail. He had my husband dating other women. It nearly decimated my marriage. It's tough to write about. But your article helped me. I get the distractions and physical discomfort. Telling myself I'm in a safe place will help. My writing coach tells us to wrote scared. Just write.
I appreciate this take, Jessy, because you clarify why writing our stories feels exhausting and depleting. It's because trauma lives in our bodies and when the stories come to our consciousness, the trapped trauma responds. This was such an important and valuable revelation you shared with us today. Thank you for that. And for all you are doing to share your story.
Thank you for reading, Jeannie. It’s taken me years to understand that the exhaustion isn’t a flaw—it’s a response. The body remembers, and when we write from the deep places, we’re doing so much more than putting words on a page. We’re metabolizing what was never fully processed. I’m so glad this resonated with you. We’re not alone in this work, and that makes all the difference.
Incredible wisdom, Jessy. It’s good you are sharing this with others, because I have a feeling there are many reading your story who haven’t quite understood why writing their trauma is so hard for them. You have shed light on something important that might help other writers recognize where the trauma lives in them and how to tend to it with kindness.
I think for a long time I resisted owning that part of myself, but the more I walk alongside others through this work, the more I realize how sacred it is. There’s something so powerful about bearing witness to someone else’s truth as they learn to hold it with both hands. If I can help create a little more space, a little more safety for that process… then I feel like I’m doing what I came here to do.
Yes, I believe so strongly—based on what you and I have been conversing about here—that you are already doing this, Jessy. If you need support in any way, I’m inviting you to reach out to me. I love to celebrate others, encourage them, help them when they feel stuck or alone, and I would love to be that person for you.
Aww that means a lot. I’d absolutely love that!
You’re welcome, Jessy. I mean every word. Truly.
Oof. That last line really got me. This is exactly why I share what I share. I want people to be able to write about the hard things without losing themselves in the process. To let the stories that have lived in their bodies for so long finally have somewhere to go. I believe writing can be such a powerful path to healing, not because it fixes everything, but because it gives us a way to tend to our pain with compassion. Thank you for seeing the heart of this.
It sounds to me like you might have a calling within a calling here, Jessy. What I mean is, not only are you meant to share your specific story, but maybe you are also meant to help others heal by way of writing through their own traumatic experiences. That is a very specific task and important work.
Thank you. That really resonates. I’ve been feeling this deeper pull for a while now—not just to tell my story, but to hold space for others to tell theirs. Writing through trauma is such sacred, necessary work, and I know how lonely it can feel. If there’s something I can offer that makes the process feel a little more possible, a little less isolating, then that feels like work worth doing. I appreciate you naming it so clearly.
That’s really a beautiful gift you can give others, Jessy—to help walk with each person who is trying to navigate and alchemize their pain through the written word and storytelling. It takes a special person to be able to do that, and I am glad you recognize that ability in yourself.
Hi Jessy. I’ve been following along with you on Instagram for a couple years. I found you through my darling friend/photographer Mari. Thank you for putting your story down on paper and going through all the emotions that came with that. Your story is worthy of being shared. You are such a talented and genuine writer. I very much look forward to each chapter you post.
Thank you so much for this. It means a lot that you’ve been following along all this time (and Mari is an absolute gem, isn’t she? Ugh, I love her.). Writing this story has cracked me open in so many ways, and hearing that it’s landing with someone is everything. I’m so grateful you’re here and reading along.
Thank you so much for writing this💖 I have a different childhood story from yours but the constant fear and its effect on the writing process is the exact same. I dissociate a lot, it can get extremely hard at certain times, especially when I’m depicting hard feelings and it can feel like a burden. But I keep showing up, and progess in my own pace
That constant fear we carried… it really does imprint itself in the body, and when we write, it can feel like we’re living it all over again. Dissociation is such a real and wise response. And I love that you’re still showing up, honoring your own pace. That’s everything. You’re not alone in it, and I’m cheering you on as you keep returning to the page.
💖💖💖
You touched my heart Jessy. When I wrote about all the agony I survived, it made me feel unsettled and sick. But I had to do it, to free me from the bonds.
Sending love.
Yesssss sometimes the only way out is through. I’m so proud of you for going there, for writing it anyway.
I love your posts!!
Thank you! I appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts here.
Every word of this. I started writing my memoir in 2021 about abuse and addiction. I did okay with some of the early addiction stuff, but shut down when it was time to talk about the abuse. It's now been two years since then, I am trying to make sense of all the frantic scurrying I did to keep myself safe rather than write, but I am slowly finding my voice again. The courage and honesty of other writers on Substack has helped, and none more than this piece. Thank you for being here and sharing your strength and wisdom with us. I am between jobs right now, but as soon as I get income again, I can't wait to read your book.
Thank you so much for sharing this. The body has its own timeline for truth-telling, and sometimes safety looks like silence for a little while. There’s no shame in that. All those moments of frantic scurrying were acts of protection. You kept yourself safe. And now, little by little, you’re letting your voice return. That’s powerful, love. I’m so moved that this piece helped you feel less alone in that process. And I’m cheering you on as you keep returning to the page, in your own time, in your own way.
I’d love to hear more about where you are with your memoir, what’s coming up, what’s feeling possible again. Are you still working on it? I created a gentle, body-based framework to help with exactly this—writing through the fear and freeze, staying with yourself when it gets hard. I’ll be offering it soon here on Substack, but if you feel like it might be supportive, I’m happy to send it your way when you’re ready. No pressure at all. Just here if it’s helpful.
Thank you so much for these wise, kind words! I eventually realized that in order to continue telling my story, I would need to first forgive myself for emerging from addiction alive and intact when some of my loved ones didn't, and then for all the ways I have kept myself safe over the years, whether abandoning myself in small ways or even having to temporarily step away from my writing as an act of self-protection and, ultimately, self-love. I've been creeping back toward my memoir by working on some smaller pieces and publishing them here, and right now I'm working on one that will eventually go in a later chapter of my memoir. I still have not returned to the chapter I left hanging, but I feel okay about that - I know it will come when it's supposed to!
I so appreciate how seen your comment makes me feel, and knowing that other writers have been able to alchemize these feelings into words is so powerful! I am reading a book about resetting the nervous system, but it's dense and science-y. I tend to relate much better to more emotive writing, so would love to read your body-based offering! Thank you so much!!
There’s something so profound, so quietly radical, about the moment we choose to forgive ourselves. Especially what you’re talking about, love. That kind of forgiveness isn’t passive… it’s an active reclamation of your own life. It’s the foundation that allows the rest of the story to rise.
I think it takes immense courage to not just revisit our hardest truths, but to meet ourselves there with compassion instead of critique. That shift is everything. You’re doing it. And I’m so inspired by your strength. Thank you for sharing this with me. I’d love to read your work when it’s ready.
In the meantime, you can access the framework here: https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
I hope it’s helpful to you.
Thank you so much! I’m gonna check this out tomorrow morning in my quiet holy writing hour (there’s nothing like that hour!) - it looks peaceful and empowering and I can’t wait to experience that!
I’ll definitely give you a shout out when the piece in question is live. In the meantime, I’m gonna sit with the phrase “active reclamation of your own life.” That, too, is so empowering. Thanks for being here!
Ohhh a quiet holy hour. That’s so vital. I’m so glad you’ve carved that out for yourself. 🔥 it’s def a lifeline for me.
Jessie, this really spoke to me. I’ve just finished my own memoir and haven’t yet been bold enough to publish to more than friends and family. It’s about my own trauma response -hallucinations and warped tricks of the memory kept me in an alcoholic haze for 30 years. Love to trade notes offline.
Wow, thank you for sharing that with me. Finishing your memoir is such a huge, brave thing. Truly. And the tenderness of holding it close for now, I really get that. Memory, trauma, and altered states are such complex terrain to write through. There is no rush, love. Take your time and give yourself grace. Feel free to reach out. I'm an open book. Cheering you on so hard.
"not pressure to make it pretty, but true."
When I was writing my brief biography for my Trauma-Informed Breathwork Facilitator training, right at the beginning for ages 0-7, I got up and cleaned the house and didn't go back for months. I didn't even realize at the time that I'd gotten up and walked away. I still have no memory of my really early years, but that myself at 3 years old still doesn't feel quite safe enough to come to me and be held. I continue to slowly let that sweet, sweet girl know that I'm here when she's ready.
Thank you for sharing your story.
I feel this so much. It’s wild how we can step away from the page without even realizing it—how our bodies just know when something’s too much. I love the tenderness in how you're holding space for that 3-year-old version of you. That kind of patience and presence is everything. Also, your breathwork facilitator training sounds incredible. I'd really love to hear more about it if you're open to sharing. Breathwork has been such a powerful tool for me in moving through fear and coming back to my body while writing.
I actually created a gentle framework I use when the stories get hard. It's kind of a blend of nervous system care and creative practice. I’m going to share it here next month, but happy to send it your way if it feels supportive. No pressure at all.
Thank you for sharing so much of YOU. I, too, struggle with so much of what you said - much of it felt like pages from my own journal. I am trying to be brave.
Thank you for sharing that. It really means a lot. And honestly, just trying to be brave IS brave. I feel like so many of us are just figuring it out as we go, doing our best to stay honest with ourselves. I'm really glad something in what I wrote resonated. It’s always comforting to feel less alone in it.
I’ve actually created a gentle framework to help move through fear when writing the hard things—a process I leaned on again and again as I wrote my memoir. I’ll be officially launching it here on Substack next month, but if you’re curious, I’d be happy to send you the link now. No pressure at all—just here if it feels like something you might need.
I’d be happy to receive any guidance ♥️
Here's the link, love. I hope it's helpful to you. https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
Wow Jessy, thank you. This message came to me exactly when I need it, as I begin to sit with mine and my son’s story. You have such a beautiful way with words and storytelling. Thank you for your medicine 🤍
Aw, Scarlett. You're such a light. I'm so moved that these words met you in this moment. Sitting with your story, and your son’s, takes such courage. It’s no small thing, doing this kind of work. Please know I’m here if you ever need deeper support or guidance as you move through it. You don’t have to carry it alone. Truly. I’m holding you in my heart as you write.
Resonates with me. Every time I sit down to write “the story” I’m overcome with exhaustion.
I feel this so deeply. That wave of exhaustion is so real and so often misunderstood. When we try to write something that holds emotional weight, our bodies sometimes go into protection mode. What’s helped me is learning to work with that response instead of pushing through it by finding small, grounded ways back to the page that don’t override the body, but support it. I actually put together a gentle framework that walks through the exact tools I use to write through fear and stay with myself in the process. I'll be launching the offering here on Substack soon, but would be happy to send you the link if that sounds helpful. Just say the word.
Jessy would love the link💕
This framework really came out of my own need to find a way to move through the fear and tenderness of writing the hard things. It’s what helped me write the memoir, and what I still use whenever the words feel too big to hold. Here’s the link if it feels supportive for where you are right now. https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
Yes! The exhaustion! I feel like an intense weight on my shoulders and like I need a nap after every paragraph I write.
It’s wild how writing something emotionally true can feel like physical labor—like each paragraph is its own little mountain. Your body is doing the heavy lifting of truth-telling. Be so gentle with yourself, love. You’re moving something real.
I’m so sorry this story belongs to you, but I’m so grateful that you’re sharing it. It matters. You matter. And you’re a beautiful writer. I’ve had the same roadblocks telling my own story, and I will take your advice with me.
🙏
Thank you so much for this! As hard as it was (and still is—hello, weekly therapy bills), I honestly carry so much gratitude for my story. It’s mine. It made me who I am. And I really like who I am now. I know I’m a more present mother because of it. A deeper friend. A better partner (…on most days).
And I’m so touched that this resonated with you. I know how hard it can be to face the page when the story is heavy. That’s actually why I ended up creating a process for myself—something I come back to every time fear shows up and tries to shut me down. It’s gentle and grounding, more nervous-system support than writing advice, really. I’ll be sharing the offering soon here on Substack, but if it sounds like something that might help, I’d be happy to send you the link.
Yes! There are always gifts that come from our pain. I feel the same about my own -- I'm definitely a better mother for it, and all around a better person too. You are a cycle breaker and that is no easy road.
The idea that our hardships don't happen to us, but rather, happen for us, is a reframe that has helped me along my journey. Every painful experience is a catalyst for personal growth and our soul's evolution. You are a strong and bold spirit. <3
I would love the link when you're ready to share! Thanks, Jessy!
That’s such a powerful reframe, and I’m right there with you. Grateful for the growth, even when it came through fire. And thank you for naming the cycle-breaking for what it is: sacred, exhausting, necessary work. I appreciate you seeing me. Here’s a link to the framework I created that’s been guiding me through this kind of writing. https://stan.store/jessyeaston/p/the-feartoflow-framework
It’s the process that carried me through the memoir itself, through writing about birth trauma, and it’s still what I return to as I share the more behind-the-scenes layers of each chapter.
Thank you so much! 🙏
I just love the way you write.
Aw, Bryn! Thank you. That really means a lot. I actually wrote this piece yesterday morning, and later that day I joined a writing workshop on Zoom. We get a prompt or two and then have just 5–10 minutes to write, which has always felt so hard for me. That kind of fast, pressure-cooked writing never flows easily.
Everyone reads their work aloud afterward, and it’s always so beautiful, so detailed and visceral and felt. And I’m just sitting there thinking, How did you write that in five minutes?! It would’ve taken me at least an hour, probably more.
Cue my inner critic… See? You’re not a real writer. Real writers can write like that. It’s brutal, honestly, to still feel like I can’t do the thing I love to do, but I just keep showing up anyway. I write through the doubt because I know I couldn’t live without writing, and I hold onto the hope that somewhere, someone finds what they need in the words.
So thank you. Truly.
Thank you for this, Jessy. It resonates with me, for sure. All the best
Thanks for reading! So glad to hear it resonated with you.
I know from years of teaching that critical responses are much better when specific, so here they are. Your writing is engaging, keeps me moving through your thoughts. Excellent! Resonance comes indirectly with your childhood. My wonderful parents who I love dearly—both long gone from this physical realm—were both alcoholics, and it shortened both of their lives. I and my sister suffered deep trauma from this. It was so confusing that our parents loved us but somewhat neglected us and we did not live in a very nice place. Suffice it to say I understand, even if much less serious than yours, your young life. Awakening to my Heart has allowed me for many years now to reframe the story of my childhood—not deny it or change it—and my parents’ love. I am filled with gratitude for all I understand and have experienced. Thanks again for sharing. And no response required—I just saw your comment and thought, “Wow! what a bare statement I made. All the best
This made me emotional. Thank you so much for sharing this with me. The complexity of being loved and neglected at the same time is something I feel deeply in my bones, and I’m always moved when someone sees that and reflects it back with such honesty. Your words about reframing without denying really struck me. What a powerful, compassionate way to hold the truth.
And please don’t diminish your own experience by saying it was “less serious.” Your story, your pain, your healing—it’s all deeply important. There’s no hierarchy in heartbreak. What matters is that you felt it, lived it, and are still here holding it with so much grace. I’m honored that my writing resonated with you, and truly grateful for your presence here.
Thank you, Jessy
I'm writing about my experience in a cult church. The pastor sexual assaulted several of the women and went to jail. He had my husband dating other women. It nearly decimated my marriage. It's tough to write about. But your article helped me. I get the distractions and physical discomfort. Telling myself I'm in a safe place will help. My writing coach tells us to wrote scared. Just write.