Last Friday, I got to sit across a Zoom screen at work with someone on the verge of a mental breakdown. The conversation was totally unexpected. But once it went there, we were there. I listened, gave space, and prayed that I would have the right words.

"I feel so trapped."

"I can't talk to anyone."

"The thought of taking a break gives me anxiety."

I thought back to the last time I had felt that way. Trapped. It was so isolating, so suffocating.

But in my experience, the things we feel like we can't say or talk to someone else about are the exact things we most need to discuss. It's how we break the seal to let out enough pressure so we can think clearly again. It's how we find the strength to fight through it.

That work conversation was on my mind all weekend. I decided to use it as fuel for this week's letter. I dove into exploring feelings I didn't think I could express to others and a time when I felt trapped. I turned it into a poem called Manifestation?

Poetry Aflame: Snippets of my poetry practice capturing bright and lively personal reflections.

"How's year two in the new house going?" My dad asked while we FaceTimed.
I laughed, shocked.
There was no way he knew I was up till 1 am the night before writing about this. Right?

I'd jotted down the flashbulb memory of sitting in my new backyard with him, eating leftover moving day pizza.
"How did it happen, Jen?" he'd said. "You're all grown up."
"I don't know. I kind of feel like a sell out," I said.
"Who cares," he said without a hint of question.
"You will never regret investing in a solid foundation for your kids."

But is this the right foundation?

"We rear-ended someone on our way back from the final walkthrough."
I told my mom as we sat stalled in a traffic jam, watching emergency personnel tend to an intersection crash.
"It felt like a bad omen," I added.
We didn't need to say why car accident risk weighs heavily.
We saw two more severe car crashes that move-in weekend.

Two weeks into living in our new home, I slipped on the last step to the basement.
At 26 weeks pregnant, my loose tendons let my ankle twist
and snapped off a piece of bone.
That night was the first night I didn't put my son to bed, unable to climb the stairs.

I had gotten what I wanted and worked so hard for.
And it felt like everything was falling apart.

Rewind to two years earlier, when my son was a baby.
I was standing in the kitchen on Mesa Verde.
Opening the freezer, a desire crystallized into a thought that I could articulate:
I want to provide for you.

I did the mental math.
It would be five years before we could buy another house at our current rate.
I wanted to accelerate that.
Looking back, that moment in the kitchen was when I decided to return to full-time employment.
I just didn't realize it yet.

Something deep in me believed I had been encoded with the wrong desire.
Provision is too masculine, I thought.

I wrestled hard with my ideals of what a good mom looked like, and how I was supposed to weigh my options and decisions.
I'm supposed to choose to always be with my kids, right?
I felt guilt and shame for wanting something material when I had the most divine gift in my arms.

Fast forward to being in the dream house.
I was literally trapped inside it—unable to drive away, walk around, or move from floor to floor.

Did I manifest my dream house?
And also my worst fears about it?

Chaos and car crashes from longer commutes.
Separation from sleeping on other sides of the staircase.
Loss of lively local life we saw looking out our window.

Will I regret what I traded to get this house?
Are my priorities out of whack?

Those questions were dripped in fear and rattled in my brain.
I interrogated this from every angle, I reminded myself.

"I'm not doing too good," was my opener to a friend that called out of the blue a year ago.
I sat in the same chair that I'm sitting in now, with my casted leg propped up.
It was the moment I confronted the tension.
It was the moment I realized that something needed to change.

It was the moment I began to manifest a resolution to my shame and unworthiness.

This world will shame you for success just as much as it shames you for failure.
One thing that only I can provide my kids is a mom who refuses to let shame overshadow life's ups and downs.
I want to give them the foundation of intentionality, self-confidence and self-acceptance—I know I'll never regret that.

How is year #2 going in my new house?
Wonderfully.
Beautifully.
As I had hoped, with added blessings I didn't even think to hope for.

I didn't grow up by getting the dream house
but by learning to live in it.

Burning Questions: Have a creativity or career question? Respond to this email and ask! You can remain totally anonymous if you’d like!

I got this question from a recent career coaching prospect—we’ll call her Heidi. It capture the feeling of being trapped in a “good” situation.

Despite being in the "best job" of her life, something didn't sit right.

🚀 Heidi's Dilemma:

Heidi was rationalizing her dissatisfaction, a sign she was ready for a change but held back by the question: "Do I deserve better?"

✨ Breakthrough Moment: Heidi realized she was more than capable of seeking something that truly fulfilled her. It wasn't about entitlement; it was about acknowledging her worth and aspirations.

🔑 Key Takeaway: Your job should serve you as much as you serve it. Whether it's negotiating for what you need, exploring passions outside of work, or taking a well-deserved break, remember – you're in charge of your career path.

🌟 Remember, high-performing creatives often undervalue their power. Yes, be grateful for a good job. But don't let it define your potential. You are the architect of your destiny, not your employer.

Heidi's story is a powerful reminder: It's okay to want more. You're not ungrateful; you're ambitious. And that's a trait worth embracing.

💭 Can you relate to Heidi's journey?

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