Stronger Together Newsletters

Another positive of social distancing… time to create HILARIOUS (and powerful) newsletters. I started because one of my Warriors was having tough day. The newsletters were well received so I continued as a way to share bite-sized healthy habits.

Please share these newsletters with someone you care about. We are #StrongerTogether

Pain is Inevitable. Suffering is Optional.

One of the biggest recent ‘lightbulb’ moments was during a workshop, the speaker said something about how pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. I’ve been sitting on this for a few days. It’s profound. It’s truthful. It’s a bunch of things.

For me, part of the reason why I avoided acknowledging truth was because I was scared of pain. Some days I was in so much pain I honestly thought acknowledging it would kill me. Other days, I was still in pain but realised the only way out was through. I was surrounded by so many people gaslighting me, this was my opportunity to seek truth. Turn into my pain. Acknowledge it. See it. Feel it. Be it. Then let it go.

Last week was emotionally tolling on me. Someone mentioned a statistic that domestic violence cases rose 400% since the nation implemented ‘shelter at home’. 9 weeks. 9 weeks?! I’ll be the first to argue the nuances of abuse. I’ll be the first to offer tools to move through it. I’ll also be the first to step in and fight battles I have zero business being involved in (I’m working on this last part).

My heart sank. Not for me but for each person going through difficulties. Each person suffering in silence. I suffered for a very long time. I didn’t realise I was being abused. I wasn’t ready to acknowledge (or process) a life of half truths. I didn’t realise I was worthy of peace. I didn’t realise I was enough. I accepted the words of people telling me I was not enough. I tried to be perfect. I did the best with what I had. I also trained myself to find the silver lining in all situations. I allowed myself to suffer. I forgive myself for allowing it to happen for so long. I suffered by staying in this space rather than move through it.

Suffering was learning how to be invisible and dampening my quirks. 400%. A week later, my heart still feels all sorts of ways. A National statistic. It’s ridiculous. It’s sickening. Imagine all the people who are not even part of the statistic because they have not broken their silence?! Insanity.

I have been using my platform to continue to raise awareness. I’ve been hosting conversations about both Domestic Violence and Mental Health. May is mental health awareness month. I still go back and forth with ignorance. Can trauma be so bad the ego legitimately refuses self to acknowledge truth? Without truth, how can one move through? How does one end suffering? A few years ago I was very triggered with telling people I was a survivor of domestic violence. The first year, I REFUSED to call myself a victim. My father tried to kill me, twice. The longer he refuses to acknowledge and move through this with me, the more my heart is able to accept he is OK with it. How can a sane human being be OK with trying to kill their child? Even an adult child. It makes zero sense. I do not have bruises. I do not have broken bones. I do not have visual wounds. I’m a survivor of gun violence. I’m a survivor of emotional abuse. I’m a survivor of psychological warfare. My wounds are invisible. 400% increase in domestic violence cases. Most of which have visual wounds. What about the invisible wounds? What about the survivors of gun violence? What about the people with fear because their life was actually threatened? What about the people who are suffering in silence? My heart breaks. I remember what it felt like to not be seen. I remember what it felt like when no one believed me. I remember what it felt like when the people I confided in treated me like I was broken.

I’m not sure if I’m feeling this sort of way because I remember the extreme pain (and suffering) associated with a healing journey? Or the mass confusion? Perhaps I’m sitting with the memory to rebuild a sense of self whilst having zero idea of what that means?

I’m not sure.

I feel rage. Rage for people suffering in silence. Rage for people dealing with others saying “stay home, save lives”. Rage for people who are being hurt. Rage for people with low self-worth. Rage for people who don’t even recognise they are being abused. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I revealed a wound in need of a bit of TLC.

I feel selfish looking after myself when I should be doing more to help others. And just then, I remind myself the best way to help others is to continue my healing. Continue to stay in my lane. Continue to wait for a phone call…

I cannot help people who do not want to be helped. THIS is where the true pain lays. I spent a majority of my life creating magic for others and now I’m confronted with an opportunity to create magic for myself, resulting in magic for others.

I still desire helping others. Empowering others. My test is patiently waiting for others to ask for my help. Patiently wait for others to seek my support. Until then, I continue to dance in my lane.

It’s difficult to acknowledge pain. For me, it was the ONLY way to end my suffering.

The journey continues.

The ability to articulate abuse is what set me free.

I’ve talked about domestic violence at nauseam. I’ve offered my perspective, my pain, my opinions, my observations and various assumptions of perspectives. I’ve tried my hardest to keep my blog as my feelings and my point of view. My intention has always been two-fold, go through my pain and protect myself.

When I decide to bring people into my blog, it’s not to vent, it’s strategic. It’s because in the event something happens to me, the first place someone will look is my blog. Any competent person would at least look at my blog. To check my mental health then perhaps look for clues on anyone who would want to harm me. And so I blog. Openly. Unapologetically. Honestly. When it comes to my family, they had over a decade to address the violence before I uttered a word on my blog. To friends (or predators), depending on the situation, they are given a few weeks to adjust their treatment towards me.

Emotional abuse is often misunderstood. Perhaps even from my perspective because it makes ZERO FUCKING SENSE. So again, I’ll try to articulate. NO ONE wins with abuse. No one.

  1. My father tried to kill me on two separate occasions. Even up to today, he has refused to acknowledge these ‘situations’. He is a danger to himself, society and to me. Anyone who willingly gives him information about me supports abuse. They have a choice to either give or to not give him information. If they give him information, it means they do not care about my safety or my life. My father has tried to kill me on two separate occasions. It’s simple.
  2. Emotional Abuse is manipulating people into sharing information about others. With my family, my mother believes family is family. My father also believes family is family. I believe once you try to kill me, you are no longer my family. Call me crazy. This is the basis of our “communication breakdown” and when “fights” start.
  3. Emotional Abuse is failing to be consistent. My father allegedly showed remorse to my mother in regards to trying to kill me, their daughter. He tried to kill me on two separate occasions. If he was genuinely remorseful, then he could have apologised direct. Last month, he was offered an opportunity and decided he wasn’t ready to acknowledge trying to kill me, his daughter. Rather than apologise, he decided to give me a lecture on how family is family. I reminded him that until he acknowledges trying to kill me, he is not my family, he is not my father, he is my abuser. Nothing more. Nothing less. My abuser. It’s simple.
  4. Emotional Abuse is convincing someone they do not have another choice. Whether the choice is to stop abuse (make it unacceptable), ignore abuse (denial) or try to cover up the abuse (gaslighting). Each person always has a choice and emotional abuse clouds your mind into thinking the element of choice is no longer yours. You always have a choice. Always.
  5. Emotional Abuse is creating ways to make others suffer. Today is Mother’s Day. To me, no one in my family is allowed in my life until they acknowledge the fact my father tried to kill me on two separate occasions. The longer they deny my reality, the longer we all remain estranged. The lose-lose situation is heartbreaking. If I allow my mother back into my world without respecting my privacy, I put my life at risk. Remember, she believes family is family and has been consistent with giving information about me to my abuser. Refusing to allow my mother into my world plays into her fear of whether or not she is a good mother. This is abuse. This is emotional abuse; Us being together is harmful to me, physically. Us not being together is harmful to her, mentally (and emotionally).

In the world of emotional abuse, this is what happens. Abusers find out what you value and they use it to hurt you. Abusers exploit your emotions. Abusers use you. My mother is being manipulated and abused by my father. He has created another situation to silence her. My father is abusive. My father tried to kill me on two separate occasions. Fathers do NOT try to kill their daughters. This is not normal behaviour. This is not healthy behaviour.

The last time I addressed my father was via an open letter on May 12, 2018. I asked him to leave her alone and let her heal. I do not ask about my abuser because until he is ready to acknowledge trying to kill me, he is not part of my world, nor is he allowed in my world. My abuser continues to ask my mother about me because he is a sick individual with severe control issues. He needs professional help. Over two years have passed since I directly addressed my abuser. Our email exchange last month was the same: his unwillingness to acknowledge the fact he tried to kill me, his daughter. The exchange only transpired because despite being divorced since 2014, he is still using her love for her children to hurt her. My father continues to abuse my mother. My mother allows it.

Mom, I love you. You are a good mother. You are a good woman. When you are ready to understand your worth, I am here to help you. When you are ready to stop allowing him to control you, I am here to help you. I broke free and you can, too. I’m sorry he is still hurting you. I understand co-dependency. I also understand the trauma bond. I very much understand generational trauma. Until you are ready for my help, I’ll continue to do my own inner work. Abuse is NEVER acceptable. He is abusing you. He tried to kill your daughter on two occasions. This should NOT be acceptable to you. The fact he makes you think it is acceptable is wrong. My heart is with you, always. Happy Mother’s Day.

The journey continues…

Are you a Sunday Morning person?

One of the best things about quarantine is realising I was living my ideal life. A life I was actually proud of. It took me 18 months of active building to create this life. A life I did not need to escape. In my flow of doing what made me feel alive. A flow of offering my gifts to the world… A flow of love.

As most people are sat at home thinking about their life and their decisions. I am sat here honouring the last 18 months of healthy decisions. Honestly, there were so many uncomfortable moments. Growth is extremely uncomfortable. I’m familiar with being uncomfortable, mentally and physically. I’m used to frustration resulting in tears. The infamous moment of looking to the sky to proclaim, “I cannot do this. Just tell me what you want?! Show me the way!” As if giving a voice to the moment, the sky opens, the heavens laugh, and the Universe snickers with, ‘I FINALLY got your attention, you stubborn little bugger!’ (It’s been a while since such a proclamation).

I’ve been very focused on building my [fun] hustle life. I’ve been focused on accepting my family life. I have been blissfully ignoring my personal life. Another beautiful realisation. Quarantine is the decision-maker for a life partner. For years, I joked about only taking myself out of celibacy for a Sunday morning person. I’m physically attractive. I would be remiss to ignore the objectifying attention I often get from men. Most days, I can brush it off but deep down, it tugs on my heartstrings when a man only sees the smile in my lips or the way my clothing tugs in certain ways. These men are called Saturday night people. A Sunday morning person offers more depth. They realise the real prize is the space between my ears and the thump in my chest. It’s been a few years, I’m so grateful for the quarantine because it’s exposing the Sunday morning people.

A walk in the park revealed a bunch of things today. To start, people were talking to one another. Eye contact. Intimacy. I haven’t seen this in quite some time. People enjoying their animals. I realise I’m a dog walker so acknowledging people are out playing with their own dog is well, not good for my business but meh. Pet owners can call me when they go on a holiday. Seriously though, a family was celebrating graduation. They made a person out of balloons for their grad. Dogs helped owners make friends. I heard laughter in random places. I’m usually the one laughing and today I heard it from so many places around the park. Families were enjoying time together. One family had some sort of tent, perhaps an adventure for their kids…

Ironically, I’ve been self-isolating. I’ve been minding my business and keeping to myself. In 8 weeks, I offered 80+ virtual fitness classes, joined countless virtual classes, learned some new recipes (banana skin bacon anyone?), caught up on reading, launched 2 coaching programmes, 5 guest speaking gigs, and napping. I’m back on track with giving my soul some TLC. BEING is just as important as DOING. Between all of this, I’ve only left the house 6 times in 8 weeks. Grocery shopping every 2 weeks and then 2 long walks (to the same park). I share in the spirit of personal self-control and minding the rules of social distancing. Plus, I have an essential worker as a housemate so I’m doing my part to reduce the spread.

For the first time in 18 months, I felt my entire outer world is in harmony with my inner world. 18 months of creating and holding boundaries with people who were accustomed to hurting me. 18 months of saying no to abuse or abusive people. 18 months of being ok with making other people uncomfortable (others should feel uncomfortable when they cross a boundary). 18 months of work. Hard work.

Being able to convert Chicago from a place of immense pain into a place of love has been a mission. Chicago is ground zero. Chicago is where my life was threatened on two occasions. First via strangulation and then via loaded gun. I’m a survivor of domestic violence. A majority of my blog has been open processing this chapter of my recovery journey. My mission, #JourneyToPeace.

During the last 18 months, I’ve been greeted with a bunch of adversity. Some people unwilling to accept my new healthy terms, others leveraging my ‘pre-conditioning’ as an invitation to test my healing, others just flat out broken and blissfully unaware of their garbage… and today, it felt right. I was able to witness, en masse, so many human beings choosing LOVE. Doing the little things. Paying attention. Sharing time. Sharing energy. Spreading love.

Quarantine has given me the opportunity to appreciate Sunday morning people. Whether it’s friends, dating, partnerships or tribe. Today, the Universe was offering me a nod. The Universe showed me an entire park filled with Sunday morning people.

Maybe it’s time to open my heart to the idea of dating…

The journey continues.

Detachment: Dancing Through the Storm

The last few days, I’ve been wrapped up in my feels. With the collective awakening, I’m tickled to be in the position I am currently in… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I for one, LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEEE the awakening. The first time I was forced to deal with mortality was in 2004. My first reaction was anger. This is essentially what the world is experiencing. Mass anger (with an unhealthy dose of mass confusion). The second time I was forced to deal with mortality was in 2009. My first reaction was sadness (and confusion). The collective will shift into this space in the coming weeks… The third time I dealt with mortality was self-inflicted. It was pure indifference and I hope the collective skips this step. This time… I’m creating. I’m doing my best to stay connected to self and detached to others. I’m also making sure to be super intentional with what I’m consuming (news, people, energy, food… everything).

I was a digital nomad for a few years so it’s relatively managable for me to adjust to social distancing and what has become the new norm of life via virtual conferencing calls.

Surface level, I am in a good space. This is a massive opportunity to accept truth. I have a funny habit of seeing the potential in others rather than the reality. This global “bump” is making people’s intentions very obvious. Some truths are expected and others are kind of surprising. I honour having a good heart. I’m apprehensive on why I’m surprised with some truths. My rose coloured lens is still strong.

Going a bit deeper, I’m grounded. Mostly grounded. The only real sidestep is with my biological family. After a lifetime of being in denial of family abuse, my mother offered me an apology. I took my time to process this event. To be honest, this is a pretty big deal. The only question was the intention behind the apology. I’m grateful she shared her truth, the concept of family is prioritised over individual wellness. The only request remains for people to stop talking about me behind my back (an 8-year request). My brother and I have been estranged since 2012. My father and I have been estranged since 2017. My mother and I have been estranged since 2018. Domestic violence tends to put a strain on relationships. Especially when the abused refuses to well, accept abuse. I know they are doing the best they can with the tools they have. The truth remains you cannot force what is not meant to be. They are still very unhealthy (for me). My heart continues to hurt for the world they live in. I love them. I love my entire family.

Going even deeper, something is stirring. My dreams have been super active. My sleep is all over the place. My body is aching in places it hasn’t ached before. I’m trying to stay on top of my hydration and open to the Universe. Things are bothering me less. My mind seems to be more similar to ironman processing than trauma led.

I cannot help but remind myself of the training cycle. When I was training for Ironman, I put in the time for swimming, biking, running, nutrition and rest. Rest was a component of training I knew but often forgot. It’s time to take a moment to rest.

Rest and celebrate. I’m in a season of celebrating all things. All the relationships I have been curating. All the love I have been spreading. All the seeds I have been planting. THIS is the time for harvest. I’ve been super blessed to be surrounded by such empowered people.

It’s time to rest and honour the fact the Universe loves me. Super blessed. Super humbled. I know the Universe loves me because it’s offering me opportunities to laugh. Today’s laughter was my red solo cup. When others started arguing over toilet paper, I decided to disengage by silent protest. Rather than use paper, I’ve been cleaning with a red solo cup. Today the water in my cup was cold. I nearly froze my lady bits. I almost fell into the toilet. The Universe always provides a good laugh…

The journey continues…

What is Love? Forgiveness? Reconciliation? Acknowledgement?

I dunno about you but I’m low key excited about this entire coronavirus situation. Is it scary? Yes. Can bad things happen? Possibly. Can good things happen? ABSOLUTELY!!!

As the world goes stark raving mad, I acknowledge I’m in a very unique place. Mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I’m holding space for myself and continuing to look after my wellbeing. I struggled to find helpers so I decided to be one. Whilst waiting for my gym to communicate their decision to group fitness instructors, I opted to test the waters with virtual classes. This was a first. A big first. My decision was to spread love via one of my favourite tools: fitness.

A lot has happened in the last week and it’s time to honour it.

Group Fitness classes were suspended. Since my entire world is filled with self-care practices or hustles that I genuinely LOVE, this stung. I love my students. I love what I do. I love being paid to work out and share my energy with others. Radical truth in this situation means I was going to find out if/how my company values my contributions to the company. Huge opportunity to get swept away in an external validation world.

Family. The disconnect between me and my mother still hurts. She was my person for most aspects of my world. Her absence hurts but I’m doing what I can to manage. Last week, she acknowledged the family abuse. I cannot fault her for ignoring the abuse because I did the same for a very long time. I harboured a bit of resentment when I decided to break my silence. I often forgot even though I was ready to confront the truth, she wasn’t. Now that she acknowledges the abuse, I find myself in a very cautious position. Radical truth is if this is a trap (hoovering) or genuine reconnection? She is still my person, even from afar. How do I lean into this shift? Huge opportunity for something but I’m not exactly sure what…

Community. My dog clients are reaching out to make sure I’m stable through the shutdowns. They are even cheerleaders in helping share my online workout sessions with their friends. My coaching clients are starting to experience wins in abundance and have become friends. (they become friends after successfully graduating my programme). People in big and small ways are showing up. A VERY dear friend opened her home to me as a backup location to host virtual workouts whilst the gyms are closed. So much love. So much love is around me.

A few predators have come around to test the waters. Perhaps to see if I will entertain them. Perhaps to test my healing. Who knows. Who cares. Predators will be predators and continue to do predatory things. They are lesser and lesser which is good. I feel blessed they are disappearing back to the shadows. I’m very much in a space of honouring those that honour me. All of me. Scars and all.

Coronavirus is forcing people to look within. It’s forcing people to be painfully honest with themselves and their life. Do they like what they see in the mirror? If yes, cool. If no, then today is day one. Put in the work. In 2017, I looked in the mirror. I did not like who I saw. Every aspect of my world was created because of someone else. I almost married someone to escape my family. I accepted criticisms and judgement from my family. Most of my friendships were based on what I did for others; so many takers. In 2017, I was not living my best life. I had everything but nothing at the same time. 2017 is when I started my concentrated efforts to do The Work. And now, coronavirus has created an opportunity for others to do The Work. I remember the early days of my personal transformation being a very confusing and chaotic time. Months filled with big emotions I was otherwise very comfortable ignoring. Currently, people are getting bumped and what spills out of their cups is very telling…

As I continue to honour my gifts to the world, I honour the fact that I’m confused. I want nothing more than to see my mother and give her a big bear hug. It’s been a few years and I miss her very much. For the first time, she acknowledged the family abuse. The first time. With a million things to celebrate and a million things to consider, my heart is with her.

I’m not sure what prompted her willingness to acknowledge family abuse. I’m not clear on the test being presented. The Universe is testing me. This much is clear. Is this a step towards reconciliation? Acknowledging family abuse has been a difficult journey filled with countless plot twists. I guess the more difficult the journey, the sweeter the reward. Love is giving someone the opportunity to hurt you but trusting they won’t. No. Everyone is going to hurt you, it’s just a matter of knowing who is worth the pain… No. Love is…

I’m in my heart. I am trying to shut down my head. Trying to slow down my thoughts… When you have wanted something for so long (mended relationship), what do you do when it finally presents itself? All I know is I miss her. Very much. I’m going to stop distracting myself and actually sit with my emotions for a while. I miss her… gosh how I miss my mom.

The journey continues…

Places of trauma are playgrounds for self-discovery

My week has been filled with interactions with love bugs. Perhaps I should allow a powerful conversation to stir a bit but as I do, I’m going to open process. My dear friend asked me about my why? Why Chicago? Of all the places in the world, why Chicago?

WHY? – It’s simple. I know what love feels like. I also know what abuse feels like. One of the first rules of recovery is to remove yourself from whatever was destroying you. My ego wants to challenge this concept. My heart needs to be an example, if anything for those unable to remove themselves from whatever is destroying them. For me, domestic violence is what was destroying me. Chicago is where the abuse took place.

WHY? – Slightly more complicated. I’m a firm believer in the saying, ‘you can take the dog out of the fight but you cannot take the fight out of the dog’. Staying in Chicago is proving to myself and others that it’s OK to love your abusers. It’s ok to miss your abusers. Abuse cycles are filled with ups and downs. When things get calm, that’s when the body tries to sabotage itself. Withdrawal. Subconsciously, we look for ways to compromise our continued health and wellness. We are still learning how to be at rest. We are learning how to simply be. Having love for someone that hurt you does NOT mean they are allowed access to you.

WHY? – It’s complicated. Love an abuser? Really, Jess?! Love an abuser. Yes. Everyone has the capacity to abuse others. Until one does the work to acknowledge the abuser within, they will abuse others. I’ve abused others. Others have abused me. The saying, “hurt people, hurt people” is often said to justify or dismiss abusive behaviour. Supporting personal development and healing, a counter saying: ‘the abuser in me would never do anything to cause you harm. I’ve done too much work on myself to allow that to happen.’ I’m able to understand people are doing the best they can. The plot twist is when the behaviour is targeted. If it’s the best they can, then it’s the same ignorant treatment to everyone. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. When it’s targeted, it’s abuse, not ignorant or hurt behaviour. There is a difference.

WHY? – The journey. Being at peace. Accepting myself and others for where they are. Not potential but actual or reality. In this exact moment. As I continue to expand my heart and love myself, I am breaking cycles. I am setting a new standard for future generations. I am creating a path and priotising health. The light cannot exist without the dark. Both are within, it’s not a case of ‘I do this because others did that.’ It’s the battle within. Is the abuser within still causing harm to self?

WHY? – The truth. Last night, I acknowledged a pain in my heart. Over the last 4 months, one of my housemates was testing boundaries. One of the tests was allegedly contacting my family. At first, I was concerned about this for obvious reasons: my safety. My family has tried to kill me so I needed to really ask myself if I was at risk or in harm’s way. Rational vs emotional mind. Then, as I sat with my emotions, I came to realise I have faith in my guardian angels. No matter what, I’m protected. What was I really concerned about? Truth. I was scared of the truth.

What is the truth? In 2017, I asked my mother if I could move in with her. I was about to walk out of an engagement. I realised I almost made a questionable decision with a life partner because I was refusing to deal with what others commonly said was ‘daddy issues’. Moving back to the USA meant I would have to acknowledge the root cause of my issues. Was it really me or something else? If it was me then, how would I address, heal, move through it? For years, I told myself my father/brother never made efforts towards me because I lived on the other side of the world. Moving back to my hometown removed that excuse. Either they show up or they don’t. They did not. I lost half my family in 2017. Or at least accepted truth on where they stood. 2018, I was in the same situation but with my mother. I have been telling myself my mother wasn’t making an effort because she didn’t know where I lived. I was forced to confront this truth. My email is the same. My phone number is the same. My social media accounts remain public. My mother did not make the effort.

The interesting thing about this revelation, yes, I had an emotional release about this… It wasn’t so much me questioning what to do to be a better daughter or sister. It was acknowledging they are doing the best they can do. It’s acknowledging the more work I do with myself, the more it helps me and them. I’m finally at a place to accept the behaviour of others has absolutely nothing to do with me.

People will continue to try and use me, abuse me, or destroy me. What they try vs what I allow will always be different. Always. I was momentarily caught in the crossfire of self-destructive people. Through their self-destruction, I’m blessed with an opportunity to test my healing. Test my growth. Observe where my mind wanders. Observe where my heart sits. And then catch myself; to repeat old habits or stand in my truth. I have been standing in my truth. It’s 2020. My family can easily access me. No one needs to divulge any details. My family made a choice and continues to make a choice. With each passing day, my heart accepts this truth with a bit more love.

My journey continues…

Bittersweet beginnings

A few years ago I decided to break my silence. I didn’t know what I was walking into. I just knew when I told friends in private, it did not result in safe situations. My options were to continue to ignore the darkness, embrace more darkness or expose all of the darkness in public. The problem with exposing the darkness is… well, society loves to have a villain and a victor. With domestic violence, NO ONE WINS.

Each time I hit publish, part of my heart breaks. It breaks because I got caught in the crossfire of someone lacking tools to productively process their own emotions. Generally speaking, they are doing the best they can. So talking about this hurts my heart. For them. What kind of human being am I to publicly share when someone fails? Why should I be concerned with how they feel? Am I still in a cycle by even considering them or does that simply make me human?

A majority of my blog and sharing has been me openly processing my own story of domestic violence. Coming to terms with everything. Identifying the various types of abuse. Lots of confusion. Remembering to focus on my healing and allow karma to take care of the rest. Feeling heavy because I hate seeing others hurt themselves. But mostly, just wanting the pain to stop.

I completely understand when people commit suicide. I was there at one point in my life. I believed the lies that I was not worthy. I lacked healthy boundaries and my inner critic was echoed by just about everyone allowed in my space. I was in a very dark place for a few years. Nearly every person I opened up to in private tried to take advantage of me. People I trusted. Broken trust. Today, it makes sense only because my main trust system, family, was shattered. I didn’t even know I was making unhealthy decisions.

My name is Jessica Corvo. I’m a survivor of domestic violence. Members of my family tried to end my life. Some days I pity myself for having to heal from this and other days, my heart simply hurts to acknowledge that I lost my entire family during my healing journey. The moment I decided to break my silence, I lost everything.

Sometimes I’m not sure why I do certain things. I just lean into my intuition and stop questioning. Just flow into something. This is what happened with writing. I didn’t have an actual goal. The process was #JourneyToPeace. I have many articles where I questioned what that even means? Peace? Peace from what? How does one quantify peace? Does the pain ever actually go away? Or have I just been desensitised to it?

Perhaps my heart stings because everyone has moved on. My father is doing this own thing. My mother is doing her own thing. Yes, I have a brother and he is even doing his own thing. I could not give you details about any of them because we have not spoken in a few years. Some days I’m ok with this and other days I’m not. Often, I question whether or not I’m a good daughter. Often, I question if it was all worth it. With a heavy heart, some people can still catch glimpses of my sadness. It’s during the moments of nothingness that things start to crop up. During these moments, I allow myself to get lost in the feels.

When Kobe and his daughter died in the helicopter crash. I broke down in tears from reading a meme that suggested, during the last moments, Kobe was comforting his daughter. Rather than panic, it was an acceptance of the situation and ability to comfort a scared child. Kobe might have been a bunch of things but that is what made him a legend in my mind. And heart. After everything, simply a father that was comforting his daughter during a life-altering moment.

I continue to have my moments. Am I sad because my father is incapable of doing the same? Perhaps I’m still questioning why I am not good enough to have a father willing to protect or comfort me. I’m not sure. I guess it’s not really THAT important… just something to observe. Detach with love. He did the best he could. I still love my father. Despite everything. I love him.

Today, I sit with my emotions. Oftentimes, I’m suggesting to clients to have a tea party with their emotions. Rather than suppress, just observe. I’m taking my own advice. A few weeks ago, I was accepted as a full-time writer for a national non-profit that advocates for survivors of domestic violence. All volunteers are survivors. It’s a very strong family, filled with love. Full-time writer means I submit an article a week. The editor offers a bunch of topics and the writers pick something and off we go. Research. Sit. Create. Share. My first writing assignment, how does domestic violence affect your heart health?

In my feels: Last year, my mother had emergency open-heart surgery. Yes, I picked this topic. I leaned in. Everything in my life is intentional. Whether it’s a conscious decision or the Universe nudging me… well, that’s a different story.

The article was published yesterday. I shared it with a handful of friends and already, it’s being used as a discussion topic for TedX conversations around heart health. A few firefighters and medical practitioners complimented my accuracy. Of course, those closest to me didn’t have actual words but sent their love. Some asked if I have seen my mom since her surgery. Others are just waiting for me to be ready to talk about it. I struggle to talk about my mother.

I’m at a point where I’m able to once again use my emotions as fuel to accomplish a goal. My mission is to promote health and wellness. Sometimes that will look like sharing actual examples of my life. Other times, it’s spending a ridiculous amount of time collecting data and statistics.

Today, I honour myself. Today, I’m a writer and my words are fuelled by a deep love. Love for a family that I miss very much. But a family that is no longer.

I’m dancing in my feels and I’m ok with it… When my tears fall., it’s no longer about releasing pain but acknowledging how much I am capable of love. Loving self and loving others.

My journey continues…

Giving back & expanding my reach

Getting the juices flowing. I’ve just secured a new gig… I’m going to be a weekly contributor to a very VERY very important non-profit! I’m over the moon excited. It’s going to allow me to stay in the recovery space in a productive way. Rather than blabber on about things happening in my world, I get to help others share their story. Or more broadly, share more formalised blog-style snippets of various stages of domestic violence (and recovery). I’ve not been given writing assignments in quite some time. This will be a challenge that I’m embracing with an open heart.

Spit-firing ideas to get my juices flowing. Let me know if you want to hear about anything specific…

  • Skills learned through domestic violence
  • Benefits of breaking the silence
  • What to expect when sh*t hits the fan
  • Are police really equipped to help
  • When the walls start caving in
  • Self care 30-day challenge
  • Redefining family
  • The Universe thinks I’m a badass; I need a nap
  • Can I just be an adult next week
  • Plot Twists & Curve Balls
  • Recovery: falling in love with calm
  • Fleas, Flying Monkeys & Surveillance Cameras

I think I’m a professional at titles. I fondly remember doing 6 word stories to get comfortable with being vulnerable. Vulnerability has not always been a safe place. Sharing what scares me resulted in predators trying to harm me. Sharing what I love resulted in predators trying to destroy things that brought me joy. Sharing the identities of my inner circle resulted in learning truth on who is living in their integrity.

Historically, my perfectionist side has attracted some pretty unhealthy people. My humble side makes them think I’m incompetent. My previous low self-esteem allowed them into my space. Once they recognised my inner strength, they sought to destroy. Sharing snippets of the knuckleheads I used to entertain was healing. If anything to hold myself accountable for growth. It never seemed toxic when I kept quiet. I was far too busy making excuses for unethical behaviour. It was only once I started writing things down that I began to see the flaws in my own character. No more are the days where I make excuses for others. And this new gig is going to take my continued healing (growth) to another level!!!

I’m super excited about this upcoming chapter!

Health spot check (Nov 2017): words to build. words to break.

The journey continues…

Normal is Overrated. Aspire for Magical.

Sometimes I have to admit my definition of normal is anything but, well, normal. Especially in context of what is considered easy.

Last week, I had the great pleasure to speak to a handful of people that are further along in their (group fitness) instructor journey than I am. They teach on the upside of 20-25 classes/week. At first, I thought they were bananas. I teach HIIT (cardio/strength) and cannot imagine teaching 20-25 hours/week of this format.

Mind you, I do the workout with my students. I completed MORE than this during Ironman training… but multi discipline training is multi discipline. This is straight cardio/strength…

“Jess, you are an INSTRUCTOR. INSTRUCTOR. INSTRUCT your students. You don’t have to do the workout with them.”

“Yeah but… part of my joy is telling people that I get paid to work out. hahahaha”

*face palm*

It occurred to me I was selling myself short. I am currently teaching 10 classes/week. I could easily increase to 20-25 classes/week. It might take time to create an ideal schedule but it is possible. Anything is possible.

Let’s be honest. Anything is possible.

Current situation: my days are spent hustling between teaching class, coaching clients, walking dogs… and meal prep. I’m back in grind mode so relaxing to enjoy a meal in my armchair whilst watching the world turn through a large picture window is not always possible. Instead, I have been enjoying my meals at Union Station, in the locker room of one of my 9 gyms… or simply in one of my favourite lounges. I have quiet places sprinkled all over the city.

I’m blessed because I get to catch sunrise over the lake a few times a week.

I’m blessed because my students think I’m hilarious. I’ve heard a few comment on my perkiness and most appreciate my eagerness to workout with them whilst gentle correcting form and keeping the intensity level up.

I’m convinced the Universe is conspiring to help me. My home has not been peaceful for a few months. The more I think about it, the more I can appreciate that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

If my house was peaceful, I would not have been incentivized to leave it. I’d be fluffing around, most likely dancing in my kitchen and creating the most magical meals on a daily basis. Grind mode (my current mode) requires me to schedule me time. Sacred space where no one is allowed access to me.

Perhaps if I’m grinding towards 20-25 classes then it’s time I get super intentional about my time. After all, being a coach, I need to walk my walk and lead by example…

A few weeks ago, I aspired to have 8 classes on a weekly basis. Now, my new normal will be 20.

I just created a new norm. Nothing about my life is normal. That is exactly what makes it magical.

The journey continues…

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