the euphoria of admitting when it sucks

I wrote this  a week ago. I wrote it when I was in the suck. I thought it was too much suck to post, but when I came back to it today it just felt like truth. So I’m doing that thing again where I step outside my comfort zone. The root of the root here is that we all have different times in the suck. This was my most recent. Mad love, J.

March. Has. Sucked.

So I’m sitting here telling you how March has sucked. Not my usual go-to, eh? I’m the self-proclaimed gal who loves growth, lives in gratitude, and looks on the other side of the coin. But you know what, sometimes life just knocks you down again and again and again (and again). I’m not immune. Some might call March just a test from the Universe, and sure, it is that. But, you know what else? It also sucks.

Let me say right off the bat, I don’t live here. I don’t let myself sit with the suckage for long. But I do let myself feel the feels, because one way or another I’m going to feel them. So I might as well just be proactive about it rather than have it hit me in the middle of Whole Foods leaving me crying on the floor in the supplemental aisle. (That’s a thing that actually happened. It’s a story I’ll save for another day.)

Sometimes the solution-seeking just has to be put to the side, in order to feel the euphoria of admitting that this fucking blows donkey dick.

Here’s the scoop. After a year long hiatus, I went back on birth control. Within a week, I’d gained 10lbs and hormonal acne worse than that of my teenage years. I’d lost something too : my mind. The hormone-induced mood swings were unreal, and again, worse than that of my teenage years. It took me two weeks to feel human again, just in time to move in with my brother on weekdays (win!). But, meanwhile, business was having a tough month. I pushed and pushed and pushed. In the push, I found that I wasn’t present with my friends and family. I found myself in shaking spells. I found myself nervous, like I was walking around in an earthquake. I found myself with armor on to protect what little confidence was trapped inside. I pushed so hard that every guy and doll in my inner circle was like, “Jasmine. You are going to burnout. STAHHP. Get OUT of town. It’s time for a souladventure.” I listened. I planned a trip to DC for this fucking epic event that I’ve been dying to go to for about a year. It was going to be me and the DSLR  and a personal growth book. No social media. No business. No distractions. I planned my week to a new level of scheduled, so that I could get everything done and feel really good about leaving. I was going to rock the shit out of this new setup.

And the day after I booked the ticket and planned the things, our dogs got into a fight. Juniper and I both ended up in respective ERs, bloody and battered. I made the nurses laugh and charmed my way through it. (Anyone else use humor as a defense mechanism when you’re uncomfortable?) We’re fine. We’re alive. I am currently typing this, however, with 8 fingers; the other two are attached, but out of commission. I also had to drop my workout program for the week because burpees and full planks are not going to happen — the same program that I’ve quit twice and was super close to finishing despite all the setbacks with BC. I took a day to just binge on TV and try to work through trauma. (Any guesses how effective that was?) I can’t work from my brother’s place for the next two weeks because our dogs need to heal, which is a bigger blow than you might realize. Leaving me here : feeling like I haven’t moved forward in four weeks.


But I don’t let myself live there, remember?

Look. After all that bitching, I have one little nugget of positivity that I learned.

You’ll get out of the suck as soon as you can find some slice of gratitude for the suck. If you start slipping in and out of the suck, then simply keep returning to the gratitude. Make it your mantra. Sooner rather than later, you’ll be living there.

Mad love,



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