My 8 year-old Self thinks this is the coolest thing everrrrr 🥰🤩😍😭🥹☺️
❤️🌈🦄 were my faves (still are 😃)
I wanted them on everything! I’d look through bins of personalized art supplies and stationary at the Paper Outlet- which was a stationary utopia for an 80s kid, like a Lisa Frank fever dream- searching for my name… Jenny NO. Jennifer NO. Jen NO. Jenn NOOOOO
ughhhh Mom why did you give me a different name?? All I want is a pencil with MY name on it😢 When I grow up and I’m a therapist like Mrs. Benson I’m gonna talk to kids and understand the stuff that makes them mad. Just like she listens to me when I tell her about my stuff.
Fast forward to today: being present. Having a moment of gratitude.
Life is broken around me. In my home, in my family, in my community, in my country. It feels… I don’t know… conspicuous; ostentatious? definitely uncomfortable to talk about ❤️🌈🦄 and dreams coming true.
And.
Controlling our narrative is tantamount in speaking truth to power. Being part of a movement to stop mental health stigma and the “stigma” of empathy & compassion is a role I do not take for granted. Joy can be resistance. Joy can be rebellious. Taking care of each other & ourselves is essential. This is how society heals. This is how we will heal the world.
*breathe*
So I remind myself that I am living 8 year-old Jenna’s dream. I can have ❤️ and🌈 and 🦄 with MY name, spelled the way my mom chose, a name I’ve learned to love and embrace as the years went on. And I grew up and I’m a therapist, *hopefully* like Mrs. Benson 🤞🏼🙏🏼 My misunderstood adolescent angst was seen so clearly by her. May I never grow up too much, that I become blind to this turbulence and greatness.
May I use what I learned for good. May it be a ripple that expands the healing forward.
2/26/26
