I Looked Fine on the Outside and Cried in the Shower Most Nights

I used to cry in the shower.
Crank the water hot.
Sit on the tile.
Let everything fall apart where no one could see me.

Other days, I’d pull into my driveway, blast EDM, and sob behind the steering wheel until I could gather myself enough to walk inside like nothing was wrong.

That was my safe place.
My release valve.
The only pocket of privacy where my body could say the truth my mouth wouldn’t:

“I’m not okay.”

And the hardest part?
No one knew.

I still showed up.
Still delivered.
Still performed.
Smiled.
Handled it.
Held it together in all the ways people expected me to.

That version of me wasn’t weak.
She was surviving.
Doing whatever she had to do to make it through another day without collapsing.

But she was exhausted.
Lonely.
Carrying more than any one person should have to hold alone.

The Shift Didn’t Start With Empowerment. It Started With Grief.

People think transformation starts with a big, empowering breakthrough.

Mine didn’t.

It started with a full-body gut punch of truth in a seminar I chose to walk into.
An event I thought I was ready for.

Until the truth hit me in the face.

I wish I could tell you it felt like freedom and release.
But it felt like grief, first.

Grief for the years I stayed asleep.
Grief for the patterns I kept performing.
Grief for the stories I built my life around.
Grief for the version of me who was trying so damn hard to be okay when she wasn’t.

I didn’t leave.
I stayed.
I listened, leaned in.

I raised my hand every chance I got, tears streaming down my face.
I cracked, broke open and in front of a hundred people I didn’t know.
Because I was finally ready to stop pretending.

Because underneath all that grief was the most brutal, quiet truth: I created this.
But also the hidden joy: That means I can change it.

To those “Crying in the Shower”.

I don’t share this to inspire you.
I share it because someone reading this still cries in the shower.
Still breaks in the car.
Still masks their pain with performance.

If that’s you, hear me:

You don’t need a crisis or a tragedy or a justification to feel this way.
You don’t need permission to reach your limit.

You’re not weak.
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not broken.

You’re human.
And you’re telling the truth — even if it only comes out in the places you believe no one will see.

Sometimes the version of you sitting on that tile floor…
is the strongest one you’ve got.

You’re Allowed to Break, In Fact it’s Necessary Sometimes

Here’s what I learned — slowly, painfully, honestly:

You’re allowed to stop pretending you’re fine.
Even if nothing is “technically wrong.”
Even if everyone else seems to be handling more than you.
Even if this has been your normal for years.

Let the truth come.
Let the tears come.
Let the stories speak.

Because everything shifts the moment you stop performing and get present.

When you start listening to what your body has been trying to say:

“Come home to me, I know the way.”

And the moment you finally answer that whisper…
everything begins to change.

If you’re in this season, if you need support, you don’t have to navigate it alone.

Reach out anytime - we’ll meet you there — with honesty, not judgment.

- Jen