A Complete Breakdown

For those of you who don't know, I originally started this blog to share important updates on Jude's health and the raw emotional milestones our family experienced along the way. Every now and then, when life compels me, I find myself logging back in to share another chapter.

So, here's the big announcement.....Emily got married!

It was the most beautiful wedding ceremony I have ever seen. I know I'm biased, but I'm also a realist, and I say that with absolutely no pun intended. The day was everything we had planned and hoped it would be. Most importantly, I think Emily had the absolute time of her life. She was the most stunning bride I have ever seen!!

Then the next day arrived, and for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I was just...sad.

It wasn't because the wedding was over. It was because the entire wedding season with Emily had come to an end. While I was overjoyed for the incredible new chapter she was beginning, I realized one of my own chapters had quietly closed, forever.

Then another realization hit me.

Jude wasn't there.

He never got to stand beside his sister on one of the biggest days of her life. And I'll never get to bump fists with him as he walks down the aisle to meet his own bride.

That thought opened the floodgates.

Add to that the loss of one of our dogs, making the permanent decision to remove a toxic family member from our lives, the constant stress of work, former friends proving themselves to be complete assholes, the never-ending bills, and the heartbreaking loss of Miss Dallas...it all became too much.

Jenn suffered a complete and total mental breakdown.

Yep. The first one I've ever had in more than 30 years.

It was not cute. Not many people knew. It was really bad. 

Trying to keep showing up at work while explaining to my work family why I was suddenly falling apart wasn't easy. Ironically, despite being an emotional mess, I had some of the biggest sales weeks of my career.

Then I spent a weekend with friends, shared a bottle of vodka, and very quickly remembered exactly why I quit drinking.

I do not recommend it. AT ALL! 

The emotional crash took a physical toll, too. I ended up with severe gastritis, threw my back out, and felt completely exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I have struggled with gastritis since I was a child due to stress, but this was Godzilla. 

Then, about three weeks into all of it, I woke up one morning and said, "This is not what I want."

Looking back, I'm grateful my breakdown only lasted as long as it did. I know many people battle these struggles for months or even years, and my heart truly goes out to them.

When Emily got engaged, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to let grief define the rest of my life. I lost 55 pounds, started Pilates, and worked hard on my mental health. I had come too far to let myself slide backward.

So over the last week, I've focused on resting, healing, and putting myself back together.

Today, I feel so much better. I feel like myself again!! 

Maybe I was overdue for a breakdown after more than 30 years of trauma. Maybe I just needed life to give me a swift kick in the ass and remind me that healing isn't a straight line. Whatever the reason, I'm thankful to feel like myself again.

Tomorrow it's back to work, back to making plans, and back to being the very best parent I can be. And yes...I'm officially accepting grandkids anytime now.

I'm also incredibly thankful for the amazing neighbors we've met since moving. Their sweet kids have brought so much unexpected joy into our lives. I honestly think God knew we needed them.

When I stop and look around, I realize just how blessed I am. My job, my friends, my family, the people who stayed, and the new adventures ahead, they've reminded me that even after the darkest valleys, there's still so much to look forward to. To my husband, GOD BLESS YOU. 

Will I ever direct another pageant? Honestly, I'm not sure. But if I do, I can promise you one thing, no man will ever be able to tear it down again. In the meantime, I've been tossing around an idea for a retreat, and I have to admit...I think it's a really good one.

For now, I'm just grateful to feel like me again.

Thank you to everyone who gave me grace while I worked through everything, from my work family to my friends to my own family. Your patience, encouragement, and love meant more than you'll ever know.

I love you all.

Ducks and Patience

We’re finally starting to settle into our new home, and it’s beginning to feel like ours. I’ll share more pictures as we get more acclimated, but for now, you can find me over on TikTok @napqueenchronicles....yes, the name still fits perfectly. I’ve posted a few videos already and plan to share more as time allows.

I truly love this new place. It already holds so much peace and promise. The only thing I haven’t quite warmed up to is the traffic, I definitely miss my slow, quiet country roads. But like most things in life, it’s a trade-off, and one I’m willing to make for everything else this new chapter is giving us.

One of my first missions is recruiting birds, and I’m happy to report I’m off to a great start, there are already dozens nesting in our oak trees. We even have a pair of ducks at the pond, which brings me an unbelievable amount of joy.

The other day, the family across from us came over to introduce themselves. They have four little boys, and the youngest was only four days old! Mike showed them around the goats, pigs, and chickens, and I shared a bit about Jude and how much Mike would enjoy visits from the boys. They seem like such a kind, beautiful family, and that mama is an absolute warrior for making that walk with a newborn.

I’ve felt Jude with us so strongly here. I worried, more than I admitted, that moving meant leaving him behind somehow. But he’s here, just as present, just as near as he always was. That comfort has meant everything.

Life has a funny way of shaping you as the years go on. Mike and I have realized we’ve grown into people with both more patience and less patience, if that makes sense. We give more grace where it matters, and we’ve learned to set boundaries where it’s needed. We speak up more, but with intention. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s experience… or maybe we’re just stepping into a new, more grounded and aware version of life.

Either way, this chapter feels different, in the best way.

It’s Still Only Love Jude

In 2001, Emily and I were in a very serious car accident. We had to slam on our brakes because someone stopped short in front of us, and a young driver who was following too closely rear-ended us at about 60 miles an hour. The impact was so powerful it spun my car and sent us toward a gas station. Thankfully, we were stopped by a light pole.

That accident, combined with the trauma of 9/11, created an overwhelming fear of driving on highways. For years, I avoided them completely. I could get anywhere in DFW without ever touching a highway. Through therapy, I eventually worked through that fear and was doing well, until we lost Jude. After that loss, I regressed and found myself right back in that same place again.

For more than 10 years, I avoided situations that felt scary on the road. But last week, for the first time in over a decade, I drove on the highway again. It may seem like a small thing to some people, but for me it was a huge step forward.

I’m sharing this because people don’t always talk about the fears and stress they carry. Much like our experience losing Jude, trauma creates deep emotional wounds. Those wounds show up in different ways for everyone. PTSD and triggers can shape how we react in our relationships, at work, and in everyday life.

Along my road of grief, I know I may have hurt some people. Grief can be messy, complicated, and overwhelming. If that happened, I’m truly sorry. I did the best I could while carrying a pain I didn’t yet know how to live with.

But driving on that highway reminded me of something important; moving forward matters. Sometimes healing begins with one small, terrifying step.

This is the last weekend we will spend in our beloved home, the place that held us, comforted us, and wrapped its arms around us during the darkest chapter of our lives. It gave us shelter while we tried to make sense of an unimaginable loss.

I’ve reached out to those who meant the most during that time, and as we close this chapter, we do so with gratitude, reflection, and hope.

We will always carry Jude in our hearts. He will be with us in every step we take, every single day. But now, we are ready to let the light in again.

With Love Always, 

Jenn 

Peace And The Move

We packed much of the house this weekend, and I made meaningful progress in my healing. I’ve started learning how to release things that carry sadness.

While Mike and I were in the attic, I opened the chests that hold so many memories. When I was 16, my boyfriend died by suicide. Inside one chest was a copy of the note he left me (the police kept the original), newspaper clippings from his town, letters from his parents, and his high school photo. I read through everything carefully. I let Mike read them too, and watched his eyes fill with tears. Then I chose to let them go. I placed them in a discard pile.

Next, I picked up a five-page letter my aunt had written, detailing the poor care my mother received at the hospital. She described, step by step and word for word, every mistake that was made. I could feel the fear, panic, and desperation in my family’s experience. It was written so vividly that I could picture everyone’s movements and even smell the hospital halls. Later that same night, after she was mistakenly discharged, my mother died. I placed that letter in the same pile.

I also gathered some of her personal belongings, items it was finally time to release.

I let go of yearbooks, crumbling homecoming mums, and stacks of old photos, keeping only a few precious pieces I still needed. Most of what I hold onto of Jude’s was carefully placed in storage. But his car seat is finally being donated.

The last time Jude sat in that seat, he aspirated. He was pulled from it in an instant. A parking attendant quickly took my keys at the hospital entrance, and a nurse ran down the hall with Jude in his arms. I stood there and watched as they worked to resuscitate him. It’s a memory I’m ready to step away from.

And yet, somehow, all of these tragic memories have led me to a place of peace, a place where I can smile again. I can look at the beauty of the world and feel that those I’ve lost are still with me, in the brilliance of nature, in the warmth of strangers’ smiles, and waiting for me on the other side.

They gave me the strength to walk away from years of sexual abuse by a family member. They made sure that man is where he needs to be. And they have given me the courage to speak up for other little girls, to say what happened, to stand for those who cannot, and to shout no more.

Children matter. Life matters. Love matters.

I am deeply grateful to finally feel peace. Each night I pray that God protects my family, that no more tragedy finds its way to us before I one day walk into heaven. Amen. I have also reached out to a few people I lost contact with and we will see where that goes.

We miss you, Jude. Your dad is building me an aviary at our new home, a quiet place where I can sit, watch the birds, and think of you. We hope you're happy. 

Grief Can Make You Mean

One thing I’ve come to understand about grief is that you don’t always recognize how it’s shaping your behavior toward others. It isn’t that you’re intentionally rude or unkind, but you may become distant or dismissive without realizing it. I don’t believe I ever meant to hurt anyone, but looking back, I can see that I wasn’t always acting with others’ best interests at heart. Grief has a way of narrowing your world until survival feels like the only priority.

I also know how overwhelming it can be to witness constant expressions of sadness on social media. I think, over time, this may have contributed to losing a few friendships during my ten years of grief. Add to that a difficult childhood, and it makes sense that grief became something deeply ingrained, almost familiar.

Menopause certainly hasn’t helped either, and it’s something women simply do not talk about enough. How many of us have sat in a doctor’s office, listening to them say our labs look “perfect,” while inside we feel absolutely miserable? There’s such a disconnect between what we’re told and what we actually experience. Sometimes it feels like we’re pleading with medical professionals just to help us feel normal again. Combine menopause with grief, and suddenly you’ve got a very grumpy older lady trying to hold it all together.

I’ve watched some friends quietly fade away over the years, especially online, and I want to say this: if I ever hurt you, it was never intentional. Grief changes you in ways you don’t always recognize while you’re in it.

Jude has played such a meaningful role in this recent awakening, and I’m incredibly thankful for him, and for God, for carrying me through. Lately, I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of peace. After losing you, I think I drifted into a kind of agnosticism. I wasn’t sure what came after death, but I believed something was there. Yesterday, as I looked out over the pure white snow lining our pasture, I felt my faith fully restored. I knew with certainty that Jude and all those I’ve lost before me will be there when my time comes. And I know it will be a joyful reunion.

Until then, I’m looking forward to the days ahead, watching my daughter grow, seeing her wed, and one day enjoying my grandchildren.

We’ve also been incredibly busy lately, and we now have a contract on our house. We truly believe Jude brought us here so we could grieve in the most peaceful and perfect way possible. And now, we feel ready to move on, to start a new chapter somewhere else. We will never be “over” his loss, but we are learning how to carry it in a more spiritually awakened way.