Welcome.
I'm so glad you're here.
Wherever you are right now,
Allow yourself to arrive.
And if it feels right for you,
Go ahead and grab a notebook,
Something to write with,
To jot down whatever comes up for you.
There's no right or wrong.
Breathing in deeply and exhaling fully.
Letting your shoulders drop.
Letting your jaw soften.
Letting your breath find its natural rhythm.
This track is part meditation,
Part storytelling,
Part reflection.
It's really just an invitation to notice what's quietly taking up space in your life.
Let me say that again.
It's an invitation to notice what's quietly taking up space in your life.
And it's deciding gently,
Whether you're ready or not to open the lid.
A little while ago,
I had a newsletter all ready to send to my audience.
But something about it didn't sit right.
I couldn't name it at the time.
But a tiny thought kept nudging me.
Is there something I'm not saying?
Is there something I'm avoiding?
Still,
I pushed it down and I hit send.
Two days later,
On my sacred Sunday morning,
A day that I protect just for me,
My creativity,
And just being open to whatever comes.
I sat outside with a copy of my favorite magazine,
Breathe magazine.
For some reason,
I flipped to the very last page.
There it was,
An article titled,
Opening the Lid on the Jar at the Back of the Fridge.
I laughed because my brain speaks in metaphor.
And that metaphor,
It felt like a message just for me arriving at just the right time.
The article gently confronted what I'd been dodging.
There was something I didn't want to name.
But it was real.
It was mine.
And it was in the way.
I started to think about the jars in my own fridge.
Literal jars,
Metaphorical jars,
You know,
The ones,
The old jars pushed to the back.
And there was one in particular,
A rhubarb lavender honey blood orange jam.
Sounds fancy,
But it was expired.
I wasn't the one who bought it.
And still,
I'd let it sit there for months.
We do this in life too,
Don't we?
We tuck things away,
Old stories,
Outdated beliefs,
Unresolved feelings.
And we hope that if we don't look too closely,
They'll somehow disappear on their own.
But they don't.
They linger.
They take up space.
And eventually,
The morning,
I looked again.
And all I could see was the gold shining lid of that specific jam jar,
Right there,
Waiting.
Reflective writing has taught me to face those jars,
To name them,
To be in conversation with them,
To ask them what they need.
When was the last time someone asked you what you need?
Reflective writing has taught me to face those jars.
Reflective writing has taught me to decide,
Lovingly,
If it was time to let them go.
And I wonder,
What jars are sitting at the back of your fridge right now?
What thoughts or patterns have been quietly taking up space?
Beginning to notice,
Breathing with curiosity,
Inviting yourself to name one thing that's ready for a little light.
When I opened that jar,
I also opened my journal.
I read 10 entries back to back.
I looked at what I'd been writing about,
Without even realizing it.
And I saw something.
A thread,
A shift,
A truth.
Sometimes we don't need anyone else to point it out.
We just need to sit with our own voice and turn the volume all the way up.
This is why I believe in reflective writing,
Not just as a tool for the page,
But a way to become your own practitioner first.
So when you do show up to work with others,
Whether it's a coach,
A therapist,
Another writer,
A creative,
Someone else in your sphere,
You're already bringing insight.
You're already holding your jars with care.
That's what makes the transformation deeper.
That's what protects a creative life.
So maybe today,
Your only job is noticing.
Naming,
Breathing,
Writing,
Letting one old jar make its way to the front of the shelf.
You don't have to deal with it all at once.
But you do need to start.
Taking one last slow breath in and letting it go.
Thanking yourself for showing up,
For listening,
For choosing softness.
As you step back into your day,
Ask yourself,
What have I been quietly carrying that might be ready to release?
