Category: Healing & Recovery

Whispers in the Smoke

Things as bright as day
Started turning gray
There’s worry in the air
I look up to the sky and stare
The gold of the sun stolen away

Darkness floods around the space
Twisting, swirling, trails of smoke
Curves and bends with subtle grace
I’m drawn towards its beauty
It stretches out towards me
As wispy claws curl and choke

It’s everywhere but no one sees
I breathe in the smoke unwillingly
It floods my body, clouds my brain
Whispering words that cause me pain

It wants to turn me dark
It knows I have the spark
That can burn the hot flame
Because people are to blame

It was the reason I was found
I got beaten to the ground
My silent screams made a sound
A host to the haze, it has me bound

Eternal smoke burns my throat
With every inhale of the drawn coat
My heart crumbles into ash
As I surrender to its whipping lash

The clouds hover to reveal the enemies
It shows me a world covered in fog
No sense of reason as I walk in the smog
The last string of hope breaks with me

More whispers of a dreadful world
I’m slipping into a blurred daze
I’m spinning into a catastrophic craze
I watch as the smoke dances and swirls

I think about preparing to fight
I cannot live this way forever
I cannot bury my soul in surrender
I must work the spark and force ignite

Then I remembered
You can’t beat smoke with a flame
It will not cease or render
I need a new way to battle and tame

Perhaps I need coldness
Perhaps I need to brew a storm
The type of storm that is opposite
The storm that will bring the rain
The storm that will bring the breeze
The storm that will bring the clean air

I work against what I’ve known
My softness needs to harden
My sweetness needs to toughen
My weakness needs to strengthen
My recentness needs to cool down

I dig deep to restructure my thoughts
I dig deep to rebuild from scratch
I dig deep to find new meaning
I dig deep to reclaim myself

I push through my drawbacks
I push through the uncomfortable
I push through the painful unease
I push harder for my personal gain

Then things started changing
I evolved into layers of hard slate
I evolved into tough unbreakable steel
I evolved into strong unshakable stone

I feel the rain fall down my cheek
The storm welcomes me from sorrow
I’m filling in the areas that were left hollow
Crawling blind to reach the peak

I use my rain to smother the coals
I remove its power of burning souls

I push the smoke with my roaring winds
So powerful the trees sway with rage
A twister forms sending its own message
Of what you put out comes back times two

The haze is trapped unable to escape
It’s in a dizzying frenzy and becoming scared
When it’s time I release it
And it vanishes through the forest

It knew I had the potential for greatness
But it was not prepared for my battle
I was supposed to be its prodigy
Not the warrior battling with fury

To ensure I’ve won the fight
I summon the cold white snow
To place its calming blanket
Over everything in sight

I sit down on the snowflake quilt
I inhale my new strength and power
And exhale the anger and fury
I inhale taking from what I’ve learned
And exhale releasing old parts of me

I open my eyes and look around where I sit
I’m no longer on the chilly quilt
I’m sitting on my bedroom floor
Everything looks so different
The world is not the same

And when I step outside to look at the sky
I see the brightness of day
And the sun orangey halo warms the air
It welcomes me with kisses on my cheeks

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How To Get Out of Depression Without Medication or Therapy

When all feels lost…

The world disappears.
People feel like shadows.
You no longer recognize yourself.

It becomes nearly impossible to grip onto anything—to hold onto even the smallest thread of hope to escape the dreadful prison that depression traps you in.

You ask yourself:

How can I reclaim myself if everything around me feels threatening and the world keeps closing in?

The world doesn’t wait for you to get better.
People don’t pause their lives to give you time.
And worst of all, you’re left alone with your mind, exhausted from trying.

When “Trying” Isn’t Working Anymore

You’ve tried so hard, for so long.
You’ve pushed, coped, masked, smiled—and now, you’re spent.
You think:

“There isn’t another try left in me.”

But something inside you still aches for answers:

  • Why is this happening to me?
  • Why do I always feel this miserable?
  • Will I feel this way forever?

And then, a new thought:

“This can’t be my life. I can’t stay this way forever. I need to do something… but what?”

The Turning Point: Ask Yourself This

This question is where the shift begins:

How did I get here?

This is the start of the investigation.
You begin mapping out the painful moments that led you to this place.

Ask yourself:

  • What imbalances exist in my life?
  • What emotions am I suppressing out of fear?
  • What am I afraid of?
  • What keeps me up at night?
  • What is the worst thing that could happen?
  • What feelings do I need to get out and to who?

Start Gently Telling Yourself the Truth

For me, I had to accept a very real truth:
That I don’t function like others around me.
That I’m neurodivergent.
That my brain processes the world differently.

And with that came acceptance of other truths:

  • I may forget things in conversation, and that’s okay.
  • I might fumble words or mispronounce them.
  • People might bully or mistreat me—but I have the right to walk away.
  • I don’t need to be perfect to be respected.

The more I understood myself—my limitations, quirks, fears, and strengths—the more I could start protecting and advocating for myself.

Become Your Own Protector

Understanding your own boundaries allows you to become your own advocate—your own wingman or wingwoman.

  • You’ll start having your own back.
  • You’ll begin listening to yourself.
  • You’ll stop denying your pain and minimizing your needs.
  • You’ll speak up (or walk away) when someone mistreats you.

And if you’re not able to speak up yet, that’s okay too. It takes time and practice.

Navigating Trauma Responses

I personally deal with the freeze trauma response. It’s brutal.
My body shuts down. My mind goes blank. I stop breathing.

But here’s what changed for me:

Just learning that this is a trauma response helped.
Now, when it happens, I recognize it. I name it. And slowly, my brain starts to realize there’s another way.

Even when I can’t stop it in the moment, I recover faster.
I remember what I learned.
And next time, I’m more prepared.

Waking Yourself Up Again

Healing doesn’t happen all at once.
But it starts in tiny moments:

  • A flower that seems brighter than usual.
  • The breeze that feels like a soft embrace.
  • The sun warming your skin with gentle peace.

These moments wake you up, one breath at a time.

From here, take baby steps—no leaps, no pressure.
If you rush it, you might retraumatize yourself.
Trust me, I’ve been there. You don’t want that.

How to Ask for Space (Without Guilt)

Here’s something I used to say to loved ones:

“I need space because I’m feeling overwhelmed. I need everything to slow down. I need time to reflect and be with myself. When I’m ready, I’ll reach out. I love you.”

Then I’d turn off all notifications.
No guilt. No shame.

You communicated your need clearly.
Now, take care of you.

Accepting That You’re Flawed—and Beautifully Unique

This part may sound odd, but hear me out:

I started thinking about jigsaw puzzles.

You think you’ve failed because your piece doesn’t fit into the puzzle everyone else is working on.

But what if…

Your piece is perfect—you’re just trying to fit it onto the wrong board.

Your piece has edges formed from hardship.
Some sides are soft. Others are jagged.
Your colors might not match this puzzle—but they’re perfect for your own.

You’re not broken.
You’re not too much.
You just need to be on the board that was made for you.

Start Healing Now—Even If You’re Not “Ready”

You don’t need to wait until you’re 100% healed to begin.
You can be broken and still begin recovery.

Start by:

  • Investigating yourself with curiosity, not shame.
  • Asking what you need.
  • Respecting your boundaries.

You’ve spent your life learning how to care for others.
Now, it’s time to learn how to care for yourself.

Boundaries Are Not Selfish—They’re Sacred

Life would be chaos without boundaries.
And your boundaries?
They are valid. They are necessary. They are yours.

Let yourself feel peace in setting them.

A Final Note: To Anyone Struggling

If your heart feels broken…
If your mind feels like a prison…
Please know this:

  • You are not your pain.
  • You are not a threat to yourself.
  • You are not alone.

You can come back.
You can rebuild.
You can feel alive again.

With love,
Jenna

Your voice matters.

Have you experienced something similar?
Share your story in the comments—someone else might need to hear it too.
Let’s create a space of support, not silence.

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How I’m Learning to Trust Myself Again

Breaking the Pattern

At one point, I was seeing two therapists at the same time — a family therapist and a cognitive behavioural therapist (thankfully covered by insurance). They both gave me different tools for breaking old patterns and reclaiming my sense of self.

The family therapist helped me relearn the basics — the black-and-white of what’s right and what’s wrong. One of the first things she recommended was the book Boundaries: Where You End and I Begin by Anne Katherine.

That book was a wake-up call.

It showed me:

  • why I was afraid to speak up,
  • why I allowed things to happen without question,
  • why I often felt unsafe in my own body.

It reflected back to me stories that felt eerily familiar — but from someone else’s perspective. It forced me to acknowledge that what I’d experienced was not okay. And that I needed to stop those patterns, just like I would want someone else to stop them for themselves.

Meanwhile, my cognitive behavioural therapist offered me something radically different — permission. Permission to say “fuck it.”

If someone consistently mistreats me, excludes me, or simply doesn’t like me…

I don’t need to try harder.

I don’t need to be nicer.

I don’t owe them my time, energy, or attention.

I just need to be polite. Curious in my hello, kind in my goodbye — and nothing more.

She also introduced me to something called the Challenge It method. When I’m convinced someone thinks I’m strange or unlikable, I ask myself:

What proof do I have?

Do I really know what they think of me? Am I 100% sure? Are they even thinking about me at all?

Most of the time, we’re not hearing people — we’re just hearing our own self-doubt echoing in our minds.

We’re not truly listening. We’re not asking questions. We’re performing, shrinking, scanning ourselves for flaws.

No wonder it’s so hard to connect.

But when you shift your focus outward — when you simply listen — you can breathe again. The pressure lifts. It’s not about you anymore. You can just be.

Of course, those self-critical thoughts will creep in again. They always do.

But the difference is: now I know I don’t have to surrender to them.

I can notice them, acknowledge them — and decide they don’t get to run my life anymore.

The Path to Trusting Yourself

Learning to trust yourself means believing in your ability to handle what life brings — to do something well, and to recognize when something isn’t right.

That kind of trust feels almost impossible when you’ve failed more times than you can count. But the first step isn’t perfect — it’s softening your expectations.

Start by lowering the pressure you put on yourself. Lower the bar for how a situation should turn out. Let go of the idea that you have to perform perfectly in every interaction or moment.

Instead, offer yourself grace.

It’s okay if you stutter.

It’s okay if you mix up your words.

It’s okay if your mind goes blank and you need to pause mid-sentence.

Over time, you can even start letting others in — gently and with humor:

“Oh my gosh, why did I say that? Haha.”

“Oops, I totally butchered that word.”

When your mind freezes — what do you do?

First, know that you can’t force yourself to snap out of it. That freeze is a trauma response. It’s your brain trying to protect you from perceived danger, even if that danger isn’t real in the moment.

Instead, take a breath (if you can). Excuse yourself. Step away — go to the bathroom, get a drink, check your phone. Give yourself the space to reset.

When I learned that it was okay to leave mid-conversation, everything shifted. I began noticing how many people do this — and no one judged them. No one thought they were rude. In fact, I realized people were doing it with me, too. It was just… normal.

The freeze response eases only when you feel safe. So ask yourself: Do I feel good being here?

If the answer is no — you’re allowed to leave. Even if it’s the main event. Even if you feel like you’re letting someone down. Say you feel unwell. Say you need to rest. And go.

I used to force myself to stay until the end — no matter how uncomfortable I felt. My brain would blank out over and over, but I’d keep pushing through. Why? Because I didn’t believe I had a right to leave. I didn’t believe I had a voice, or preferences, or needs. I was in survival mode.

By the end of the night, I’d feel completely drained — emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I’d spiral into shame for having a “broken” brain. I’d go quiet again. Let others take over. I was there, physically — smiling, nodding, playing the part — but inside, I was numb.

It’s a beautiful thing to be generous with your time, to listen deeply, to support others — but not when it costs you your mental health.

You can’t keep betraying yourself in the name of being kind.

Take care of you, first.

Mild discomfort is one thing — and yes, it can be noble. But chronic, self-abandoning discomfort isn’t noble. It’s harm.

You are good. You are kind. And you are allowed to put your needs first.

If anxiety hits, ground yourself.

Look around — name five objects in the room.

Focus on your breath.

Inhale a little deeper. Exhale a little slower.

Most people won’t even notice. And if they do? So what. You’ve probably heard someone take a deep breath while talking, too — it’s human.

Then, when you’re ready, gently shift your attention back to the moment. Acknowledge whatever negative thought popped in — and instead of letting it hijack you, get curious about it.

Where did this thought come from? Why now?

We all have these thoughts. Every one of us. And they don’t go away.

Maybe you feel insecure around someone who seems more confident or accomplished.

Maybe you feel envious of someone who seems to have a happier life.

That doesn’t make you bad — it makes you human.

The key is to understand what’s bothering you.

Ask yourself: Why is this getting to me?

Write it down. Say it out loud. Talk to someone you trust.

Once you start gathering those answers, you can reflect. And when you reflect, you begin to strip those thoughts of their power.

They’ll still show up — sometimes the same ones, over and over — but they won’t hit as hard. You’ll get better at seeing them, naming them, and letting them pass.

Let them move through you, not into you.

Trust doesn’t come from silencing every negative thought.

It comes from knowing you can survive them — and still show up with love, for yourself.

Offer yourself the same acceptance you’d give someone else.

Show yourself the same compassion you’d feel for a friend.

Love yourself — especially when you feel flawed.

With love,

Jenna

💬 Have you struggled with trusting yourself too? I’d love to hear your experience — feel free to share in the comments below. 👇

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What Healing Actually Looks Like

It feels like starting completely over—rebuilding every part of who you are.

The hard truth? You’re changing yourself… for yourself.

And in that process, a darker voice creeps in:

I guess there’s a lot wrong with me.

Why am I so broken?

Why do I have to change so much?

Why does the world make it so hard to be who I am?

But what you have to remember is: you’re not changing because you’re broken.

You’re changing because you deserve better.

You’re healing toward the life you were meant to live.

And with that change comes strength—power, resilience, clarity.

Healing isn’t glamorous. It’s not polished or picture-perfect.

It’s raw. Uncomfortable. Messy.

You’ll feel the pull of old thought patterns trying to reel you back in.

Your inner safety blanket will whisper, “Come back. It’s safer here.”

It wants to protect you—like it always has.

It’s like trying to push your hand through a membrane that stretches but won’t break.

You push harder, and it wraps around you—until you do something more.

Push with truth. Push with purpose.

At first, it feels wrong. Unnatural.

Like you’re becoming someone who isn’t you.

But you are—you’re becoming someone you’ve never been allowed to be.

And when you finally break through that first thick layer, you realize: there’s another one waiting.

Not quite as thick, not quite as loud—but still there.

Each layer teaches you something.

Each one asks for a different kind of strength.

I’m still breaking through membranes of my own.

And I don’t know if there’s an end—

If I’ll ever get to the place where I’m fully free.

Maybe none of us ever do.

Maybe we just keep shedding.

Layer after layer, we become.

For the healing hearts,

— Jenna

If you’re in the middle of your own becoming, breaking through your own layers — I see you. 💭

This path can feel lonely, but it doesn’t have to be.

If this post spoke to something in you, I’d be honoured if you shared your thoughts in the comments 💬 or sent me a message 📩. Your story matters too — and you never know who it might comfort.

You can also subscribe if you’d like to walk this journey together 🧡.

No noise, no pressure. Just honest words when they’re ready.

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Breathless in Social Anxiety

The Critic

It feels like the person in front of you can see right through you.

Everything you’re trying to hide — they can see.

In that very moment, you’re sure they’ve figured it out:

You’re a fraud.

They’re judging every detail about you — and you’re sure they’re doing it silently.

They’ve already decided they don’t like you.

They’re planning to never talk to you again.

Everyone is against you.

Everyone doesn’t like you.

Everyone wishes you’d go away — and so I did.

What They Don’t Know

Inside, the racing thoughts never stop:

  • I need to change.
  • I need to be better.
  • Why is this so hard for me?
  • Why does it come so easily for everyone else?
  • Why does this make me so nervous?

What Does Anxiety Feel Like?

For me, it feels like I’m not breathing — or like I’ve forgotten how.

My breaths are shallow. Sometimes, the words don’t come out right.

My mouth gets dry.

My hands tremble.

My heart races.

My mind goes blank — mid-conversation — and I forget what we were even talking about.

The response I had practiced disappears the moment I try to speak.

Only when I step away, when my heart slows and my mind clears, can I start to reflect:

Why does this keep happening to me?

The Pattern

This is when I begin to connect the dots.

  • The deer-in-the-headlights expression on their face whenever I tried to speak.
  • The labels put on me that confirmed I was “different.”
  • The constant corrections when I spoke.
  • The hazy mind and poor memory that I couldn’t explain.

Going Down the Dark Path

Once you believe it yourself:

“I’m weird.”

“I’m different.”

“I’m odd.”

“I’m defective.”

It changes the way you see the world — and yourself in it.

You start getting angry at yourself for being the way you are.

You start resenting the world for how it operates.

You avoid social events.

You stay home more often.

You begin to suffer in silence.

This path is dangerous. It can lead to severe mental health struggles.

If you find yourself here — please, reach out for help.

Finding the Other Path

There’s another path — but it’s harder to see when you’ve lived so long believing the lies.

It’s terrifying to put yourself out there again.

To risk being vulnerable.

To risk being misunderstood.

But sometimes, something unlocks the possibility:

A lyric in a song.

A scene from a movie.

A moment of loss.

A breaking point.

And you can see the paths in front of you:

Do you stay in the bubble where it’s safe — where no one can hurt you?

Or do you fight for the life you deserve?

The life where you become something more?

This is the moment your true character reveals itself.

This is where your inner strength is put to the test.

How to Fight Back

For me, healing feels like clawing my way out of my own grave.

You can’t see the surface.

You don’t even know what life will look like once you get there.

You dig. And dig.

And it feels like there’s no progress.

You’re exhausted. You want to give up.

And sometimes, while you’re digging — someone else throws more dirt in your way.

That’s the hardest part.

To keep going while still getting hurt.

But if you can keep going despite the pain — something powerful begins to shift.

You prove to yourself that you’re strong.

You’re resilient.

And slowly… you start to see the progress.

You dig deeper.

You dig harder.

You fear less.

You prepare more.

People around you begin to notice.

You begin to return to your true self.

If you’ve walked a path like mine, leave a comment or hit the like button.

For the healing hearts,

Jenna

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What It Felt Like to Be Misunderstood with ADHD

Before Diagnosis

The worst part was not knowing I had ADHD — and hating myself for feeling broken while everyone else seemed fine.

I couldn’t understand why most interactions felt foggy. Why I struggled to remember simple tasks or conversations I just had. It felt like a handicap of the mind.

You feel compassion for those who live with visible disabilities, and yet you can’t imagine living like that. But when your disability is invisible — and your body is “healthy,” your genetics “good,” your appearance “normal” — the failure feels like a personal defect. A disappointment. Someone you wish you weren’t.

Every day was exhausting. Every day I struggled. Every day was more proof that I was inadequate and incapable, while everyone around me seemed to be handed the missing pieces they needed to feel whole — confidence, competence, connection.

Knowing that my brain worked differently filled me with dread every time I had to speak to someone.

“They’re going to see how empty I am. How broken I am.”

When nearly every interaction makes you feel foolish, you start avoiding them. The conversations get fewer. The people get more distant. And then the thoughts kick in:

“Everyone hates me.”

“No one likes me.”

“I’m weird. I’m broken.”

So the next conversation becomes high-stakes. You tell yourself this one has to go well. But the nerves kick in. Maybe I mix up facts. Maybe I stutter. Maybe I forget what I was saying halfway through the sentence.

And once again, I “fail.”

Each interaction became confirmation that I was defective — and that people were right to keep their distance. My confidence shattered. My mental health deteriorated. I began to fear speaking at all. Social anxiety took over. I isolated myself.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life was to keep walking into spaces where I felt humiliated — workplaces, social circles, family gatherings — knowing I would likely screw up again. But I kept going. I kept trying. And I kept being hurt.

I was bullied. I was mocked for being “weird,” “awkward,” for “never relaxing.”

People would joke:

“Why don’t you open up?”

“She’s like a cardboard cutout.”

I knew exposure therapy was supposed to help, but in a toxic environment, it only deepened the fear. The anxiety. The damage. Still, I kept showing up.

My family knew what I was going through and told me I had incredible inner strength. That even walking into those rooms was bravery.

Wearing a wig while doing it? Another kind of bravery altogether.

Wigs are… complicated. You get bad ones, okay ones, and maybe a decent one. I’ve yet to find one that looks real. They’re uncomfortable, itchy, and frustrating.

(But that’s a whole separate blog post.)

The worst part of all of it? Suppression. Bottling up emotions became a survival tactic. I had to stay on guard constantly — hide the ADHD, hide the fear, hide everything. Over time, I wasn’t just hiding the “defective” parts. I was hiding me.

And sometimes, those suppressed emotions would start to bubble up — and I’d be terrified to let them out.

What if I lose control? What if I do something I can’t take back? What if I push everyone away and end up alone forever?

So I kept the bottle sealed. I only let out enough to catch my breath… but never enough to heal.

The Vicious Cycle

It’s a vicious cycle. One that’s incredibly hard to break.

The people you surround yourself with can either help you climb out of it — or drag you deeper in.

(In another post, I’ll share stories of the people who played both roles.)

But the truth is something I’ve heard time and time again:

No one can save you but you.

And the moment you decide to change your life — for your good — everything begins to shift.

After Diagnosis

ADHD feels like you’re being pulled in ten directions at once.

Your brain is buzzing constantly. Everything feels urgent. Everything needs to be done now — all at the same time.

So you bounce from one task to another without finishing anything. You interrupt one activity to start a new one. You forget the first thing while trying to remember the third. And because you’re so afraid of forgetting something else, you just keep starting and abandoning.

It’s exhausting. No wonder we feel confused and foggy all the time.

This isn’t laziness. It’s not a character flaw. It’s neurology.

And knowing that? Understanding that my brain just works differently?

It changed everything.

It gave me permission to stop beating myself up. It gave me hope.

It gave me back me.

My brain is not broken. And neither is yours.

We are not defective. We are not failures.

We are healing.

Thank you for reading.

For the healing hearts.

Love,

Jenna

✨ If this post hit close to home, please share it with someone who might need to hear it too.

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Why I Started Wig Girl Interrupted

The Reason

There’s an ache in my heart and a shortness of breath. An unnerving feeling that I am too late. That I’m doomed to never discover myself, to never show myself, to never be understood—and worst of all, to never explain myself well enough so I can be understood. The fear that I’m stuck forever interrupted and never whole, while everyone else around me seems to have done what they needed to feel complete. 

I’ve always been better at writing. My mind is at ease and I’m able to think more clearly. No one is looking at me, judging me, changing the subject, or half-listening. Even when I want to speak—or feel like I can—when is the right time to ever bring this stuff up? I’m not going to sour the mood of a dinner party, or open up during a short visit with family. I want those moments to be happy and meaningful. 

Speaking out loud is so different. I find it hard to concentrate on what I want to say, to express how I feel, and explain my situation clearly. I worry about boring someone, jumbling multiple thoughts, or forgetting the connecting piece mid-story. It makes me feel like I’m broken. I’d rather stay quiet and suppress my emotions than risk proving that belief true.

But suppression is a killer.

I’m such an expert at it, it became my default. I’ve suppressed so much, for so long, that I’ve never fully drained the deep-rooted emotions—and I’ve never truly felt free.

Where It All Started

In Kindergarten, I was extremely quiet—and right away, my family thought there was something wrong with me. I was put through hearing tests because they believed I might be deaf. But I wasn’t. I just didn’t want to give my attention.

Of course, any strong, confident child might’ve said something cheeky in response, but me? I believed in respect. I didn’t want to say anything unkind. I hoped that being kind would show people how I wanted to be treated—how I wished the world would treat everyone.

I was often forgotten, especially in moments of connection—like sitting around the dinner table. I committed to listening, to showing how much I cared. Because caring means you’re a good person, right? I always did what I was told. I never argued, never acted out. I agreed with people, even when I didn’t, hoping I’d be accepted. Liked. Loved.

I was labelled as “special” and treated differently. People spoke to me more gently, like I was fragile. And even though I was sensitive and deeply caring, I didn’t understand why I had to be handled like glass.

Then came the speech therapy, the learning challenges in school, and eventually—much later—a diagnosis at age 39: ADHD.

Repeating Kindergarten, struggling in school… it all seemed to confirm what everyone believed about me: there was something wrong. And I started to believe it too.

The Interruption

The way people took advantage of me—emotionally, relationally, even energetically—stripped me of my identity. I kept thinking, I just have to be nice. I just have to keep pleasing them. Then it will work. Right?

Who doesn’t want someone who agrees with them, supports them, says yes? I thought that was the recipe for love and happiness.

But being someone else’s shadow—always behind, always hidden—sets you up for self-erasure.

To this day, I am still healing from the interruption.

I have to learn what I like. I have to learn how to keep a conversation going, how to share myself, how to even know myself. I spent years serving others—never expressing, never opening up. People only got to know me when something they liked overlapped with something I quietly liked too.

I thought being agreeable and supportive would bring me happiness.I’ve seen multiple therapists, but one finally helped me understand what was happening. She was the one who suspected ADHD. And ironically, I started seeing her for marital issues—a whole other story that I’ll share in a future post.

The Truth Behind This Blog

This is me—getting the thoughts out. Letting the emotions breathe. Releasing the weight that’s sat on my chest for decades.

I’m writing for the ones who’ve felt forgotten. For the ones who’ve had their identity shaped by survival. For anyone who’s felt silenced, frozen, or misunderstood.

The constant interruption in my life was so severe, I couldn’t not share my story.

This is where I begin again.

For the healing hearts ❤️

With love,

Jenna

🫶 Know someone walking a similar path? Share this with them — it could be the sign they’ve been waiting for.

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🖤 Welcome to Wig Girl Interrupted

Hi, I’m Jenna — and I’m finally ready to stop hiding.

Starting this blog feels both exciting and terrifying. I’ve never done anything like this before — no personal site, no blog posts, nothing that asked me to be this visible. But after everything I’ve been through — from childhood hair loss to years of self-erasure — I know this step matters.

Sometimes the scariest things are the most important.

✨ Why I’m Here

For most of my life, I struggled to understand what was wrong with me.

I lost my hair as a child and spent years covering it with wigs, trying to blend in. I froze in conversations, avoided mirrors, and shrank myself in relationships that fed on my silence.

I was anxious. Confused. Emotionally exhausted. I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling — or why I felt like I was constantly fighting myself.

Then at 39, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD. That moment didn’t fix everything, but it helped me understand myself for the first time. It explained the chaos, the forgetfulness, the emotional flooding, the years of masking.

But even more than that — it helped me begin coming back to myself.

🕊 What “Wig Girl Interrupted” Means

This blog is my space to speak what was once unspoken — about identity, trauma, healing, and transformation.

The name Wig Girl Interrupted represents the pause I’ve lived in for far too long.

Interrupted by alopecia. By toxic relationships. By silence.

Now, I’m writing my way out of that interruption.

Here, I’ll talk about:

  • Life with alopecia and wigs
  • Living with ADHD (and the shame that comes with it)
  • Healing from emotional abuse
  • Rebuilding identity after years of people-pleasing
  • Finding my voice — even when it shakes

💛 If You’re Here, Thank You

If you’ve ever felt like your brain, body, or heart didn’t work the way they were “supposed” to…

If you’ve lost yourself in a relationship, a diagnosis, or the pressure to be everything for everyone…

If you’ve felt interrupted — by life, grief, shame, or silence — this blog is for you.

I don’t have all the answers. But I promise to be real.

If you’re new here, I recommend you Start Here.

Thank you for being here. I can’t wait to grow together.

With love,

Jenna

🪞 Healing is easier when we don’t do it alone. Pass this along to someone who needs to feel seen.

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