Come on over

If you were to show up at my house in the woods this week, I’d invite you onto my couch and hand you a cup of warm ginger turmeric tea. Even though it’s January, the Christmas tree would still be up, but it would be so crispy that the ornaments kept sliding off. There would be kids toys strewn all over the floor. I’d ask you: What’s going on? How can I help?

You’d tell me about your fears, how the slow down of the holidays felt incredibly disorienting and you’re finding it nearly impossible to rest. You’d tell me about how you’ve been scrolling Instagram too much to avoid chatting with extended family members, and now you’re starting to feel like the air is a little thin as you pass picture after picture of families in Christmas pajamas. You’d tell me about how you’re scared of 2024 because the economy is changing. What if that tips your business into a zone of disrepair? What if you need to go back to a full-time job? What if there’s something broken in you that means you ultimately can’t succeed at this thing you really want?

I’d listen, nodding. I’d tell you that my holidays felt exactly the same. I’d share about how I got sick on Christmas Eve, then spent most of Christmas day in bed. I’d tell you about spending a day vomiting, followed by another day cleaning up my children’s vomit from the bug we all got. I’d tell you about my grand plans for these weeks off, which indeed included matching pajamas and adorable family photos, none of which happened. I’d tell you about how frustrated I was by the way things turned out, how nauseated and trapped I felt after being at home with my kids for weeks on end without help. I’d tell you that I’m afraid of what 2024 is asking of me, too.

I’d also tell you that beside this frustration, I’m unlocking doors that have been shut for my entire life; I’ve been doing a lot of inner work behind the scenes and I’m starting to understand that maybe the way I’ve been suffering in my work is, ultimately, an old pattern. And if that suffering is unnecessary, I get to become someone brand new. I’d tell you that getting sick like this pushed me into some shadow-y places that I needed to see. I’d tell you that I’m actually really excited for 2024 because the more of my own crap I unpack, the more space I have to work with other people to get them unstuck, too, without burning myself out.

I’d tell you that this dance we do — the psychology, the brain twists, the fear and the doubt and the joy and the gratitude all mixed up — is what makes our businesses work. The business is an outcome. The money struggles are a symptom. It all starts with our beliefs about ourselves.

I’d tell you that I used to believe that small is safe.

I’d tell you that I used to believe that life happened to me.

I’d tell you that I used to believe that I had to be in control.

Now, I’m buying into being in charge of my perspective, rather than in control. Now, small feels stifling. Now, honesty feels like gasping for air after a lifetime of saying what everyone else wanted to hear.

I’d invite you to take a walk along the river with me. We’d talk about the things you want — not just the shiny ones, but the real desires of your heart. We’d talk about your childhood and start to see the echos of those years in your adult life. We’d talk about the ways you want your work to support your life, the ways you want to rest and be well. We’d make a plan for a step one.

But then we’d go back to my house and have soup with sourdough bread. I’d tuck you into our guest bedroom under a pile of blankets, wood stove burning beside you. And I’d tell you this:

You’re doing a good job. Being messy means you’re being honest. Complexity is a sign of authenticity. You don’t have to pretend anymore; ironically, authenticity happens when you try less, when you try softer.

I’d tell you that your moment to exhale and rest is coming, too. I’d tell you that I believe in your business and your vision, because I really, really do. I’d tell you that you get to have it all.

I get to have it all, too.

And maybe not all at once.

Maybe not without frustration and envy and jealously and anger and sadness.

But we all get to have our dreams.

In the morning, we’d eat some eggs and drink coffee with steamed milk. Then, exhausted by all the interaction, we’d agree that it was time for you to go home.

Before you left, you’d tell me that you can see it, too: The possibility hidden amongst the frustrations.

You’d tell me that you’re ready.

I’d promise that I’m in it with you.

Then we’d go back to our lives.

As you drove away, I’d feel my body relax into a knowing: We’re all doing this together. No one is ahead or behind. And building businesses, working for ourselves — it’s one of the fastest paths to self trust.

When I teach you to build a sustainable business, I’m really teaching you how to get to know yourself, how to say yes to the things you want. I’m really giving you permission to do something unique, while also being supported as you dance with all the crap that comes up when you finally say yes to your path.

And as I unlock you, I’m also unlocking me.

Jenni

Curious about my background? I’m a writer and business coach based in Central Oregon. I have two small children and I work part-time so I can spend a lot of time with them. Lately, I’ve been obsessed with non-linear business building and teaching people how to build successful businesses that support their human needs first.

This is an excerpt from my free newsletter, Mindset Mastery. Check out my coaching offerings here, follow me on Twitter & Instagram, or download my free business plan for creatives!