“Rest” he said

When she asked

For one word

*Rest,” she repeated

And placed her hand on his

Sometimes rest is what we need

Instead of other things

He needed rest

And she knew what to do

To give it to him

Right then and there

Each time, it was different

But one thing didn’t change

The way they could

Sit together

Quite content

To rest.

👣💙 Jeanna’ Mead
11 42 p.m. 8.17.20


Asking Too Much

It seems like such a little thing,

really it does

but maybe it is asking too much

to expect more than just the bare minimum

a reply

a simple “yes” or “no”

would be all it would take

some sort of closure

peace of mind

instead of being left dangling

Hanging in limbo

She would remember

really well

the next time

she is asked to do too much

Jeanna’ Mead 3 22 p.m 8,17,20


Blue Lines, White Lies

This was nothing new,

seemed like she had always knew

that if she stepped over the edge

she just might find herself falling

telling little white lies to herself

making do and doing without

standing on the blue lines

holding her breath

for as long as she could

just because that was the safest thing she knew to do

Jeanna; Mead. 5 29 p,m August 16 2020



So she wondered
If this was it
If what she was doing
Was enough or too much
She stood
On the ragged edge
Between one and the another
One foot on both sides
Would she fly
Or would she fall
If she did
Would anyone catch her
In the nick of time
Or would they wonder
How she had managed
To make it, after all.

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead
9 02 p.m. 8.15.20


Compassionate Bullshit

I just read another post calling wearing a mask the ” most compassionate thing you can do”… I’m calling it bullshit.
When I go someplace where everyone is wearing a mask, I feel vulnerable and on guard.
I can’t understand anything anyone says with a mask on and because it covers so much of the face, it’s difficult to read facial expressions. That’s not compassionate.

My massage practice shares space with a center for counseling. Survivors of trauma, domestic abuse, sexual assault, etc are having an extremely difficult time adapting to this. It is undoing years of therapy…. When someone has been gagged, and raped by someone in a mask… seeing a person of the same build in a mask is terrifying.

Last Sunday, I pulled into the parking lot and just sat there, tears rolling down my face because I feel so vulnerable.
Trying to go into a store to get shoes for training when masks are required to walk inside… It isn’t compassionate.

You don’t know what demons others have to fight so don’t call wearing masks “the most compassionate” thing because, for the deaf and hard of hearing it isn’t, for the survivors of trauma, it isn’t, for the POW that has his PTSD triggered, it isn’t.

The only places I feel safe is #925NGoliad, Legends Fit, Anytime Fitness Rockwall, TX and San Jacinto Plaza, Downtown Rockwall….

Yesterday,a friend and I sat outside and drank Corona after his massage. I could read his lips and we had a great conversation.

I choose where I go, and who I’m with.
I will choose to be compassionate and not unleash any memories that a mask might trigger.

If you step into my space, walk with Love and take that mask off….. If you speak to me, take that mask off and for the love of God, if you are walking around outside, breath in the fresh air and take that damn mask off.

writingmyheartout #jeannasoul #925ngoliad #deaftherapist


Sunday Afternoon

He sat

She stood

Close enough

To touch

He spoke

She heard

For the first time

It took a long time


For them to get here

Where a Sunday afternoon

Could be shared like this

She spoke

He heard

They touched

It felt good

To be in this place

To know

Each other

A little bit better

Than the Sunday afternoon before

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead

9 00 a.m. 7 22 20


Politics, Conspiracy, and Sex

If it’s not one thing, it’s the another

But people come to me

Into my sacred space

To let go

To be at peace

Away from politics


Death and taxes

Those are the things

We don’t talk about

That much anyway

Kind of like sex

Every one

Believe it or not

Got here because of

The simple act of sex

Maybe it was love making

Maybe it was not

We don’t talk much about it

Not really at all

It’s one of those things

Like politics and conspiracy

That brings out the ugly in some people

The raw beauty in others

The truth and the feelings

So different for everybody

There’s just a few things

We know for sure

Everybody has to pay taxes

Everybody is going to die someday

Sex created everybody

Politics will change

Conspiracy has been around since heaven knows when

Whether we talk about it

Ignore it

Gloss over it

Truth of the matter is

It is what it is

Becomes what we make of it

Just like sex is.

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead

7 34 a.m. 7.22.20



The other night I was watching The Good Doctor, a television show about an autistic doctor and his co-workers.

This episode centered around a 13 year old boy that had already lost one eye to cancer and was having the other one removed.

He would become blind in order to live.

The day before his surgery, he snuck out of the hospital to try to see things one last time.

Two of the residents found him and decided to make that last sighted day one he would always remember.

They took him to a major league baseball game. They let him drive a car around an empty parking lot and down country roads. He looked at pictures and statues.

Then he asked for them to stop at a strip club so he could see a naked woman for the first and last time.

They tried, but the security guard wouldn’t be swayed by the teenage boy or the two women doctors.

I can understand why. In this world we live in right now, doing something like that could lead to them losing their licence and being shut down due to exposing a minor or some other charge.

That’s just the way it is.

Of course, the boy was disappointed and said, “Well, at least I tried to see boobs once in my life.”

He tried. He was turned down. There wasn’t anything else he could do about it.

The morning of his surgery, his parents talked to him and comforted him as he searched their eyes, memorizing their faces and his own.

One last look.

Do you ever think about that?

One last look. What if you could only see someone you loved one last time? See their smile, the dimples, the twinkle in their eyes… The way they walk, the features of their face, the shape of their hands?

Think about the things you look at every day without really thinking about it.

The petals of a flower. The clouds in the sky. The butterfly and the bumblebee.

We take those things for granted, don’t we?

Just like a teenage boy would take for granted that someday he would get to see boobs.

This boy didn’t get to see boobs, though, on his very last day with sight.

At least that’s what he thought.

Then, a surprising, wonderful, completely unprofessional thing happened.

One of the residents that had spent the day showing him as much as possible came back into his room.

She said,”I forgot to do something.”

“What?,” he asked.

” Shut up!” She replied, and lifted her scrub top over her head, exposing her boobs.

The look on his face was priceless.

The first look and the last look, all at once.

That’s one of those times when rules and regulations get pushed aside for very good reason.

Compassion. Empathy. Understanding.

She made a choice that would have been disastrous for her medical career if she had been caught, but she chose anyway.

She chose to give a teenage boy be something he would never forget.


Sometimes that’s all that matters.

👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead

7 45 a.m. 6.29.20



Big giant heartfelt thoughts to my Papa John Hamilton Lohnes who is right now unconscious and split open on a Surgeon’s table getting his heart back in shape.
Here’s a poem penned by my friend Jeanna’ Mead…

Let my heart be broken
Torn into pieces
Bring me to my knees
Let my heart be open
Wide enough to embrace
Every bit of chaos,
Every glimpse of peace
Let my hands touch
Offer much more
Soothe and comfort
Push and pull
Press and release
Give and receive

For every body
Contains the soul
Let my heart know
My hands are touching both

Hand in Hand

She sees me

I see her

She sees herself

I see myself

How dare I think

Anything less

Of who I am

When I’m looking

At my own skin and bones

Brown eyes

Same curves

Same big smile

I see who I was

She sees who she will be

We are hand in hand

Closer than ever

Jeanna’ Mead

6 28 a.m. June 24 2020