I didn’t write this.. Jeff Foster did… But it hit me so hard that I cried and then I pulled on my boots and straighten my shoulders and danced anyway


There are people
who will never understand you,
agree with you,
or even like you.

Mothers. Fathers. Siblings and other family members. Bosses. Employees. Spiritual teachers. Therapists. Clients.

No matter how hard you try. No matter how much you change, rage at them, contort yourself, learn all the magic of this world, and attempt to become exactly what they want and need you to be. No matter how much you fawn and “people please”, they will never accept you, love you, approve of you, validate your path and life choices. They will never celebrate your successes with you, mourn with you, meet you in deep love and intimacy. They will never get to know you, the real you, the you you so desperately want to be known. You will always feel unseen, invalidated, misunderstood by them. They will live with their version of you, their image of you, their fantasy of you, a picture in their own minds, perhaps until they die, and nothing you can do, or not do, will change that.

You may exhaust yourself, trying to get someone like this to finally SEE you.

You may try “compassion”. Being more and more agreeable and empathic and understanding. Giving gifts. Acts of service. Compliments. Giving endless amounts of time and energy to them. Working on yourself. Being “available”. Trying to be “good” for them. Agreeing with them when really you don’t. Saying yes when you mean no. Saying no when you mean yes. Ignoring all of your own boundaries.

You may spend hours and hours trying to explain your position, your views, your path, opening and dissecting your precious heart. Listening deeply to them. Being open and empathic. Rephrasing, rewording, reconfiguring yourself, trying all kinds of different tacks, trying to break through, trying to get them to see.

You may cling to the hope that one day, one day, they will change.

“If they only got to know the real me!”

But no matter how hard you try, and no matter how long you hope and wait, they won’t budge. They stay fixed in their beliefs, judgements, narratives, opinions, behaviours. They may even refuse to self-reflect, look at themselves, or even consider the possibility of change.

Why won’t they change?

Is there something wrong with YOU?

Is it YOUR fault that things are this way? Are YOU to blame for this lack of connection, closeness?

Should you try even harder to be understood, then? Be even kinder, more empathic, more understanding, nicer, more spiritual? Maybe if you offer them pure unconditional love, they will transform? Maybe if you become the best, most compassionate, most selfless, most [fill in the blank] person in the world, they will finally soften, and their love will flow effortlessly to you? It’s a beautiful dream.

But it soon becomes a nightmare.

One day you realise, you are fighting a losing battle. You are at war with reality. You are trying to manipulate and control how someone else feels, what they think, their values, their reality, their inner world. You are trying to “fix” them, in a sense, control their feelings and thoughts, alter their path, and it’s an impossibility.

If you are honest with yourself, you are doing the same to yourself too. And you actually feel exhaustion, resentment, anger, despair, even fear, underneath the whole damn project.

You are powerless to change them. Where does your power lie? In presence. In being authentically yourself. In the truth of your feelings and desires, however painful. In your courage to look within.

You discover the lost child in you that just wants to be loved, but is innocently looking in the wrong places, to the wrong people. For as much as it wants to be loved, it is scared of really being loved. For love is confused with abandonment, or enmeshment which is also a kind of abandonment, and either way, true intimacy is a threat. And that’s why it looks to the wrong people. There’s no chance of ever being seen, and so there’s no chance of ever being destroyed. It’s safe, and unsafe, all at the same time. We long for God, and we fear God’s penetrating gaze.

Some of us have mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers who will never see us.

Some people choose partners who will never see them.

In the end, you meet yourself anyway.

You discover your own wounding. And somewhere deep down, you know that love is not something you have to fight for, manipulate yourself or others for, not something that has to be won, not something you need to prove yourself worthy of.

You tire of trying to get water out of a dried-up well.

You find an infinite and holy well of love inside yourself.

And you gravitate towards other wells that give water freely.

You open yourself to the sacred water of life.

It is such a relief to not have to prove yourself anymore. To anyone.

You don’t have to be liked. Others don’t have to agree with you. They are free to judge you, tell stories about you, distrust you and your motivations, or ignore you completely.

And you are free. You are free to engage with them or walk away. You are free to love them, AND find yourself moving away from them. Or not. You are free to speak your truth, or not. To set boundaries, lovingly, clearly. Or not. You are free to be you, to prioritise self-love and to let yourself be loved and seen by others who actually do have the capacity to truly love you, and see you. To find your true friends, your true family, those who actually want you. To discover your true place on this Earth.

When others don’t want you as you are, they are giving you a wonderful gift: the freedom of yourself. You may just discover this, if you are willing to plumb the depths of your own beautiful heart.

  • Jeff Foster.

So here is my own words now.. writing my heart out is just my way of doing things.. it’s therapeutic for me.

I’m still healing from my battle with the Covid dragon… and it’s been one helluva ride.

The physical aspect has thrown me for a loop.. over and over again. Most people don’t see what happens when I’m alone.. they don’t see me push myself off the bed with my hands, try to steady myself to walk to the bathroom and then fall in the doorway.. most people don’t see the bruises or the tears that roll from my eyes as I grit my teeth again.

That’s one thing that I can handle, though, I can handle the pain and the weakness and the frustration with myself.. with my own body but, what really, really hurts is the words and actions of others which I can’t control or handle .

I’ve had family members tell me that i should stay home and quit working on others because I’m “endangering” them since I’m not vaccinated and don’t wear a mask.

I’ve actually been disowned by some family members because of my choices concerning Covid and my conservation political views.

It hurts like hell but it is what it is. I’ve accepted it… but I’m leaving the door open just in case they ever decide to reach out to me again .

I’ve spent a lot of time pondering what really matters to me and I’ve realized that I’ve made mistakes and choices that weren’t the best… and I’ve apologized and tried to begin again.

Sometimes it just doesn’t work that way… and no matter what I say or do, I feel like I’m damned .. damned if I do and damned if I don’t so I just do the best I can and hope it’s enough.

I can love like crazy but I can’t read minds as well as I can read lips and that’s just the way it is.

I’m always willing to listen and to talk when the intention is to understand and be understood.. to heal and not to hurt but I’ve also chosen to be still and wait for others to make the first move this time .

That’s hard.. because, by nature, I want to take the reins and rile up and get things resolved but I’m learning to let go and let God

I keep that door open, too, just in case, because I would love to be able to understand and be understood.


Holy Hot Mess, too!

The reason I don’t “borrow” books from the library or from friends.. words grab my attention and I begin writing in the margins and underlining paragraphs..
Years ago, Janet Mary Rozdil Moltzan , shared these wise words that actually gave me peace instead of anxiety, and taught me to let go “you’re not in control.. you never have been and you never will be”

That feels RIGHT… I’m only on this ride.. doing the best I can and letting go of the illusion that I’m in control or perfect

I’ve learned during my Covid journey just how imperfect I am and how messy life can be .., and you know what, I’m really glad I’m on this journey.. it’s not the road I would have chosen but this route sure has bought out the best and the worst in many ways.. It’s changed my views and made me stronger in many ways but not strong enough to resist the urge to write in brand new books!


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

Sex and Coffee

One afternoon
Sitting outside
Drinking coffee
They looked at each other
Half joking
Half serious

“All we have in common
Is sex and coffee.”

It was true

She wanted deep conversation
He liked to keep it light

They talked about the weather, the bills, the house, the dogs and the kids

That was about all

Skimming the surfaces

Riding the waves

Just keeping it simple

Like sex and coffee

He knew how she took her coffee

Strong and dark with a little stevia and cream

He liked his made with honey instead

And that was about it

She wanted more

That he did

A little romance

Surprises and all that jazz

Date nights

Dressed up and taken out

Lingerie and lace

He thought that was too much trouble

Rather get it done and over

So it never took all that long

Just long enough to mess things up

About as long as it took

To brew another pot of coffee

Make one more cup

One for him to take away and one for her to sip

While she’s standing at the bathroom counter

Straight out of the shower

Soaking wet
Feet on the towel

Letting her body drip dry

Taking her own sweet time

Putting on her makeup

While he rushed right by

On to the next thing on his list

After sex and coffee

That was then
And this is now

He’s gone most all the time

Home only every forty nights

She’s gotten used to doing without

Half of what she had

Now she makes her own pot of coffee

Sleeps on her side of the bed
Doesn’t even mess up the rest

She reads books and writes stories

To fill up the void

She drinks cup after cup

While standing in the mirror

Putting on her makeup

They talk almost every day

About the same things

The weather, the bills, the house, the dogs and the kids

And yesterday she said,

“All we had in common was coffee and sex so I couldn’t help myself.”

And even that seemed too long to him

He liked to keep it short and simple

Like sex and coffee.

☕👣♥️ Jeanna’ Mead
924a.m. 6.7.20

Kissed By Angels

She’s been kissed by angels

That’s what she had been told

About the stains across her beautiful face

She’s been given wisdom

Way beyond her years

A fierce spirit

That rises up

She’s claimed her place

In my heart

I see the beauty of her soul

The courage she has

Brimming right below

The surface

She’s been kissed by angels

Since the day she was born

On the same day

Years and years apart

From another one

That holds a special place deep within my heart

She’s got so much strength

That I wish others could see

When they first notice

All the angel kisses

Across her face

These run more than

Only skin deep

Kisses like these

Change the way she sees

Makes her believe

Creates a unique perspective

Point of view

Take on life

That most people never quite understand

So I placed my own lips

On the top of her head

Kissed her with love

That she always knows she has

She’s set apart

Standing out from the crowd

Kisses from angels

Aren’t just tossed around

Given to just anyone

God knows good and well

That when an angel leaves stains

A warrior is made

When one thing is taken away

Other things rise up

Stronger than in others

An indomitable spirit

A rare and unusual beauty

Kissed by angels

Living with grace

Standing up


Exactly what she’s made of

Making me feel

As if I’ve been

Kissed by angels,too

❤👣Jeanna’ Mead

6 58 a.m 6.7.19.


My Caroline Grace….received her first massage from me yesterday as her 15th birthday gift. The way she was so comfortable in her skin,in her beauty,in her body made my heart dance.

I love this girl after my heart.

Naked Body and Soul

There’s a letter that Charlie Chaplin wrote to his daughter and in it, he wrote some words that have been reprinted over and over,framed and hung, given out to lovers which is what he intended the words for.

I was looking at some old photographs of long time friends yesterday and I smiled at the memories but I also honored my instincts and knew full well that I would never be naked with any of them again.

We were not ever lovers but I had laid naked for each one of them more than once.

I will not do it again.

When we take our clothes off and lay naked between sheets to receive body work and massage therapy,we are vulnerable and it is as act of trust, of courage,of surrender to give someone the chance,the opportunity,the ability to see and touch our body so that we can receive what we need and want.

However it isn’t only the body that is naked, it is also the soul. In fact, it is even more so.

“Your naked body should only belong to those that fall in love with your naked soul.”

Belong. Fall in love.

I’ll like to reword this just a bit.

Instead of belong and fall in love, I’m going to use these words-

“Your naked body should only be touched by those that love your naked soul.”

Love is multifaceted. It is compassionate and passionate. It is understanding and attentive. It is aware and present. It sees and hears, it feels and it senses. It gives and it receives.

Love knows. Love shows. Love does. Love also doesn’t do some things.

I am hearing impaired Clinically I’m considered to have “moderate severe hearing loss” and “cookie bite syndrome” which means I hear high and low pitches but miss normal speaking tones. I can hear music but I don’t understand l ityrics, I hear the phone ring but can’t make sense of what is being said, I hear the birds singing but can’t tell how close or far they are.

It’s just the way it is.

It’s part of my body and my soul.

It’s who I am.

Many people don’t understand my deafness,or how much I do or don’t hear and that is just the way it is .

But I expect more when it’s someone I know, someone I consider a friend and colleague.

I’ve been disappointed. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been bought to tears and to rage.

I won’t go there again.

I will never get naked again for anyone that doesn’t touch my body and my soul with love.

I have the final word on who can see and touch my body and reach my soul. I have learned the hard way that only a very few honor both and so only a very few will be trusted with both.

I received massages from each of these women and found out more about them during the massages.

I was hurt. I was disappointed. I was angry.

I bit my tongue and I vowed to never lay down for any of them again.

They are good women. They are knowledgeable therapists.

But they do not touch with love for both the body and soul.

They assumed. They took advantage.

They blew it big time.

During a massage, when I was face down, in a vulnerable position, the woman that was massaging me, opened the door to let someone else in the room. I felt the energy of another person then I heard them talking. I couldn’t understand the words but I heard the voices. The therapist kneaded my muscles but was obviously interacting with someone else. Minutes later, the door opened and the other person left and she continued working on me as if nothing had happened.

I laid there, as still as I could,choking back the tears,feeling violated by both of them.

When it was over, I put my clothes back on and promised myself to never take them off for either of them again.

Years later, I was injured in a fall and I scheduled a session with another therapist.

I went in with my knee swollen, bruises up and down my leg and back and desperately needing relief.

I took my clothes off and laid naked between the sheets.

Warm,capable hands began to work on me and I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude.

Too soon,though.

Minutes into the session, I noticed I was only feeling one hand on my body.

But then both hands were back on me,moving skillfully over my body again.

Another sigh of relief.

Too soon,again.

I heard my therapists voice and then another voice-a man’s deep laugh.

During the moments when I was only feeling one hand,she had set up her phone on speaker mode and while she was massaging me, she carried on a long conversation with her boyfriend.

After all, I was deaf,right? I couldn’t have known,right?

I laid there, naked and in pain. My sigh of relief turned into a sigh of frustration and anger.

She finished the session and took her phone.

I put my clothes back on and I promised myself to never take them off for her again.

She did not touch my body or my soul with love. She did not deserve my trust ever again.

I learned. I accept. In move on.

There’s the other aspect of the body and soul connection.

I had been training hard and my legs had taken a beating so I scheduled a session with another therapist.

I took my clothes off and laid naked between the sheets. She worked thoroughly on my hamstrings and quads, stretching my legs and hips until I was clenching the table and biting my lips in pain. Not once did she notice my body language, or let up on the pressure. I felt it was torture instead of therapy. She didn’t stroke my back, touch my arms, release my grasped fists…she focused only on the original problem I had came in with and ignored everything my body and soul was telling her.

I was disappointed. I was hurt. I walked out, got in my car and cried my heart out.

“Your naked body should only belong to those that fall in love with your naked soul.”

Chapin’s words. Such profound truth.

Fall in love.

Over and over,I’ve had clients tell me that when they receive body work from me,they feel like I’m making love to them in the way that isn’t sexual or sensual,but is compassionate and honorable and I realize it’s the truth.

I touch with love,with intention,with purpose,with awareness,with understanding and knowledge.

I touch the naked body and honor the naked soul.

Just like I want to be touched.

Just like I wasn’t.

I will never get naked again for anyone that doesn’t see my soul.

I will never touch a naked body without reaching the naked soul.

I will only receive bodywork from those that love the soul as much as the body.

It’s my choice.

It is who I am.

It’s the way it is.

It’s that simple.

It’s my final word.

It is love.

Jeanna’ Mead

10 15 a.m. 4-24-19


On The Floor

She found herself

Laying on the bathroom floor

For how long

She had no idea

But it couldn’t have been

That long at all

There are bruises on her knee

That tell how hard she fell

A tender spot as well

It was enough to make her think twice

The current state of things

Would have to change

She couldn’t go on

Like this anymore

Finding herself laying

On a bathroom floor

Made her so glad no-one else had pushed through the door

And only she knew

The hard,cold truth

Of the why and how

That she wound up there

👣💗Jeanna’ Mead

9 02 a.m 3-10-19


Just One Cross – 1,000 Are Not Hers

1,000 Crosses

she radiates beauty beyond compare
malachite eyes dancing on delicate features
thick flaming hair accentuating skin so fair
she has built within her own dark lair
where every aching hour is neither here nor there
transfixed on modern technologies to articulate her pain
searching diligently for ways to cut her losses
pain has nailed her to a thousand crosses
like a cask of amontillado she remains walled in
growing moss- lamenting – wailing in her literature
all the times she’s been double-crossed
she lives now in a four-walled cubicle
a home chiseled to create personal comfort
protection from human-demons devoid of true love
the pathetic and sad in endless cycles of utter despair
she feels spurned
rougher, tougher still searching for her elusive lover
trapped in an unreal reality
her unrealized spirituality zaps her vitality
she hopes for better days
& yearns for someone magical to discover her sexuality
she weeps silently and peeks outside her shuttered windows
counting endless stars – glimmering pinpoint beams of light
through eyes that seek their own purity
something to move her out of obscurity
trapped, she reveals nothing
stuffing stories of her pain that fall like rain
upon the mantle of her secure fortress
distressed with stress as her days slowly pass her by
why bother to confess or confide in wounded people
who couldn’t care less?
still, she must find a magical person to listen
to love her – to save her from madness
her tormented broken heart continually cries and wails
seeking an ounce of genuine gladness
prose scribbled on cerebral portals
bring some release from her infinite dark losses
the very fabric of her being implores her to “know thyself”
she prays silently to no one in particular to remove the painful nails
that suspend her on a thousand crosses…

the time has come to become like the albatross and fly
before she dies broken in her loneliness & fear…


Randy E Welch

That was then
But not now
She finally had enough
Of all that crab
Those walls she had built herself
To guard her oft-broken,misunderstood heart
Came with a price that she refused to pay any longer

So she took the scissors
Cut off her hair
Let one side fall to the ground
While she stared at herself
In the mirror
As she twisted a handful of curls
In her right hand
And cut off the rest
Leaving a mess on the bathroom floor
In doing so
She opened up
The door to her soul

The less hair she had
The more she smiled
The weight of other people’s expectations
Fell away

She had learned long ago

Not to confide or confess

A cotton picking thing to anyone that just might turn around and use those things

To try to make sense

Make her change

Send her on a guilt trip

Bury her in shame

Make her fit into some cubicle

Take away her natural sensuality

God given spiritually

Inclination for mystery and magic

Just so that they could be satisfied

With what they thought she was

She finally felt as if she had just enough

Of all the right people standing along side

Filling up her cup

With all she wanted

Much of what she needed

She had prayed

Night and day

In her own way

And in doing so

She found the courage and the strength

To pack up what she couldn’t live without

Kick the rest to the curb

Lay claim to what is rightfully hers
Walk right inside her very own door

Breathing in the sweet scent of freedom that comes from

Doing what makes her soul dance within

Her well loved, well worn imperfect body
With a single stone cross around her neck

She was not lonely

Never had been afraid

She felt such purpose and peace

As if this was exactly as she had prayed and wished

Way back then

To have now.

👣💙Jeanna’ Mead

8 33 a.m 3-10-19