This is the version I usually hide

Hi friend,

I know I missed last week, but this newsletter will explain it all.

A little over a week ago, I decided to post every single day for 100 days straight (plus row 1 mile). I will share more on this feat later.

And last Sunday, I was in a bit of bind. I was busy with the kids ALL DAY! I was mentally tired. But, I needed to post a video.

So, I went back and looked at my highest performing video. I wanted to see if I could do it better.

So, I posted a video of myself crying and sharing some honest lessons in this season. You can watch it HERE.

That video ended up going viral. Well, viral for me. 😂 I almost didn't post it.

Not because the moment wasn't real. But because I've spent a long time learning how to be strong in public. How to show up prepared. How to lead without letting the cracks show.

Vulnerability was something I shared after I understood it. After it was safe. After I could frame it with a point.

This wasn't that.

I posted it and immediately Brick'd my phone. It's a device you tap and it blocks everything.

And somehow — that was the video that reached the most people.

I've been sitting with that all week.

Because I think what resonated wasn't necessarily the crying. I think what resonated was the stopping.

So many of us are exhausted from performing our lives. From only bringing the polished version of ourselves to the places that matter most. From holding entire households and careers and expectations and still appearing like we're fine while quietly wondering when we stopped being honest with ourselves.

We know how to hold it together.

What we were never really taught is how to be seen while we're still in process.

The 100-day commitment hasn't taught me discipline. It pushed me past the content I'd already made peace with. Past the safe material. Into the territory I would have managed my way around if I'd had the choice.

And that's where the truth was waiting.

I think that's how it usually works.

We don't get to the real thing by choosing it from a comfortable distance. We get there because we ran out of room to avoid it.

Maybe the most honest thing any of us can do right now is stop waiting until the story is cleaned up to start telling it.

Two things can be true: you are holding it together and it's getting heavy.

You are grateful and still know something needs to shift.

You are becoming — and becoming is not always quiet, or graceful, or ready to be shared.

But it might be exactly what someone else needs to see.

Not with the internet. Not with anyone else. Just with yourself. That's usually where the real thing starts.

Stay anchored,

LCJ

P.S. If you have a working woman in your life who'd recognize herself in this, forward it to her. The Sunday Anchor is for her too.