The following article was originally intended to be an early chapter in my book, Green Flower Goddess: Healing Rituals, Meditations and Wisdom for Breath & Plant Medicine that Honour Women and the Earth. I chose to remove it because I didn’t want readers to feel that quitting their job was a requirement for moving forward on their path to greater wholeness. However, my daughter, who is also a writer, was deeply moved by this story and encouraged me to share it. She believes that readers who want to know more about me would find meaning in these words. So here it is: the birth story of Strong and Brave INC and the rebirth of me.
A few years ago, I was working on a 1,580-line Excel spreadsheet for a work assignment. It was a Sunday night, and I was trying to get some extra hours in on this overwhelming task. I was stressed, and I was emotional, and I got really upset. I started to feel woozy and shaky, and my pulse was racing so high that my husband took me to the hospital. We thought my body was reacting to the cedar tea I had drunk earlier in the evening.
I spent 5 days in the hospital, the first few days in Intensive Care on watch for cardiac arrest. After the tests came back saying they couldn’t find anything wrong with me, I came home. My heart had been trying to get my attention. I got the message, and I listened. I took 4 weeks off to rest and review. I did all the self-care practices I teach in my book, Green Flower Goddess, and I recovered quickly.
I returned to work, but I had changed. I felt strangely disconnected from my projects and my people. About a month later, I woke up one morning knowing deep down something that I could no longer ignore. It Was Time For Me To Go.
This was during COVID-19, and I was working from home. I waited until my husband left to go run an errand. I knew that I had to act on this immediately before I lost my nerve. I didn’t want to be derailed from my decision. Once my husband left, I emailed my manager at work and told her I needed a Zoom call with her immediately. She got online with me, and I told her my news, “It’s time for me to go”. She was stunned.
I was an award-winning consultant with a large client base and an incredible track record of the highest level of service our organization has probably ever seen. I loved my clients. Many of them were like friends. I fretted over their challenges as if they were my own and searched tirelessly for solutions. For years, I would speak at conferences and tell audiences I had my dream job. Why would I leave?
Photo Credit: S&B Vonlanthen
When my husband came home, I told him what I had done. He smiled and reminded me that he was planning on retiring me in a couple of years. I told him it was “time for me to go”. He just smiled again and said, “In a couple of years”. I said, “No, now”. He said, “In a couple of years”. I said, “Now, Honey,” and then he looked deeply into my eyes in that way that pierces my soul. He smiled at me and said, “Ok Babe”.
We talked about me leaving my job, and my husband agreed to support me. A few weeks later, I felt the same way about my decision, so I wrote the nicest resignation letter I could think of. It took a long time to write. Why was I resigning? Because it was Time For Me To Go. I found it much easier to write about what I was leaving them for.
“…The isolation and social restrictions of this pandemic have been one of the greatest challenges that our people have collectively faced, at least in our lifetime. For me, the limitations of isolation and working from home were great. Over time, these limitations transformed into opportunities for growth and meaning.
As we get closer to personal and social freedom from this pandemic, I can see that a return to the office is just around the corner. I have to be honest with you; the idea of being away from my husband is a reality that I just cannot bear. My heart tells me that my future is with him, building and creating…”
Looking back at this letter now, I sounded like a teenager in love. My husband, Johl, and I had been together for nearly 10 years by then. I’m sure some people thought I was nuts. It was near the end of this 24-year career where I had earned the name “Zen Jen”. But everything I said in that letter was true. The isolation of COVID-19 activated every trigger I had, slapping me in the face repeatedly and snapping me out of the numb state I had been existing in for years.
During the weeks and months that followed my resignation, I remained ridiculously happy, all sunshine and lollipops. I felt so strong and brave. So certain of my decision, I signed away my title, my financial “security,” and the pension I was scheduled to start collecting on when I was 60.
I didn’t feel bad for leaving my clients, and I didn’t feel guilty; it was so strange. This was such a 180-degree switch from the person I had been, a person who wanted to make everyone feel better, who didn’t want to hurt anyone or let anyone down. I earned a high level of respect as their consultant. But now, I had this calling in my heart to do something…else.
All I knew was, it was Time For Me To Go. This knowing was lower down than the calling in my heart, it was firmly rooted in my solar plexus. “It’s Time To Go, Zen Jen”, the knowing said. “There’s Something Else You Are Meant To Do”.
After my last day of work, my husband and I went on a trip to Vancouver Island. We had lots of hiking adventures and enjoyed the warmth of the young people. I had a mystical experience with a 400-year-old Sitka spruce, something I will talk more about in the book.
Johl and I returned home and got back to work running two businesses while I tried to find my footing in this new direction I had chosen. Johl looked after the businesses so I could take some days off. I spent as much of my free time as I could in nature, journalling and living the ceremonies and rituals that I share in this book.
The high-rolling sunshine and lollipops phase lasted another month, and then one day, I got scared. A heavy, dark weight of fear descended over me and landed on my chest and then dripped its dark heaviness down into the pit of my stomach.
Oh, no, I made a mistake! What was I thinking quitting my job like that? I had a title! I had a purpose! I had a client base! I had a role! I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to be doing anymore!
Why didn’t I stay at that job longer and then left a little later, when I had my shit together, when I had a plan? What was I thinking?
Why didn’t anyone try to talk me out of it?
After a lot of drama, I spiralled down into the ground, into the darkness where I could finally surrender to the complete breaking down of me. I became no one, no thing, in no time.
I spent months feeling and processing the fear, grief, shame and anger that I had shoved down for my entire life. It all came up to be felt, and none of it was pretty. I also felt and processed what seemed like all of hu(wo)manity’s fear, grief, shame and anger like I was some sort of human pressure valve.
But after a while, I realized that if I had stayed in my job, I wouldn’t have been able to do the breaking down that needed to be done, fully and completely, so that something new could be birthed.
The last time I had a message this deep, It’s Time To Go Now Jen, I had just miscarried in the first trimester of pregnancy. I tried to honour the knowing, but my partner said all the things I wanted to hear, so I stayed. It was a long time ago, before Johl. I wasn’t Zen Jen yet. It didn’t work out well.
This time, a wise part of me must have known that if I had stayed, more parts of me would have to get locked down. This wise part of me just knew that I had to take the island, and the only way to do that was to burn the boats. If I burned the boats, I wouldn’t be able to go back to my old habit of soothing myself with my addiction to being in service on the mainland.
When my soul called me this time, she fought dirty. She gave me rose-coloured glasses to wear until the boats went up in flames. When the burning boats sank, the glasses fell apart, and the real work began.
I had no choice but to sing, dance and beat my drum.
I learned to heal myself. I learned to hold space for my healing in a way that feels right for me.
I’ve just put my old resignation letter in a frame. It now sits on the table that we have in the front entrance of our home. I do this as a symbol of love for my beautiful, patient, understanding husband. I don’t know if I would have had the ovaries to do it if it weren’t for his support and unconditional love.
This framed letter is also a love letter to me. When I notice that my view of life has dimmed, I pick up my letter and read it out loud to myself.
And then I sing, and I dance, and I beat my drum.
Oh, no, I made a mistake! What was I thinking quitting my job like that? I had a title! I had a purpose! I had a client base! I had a role! I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to be doing anymore!
Why didn’t I stay at that job longer and then left a little later, when I had my shit together, when I had a plan? What was I thinking?
Why didn’t anyone try to talk me out of it?
After a lot of drama, I spiralled down into the ground, into the darkness where I could finally surrender to the complete breaking down of me. I became no one, no thing, in no time.
I spent months feeling and processing the fear, grief, shame and anger that I had shoved down for my entire life. It all came up to be felt, and none of it was pretty. I also felt and processed what seemed like all of hu(wo)manity’s fear, grief, shame and anger like I was some sort of human pressure valve.
But after a while, I realized that if I had stayed in my job, I wouldn’t have been able to do the breaking down that needed to be done, fully and completely, so that something new could be birthed.
