Blog Layout

I'm tired

Rebecca Jackson • September 25, 2021

Choosing To Live One Day At A Time

It was just
National Suicide Prevention week

& it's about to be the end of

National Suicide Prevention month

heres my story...

I'm tired. Beyond tired, really. I am exhausted emotionally, mentally, and physically. I know, I took an unexpected hiatus from the District Blog, ALL SUMMER LONG..... and I apologize for the distance. It's not you; it's me. I swear! I have had a hell of a summer, busy, busy, busy. I have made memories with my loved ones, some that I will cherish, and some haunt me. I have grown and pushed myself out of my comfort zone more times than I can count. I have put myself out there in social situations all summer. I have encouraged others through discussion, comments, posts, reactions, and support, regularly. I have set goals and strived to achieve them, in some cases with success, and in others, complete and utter failure. I have pulled myself up by my proverbial bootstraps. I have endured and powered through all the setbacks, disappointments, and shortcomings to live another day.

But I'm exhausted. Because of some shallow friendships, distant friendships, a history of toxic best friends, and Covid for that year of isolation, I lack real connection with anyone outside my immediate family and dependents. I used the Covid year well. I have healed from traumas, challenged myself in new areas of my faith & my care, and spent an entire year focused wholly on working at being my best self. It sparked a movement in my life, a sense of purpose in my being, and at the same time, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going at this pace.

I'm tired.

I love my husband. I love my children. I love my parents & my brother. I love the friends that are in my life. I love them all so much more than myself. I am tired, though. Like so tired, and oh, I have this other thing too...mental illness. Depression, anxiety, PTSD, and a slew of other neuro-divergent issues, plus an underlying belief that it's all a waste of time. No matter how hard I try, nothing will matter or make a difference. No one really cares if I live or die except those who depend on me (...my husband & kids) and those who raised me (...my dear old Mom & Dad). I feel they would all be better off without me anyway. Those icky, you don't matter thoughts that live inside my brain. Every. Single. Day. It's not an ego thing, it's a trauma thing, it's a pain thing, it's an "at my worst" thing. I'd probably prefer complete anonymity, but I don't think I'd have lasted nearly 40 years without my connections, that, and the fact that I now understand I have a Divine Purpose, so I must choose to live. One Day at A Time.

I don't remember how old I was the first time I "fantasized" about death. I've been in the midst of a battle between life & death since at least middle school, let's say, between 7th and 8th grade. Back then, it was a weak battle. It was once-in-a-blue-moon lows, and the occasional daydream about dying, complete with whatever fictitious display of grief would occur due to my death. It wasn't so much a desire to die as it was a curiosity about "what if?" I'd say it started the year after I lost my first grandparent, my grandpa Chet. Although I grew up in a generally normal family, with two loving parents, he always had a way of making me feel "seen." We lost him suddenly. It was super quick. I had missed my only chance to say goodbye here on earth because of a careless decision, and it rocked me. The aftermath of his passing rocked me even harder and across many seasons. It was about then that it started to feel like everything came undone in my head. All the easy-going, carefree years as a child were gone for me the moment I found out my grandpa had died. During this time, it should be noted that I was involved in a toxic friendship that I was unaware of and had been in since grade school. A friendship with someone who, many years later, I discovered was a textbook narcissist. She was my closest friend and confidante at the time, and I didn't stand a chance against her manipulative tactics.

I was "saved" in the middle of 8th grade, almost exactly a year after my grandpa's passing. I really thought that accepting Christ into my heart would "solve" my "problems." I was sadly mistaken. The fact that I had accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior simply wasn't enough for my head or my heart. I trusted He loved me, but I also believed I failed Him every time I was weak in thought, which caused me to distance myself from religion. I really didn't get the grace thing back then. I couldn't "do it" correctly, and I was failing at being good. My head was broken, which meant I wasn't ever going to be good enough for God to use, so I failed faith. Then at the end of 8th grade, I got hit in the head with an 8 lb. shot put during track & field practice. A head injury that was never addressed medically, though back then there was much less concern or understanding around head injuries, I digress. My head didn't crack, I hadn't passed out, no ambulance came, the coaches simply called my mom at work. They told her what happened then they left me alone on the curb outside of our school, with a goose egg the size of Ohio now growing on my head, to wait for my mom to arrive. My head was even more broken, and now it hurts a lot too.

I decided around the middle of 9th grade that I was changing my approach. I would just live this life in full force, with no cares until my time ran out, hopefully, sooner rather than later. My self-esteem was at an all-time low; I hurt myself to feel things; I became significantly "extra" in my appearance in order to be seen; I said outrageous things to be heard, and I went to insanely dangerous places to see if I would survive. These are my "Hellion Years." I call them this because, well, I was a hellion, but also because I frequently recited my motto, "I'm going to Hell for sure. I've already bought my ticket; now I'm just waiting to die." This motto carried me from the middle of 9th grade through high school and past graduation.

This motto carried me from the middle of 9th grade clear through high school and past graduation. The contents of those years could fill an entire novel on dangerous living and stupid choices, and how to accidentally survive them. It also landed me in outpatient rehab for drug abuse to start my Senior year. This would be the "fix" as far as my parents were concerned, or at least as they hoped & prayed. Sadly, it fixed my drug use, and not much else. I peed clean for 12 weeks. I attended AA meetings and felt incredibly isolated & alone within them. I sat through a tormenting circle of shame ceremony to satisfy the rehabilitation program and I completed the program successfully, but not much else in me had changed. To be extra sure I was "better" my parents had me attend therapy once a week, in place of rehab, until they felt good about my sobriety. I cooperated to satisfy them, but absolutely nothing got accomplished in those sessions. Prior to my stint in outpatient rehab, therapy had been broken for me.

Let me paint the picture, ........there I was, 16 years old, sitting in a therapist's office (18 months before rehab) essentially for feeling irrelevant & invisible to the the world around me. Those deeply rooted thoughts and feelings were confirmed when the licensed medical professional, who was billing my parents insurance diligently to help them discover the root of their daughter's drug use problems, actually fell asleep in her chair, across from me, while I was mid sentence, mid session. ALL FEELINGS VALIDATED. I am irrelevant, unimportant, invisible and apparently also boring as all hell. I doubled down at that point on my motto. I would live until I pushed this body to the limit & then I would have peace in death.

Except I didn't die.

So now there we were, practically 2 years down the road from that traumatic therapy session, finished with outpatient rehabilitation. I'm supposed to do this all over again. Open up, trust and act as if THIS therapist cared about anything but making money. NOPE. I showed up. I made small talk. I never got deep. I played her games while she billed my parents until I persuaded them to let me pee clean one more time and then stop going to therapy entirely. After that, I went back to my old ways, minus the hardcore drugs that should have killed me. Instead of the drugs, I spent the rest of my senior year carelessly existing, partying with alcohol (duh, because I was an addict, not an alcoholic). I hung out with the few people who claimed to care until I was free of school and could do whatever I wanted. In this decision-making season, I was sexually assaulted by my date in his car, in my driveway, after missing my curfew one night. That messed me up more, but then my assailant apologized on his own, which made me feel like he really cared. So, I told nobody what happened, and I dated him for a few more weeks until he left me, feeling even more irrelevant. I stayed silent and in pain, but I showed the world a mostly well-adjusted young adult excited to graduate and I buried that trauma.

My curiosity about death had escalated. I no longer wondered what if. Now, I was picturing and planning scenarios for if I ever got to the point when I finally just quit. Somehow, I powered through towards graduation, hoping the end of my pain was in sight. I was hoping that once I graduated, I'd be free and that my freedom would bring me happiness. I celebrated Commencement in June 2001. I said goodbye to my best friend. The only true healthy friendship I had back then. The next day, as she flew across the country to start her new life where her family had moved, I rolled into summer, all ready to chill for a few months before deciding what was next for my life. I had very few "give a fuck's" left about being "good" at this point in my life. I'd reached an age where I felt my life was mine to live, which made choosing to live a little easier, but my decision-making was still a little questionable. Significantly less dangerous, but still questionable. I had a world of opportunity ahead of me, I just needed to get to it, and anyone who didn't like the way I approached my life could pound salt as far as I was concerned. I would live for my happiness, and I did for a bit longer and coasted through summer.

On September 11th, 2001, I awoke to the national news, which showed planes flying into buildings and people leaping to their deaths to avoid the collapse and inferno that would inevitably consume them. I saw people who wanted to live being given no choice, and it was all unfolding on the television at a rate I couldn't begin to comprehend. My father and I happened to be in a hotel room in the middle of a cross-country motorcycle trip to visit that friend who had moved a few months earlier. As an active firefighter, my father was overwhelmed by the news coming out of the tv, and I was just confused. I never felt more like a child again than I did at that moment. THIS is the world I live in??? How could THIS be happening? It was all wildly confusing to my mind. We somberly packed our few belongings and reloaded the motorcycle to continue our journey, my father listening to the radio for updates on the way. I was lost and perplexed in my own thoughts. Then we stopped for gas, and my real-life reality set in.

I'd seen my physician before going on this trip with my dad, and he performed a pregnancy test on me. The over-the-counter tests I took were negative even though I was "late." My mom encouraged me to see the doctor to be sure. Until I was at this gas station parking lot, I had forgotten entirely about that test. I thought for sure it was a fluke that I was late because I was taking birth control. While we were stopped, my dad got a call from my mom. She was calling to tell me I was definitely pregnant, and my results had come in that morning. The morning of September 11th, 2001. A day when thousands of other people were losing their own lives or the lives of their loved ones. That was the day God decided to tell me I was expecting a new life.

My mother was literally on the phone with the doctor's office at the same moments’ tragedy struck the first tower that same morning in New York City. I was terrified, I was broken, I was amazed. I WAS CHOSEN. I was chosen to become a mother when I didn't even think I belonged. I was chosen 3 short months after receiving my high school diploma. I was given this incredible blessing that I felt I did not deserve while so many were having their loved ones ripped away by hatred. I would be responsible for a whole life besides my own, and I had absolutely no idea how I would do it. I had no idea what God was thinking. I was so uncertain.

***DISCLAIMER*** I waited until now to post this blog instead of sharing it ON September 11th for three reasons:

1. On the 20th anniversary of that fateful morning, I wanted the focus to remain on those who lost their lives.

2. I was SUPER occupied that weekend, moving that little being that was once in my womb into her first college apartment!

3. It was important to me to use this story to remind people that the horrific events of that day outlasted their commemoration on the calendar.

We should remember that day more than just on the anniversary.

Now back to my story...

I tried my hardest to stay present for the rest of that trip 20 years ago. It would be almost two weeks before I returned home to face the father of my child and the real-life decisions I needed to make because of this discovery. I had a new appreciation for life on that trip. I am fully aware that living for a baby is not a particularly healthy way to live. Still, at this point in my healing process, it was the reason I continued to choose my own life. I slowly felt drawn to the future again in a positive way. I arrived home a few weeks later. Sadly, my relationship with the baby's father deteriorated very quickly on the other side of this news. Don't misunderstand; he was incredibly excited about the news. I quickly got past my fear of being a parent, thanks to my incredibly supportive & encouraging parents. Still, our relationship was not founded on very stable ground, and the pressure that this news had bestowed on us was absorbed very differently by each of us.

I absorbed this pressure in the way I do most things instinctively, driven by purpose and service. I saw this unexpected pregnancy as a great responsibility and my life's purpose from that point forward. I could honor this situation and the baby born of it best by loyally committing to serve a selfless role as a mother. One that forced me to look at every choice and decision I made through a new lens, one that prioritized the innocent, defenseless, developing baby in my belly. The baby's father looked at this news as the solid foundation our "love story" would be built on. Except without a solid foundation, having a baby does not make things easier. He proposed, I said, not now. Before we committed forever, I wanted to give our relationship more time. He became controlling and more possessive by the day. He was paranoid that I was cheating on him with any male I encountered outside of my own father & brother. He isolated me from all my high school friends and then focused on isolating me from my family. I became a prisoner. I only felt safe to stay home in our tiny apartment and read until it was time to make dinner for him to enjoy when he got home from work each day. I wasn't allowed to read after dinner because that would take my attention away from him. Through my own healing journey, I later realized that it likely threatened his stability in our future, as he was not a very solid reader. He was four years my senior and never received his diploma or GED.

As his doubts about our future rose, so did his temper, until one night after an accident occurred during a "fun game night" with a couple in our building with whom he was friends. In jest, he hit his head during a lighthearted competitive moment, and I can only assume he was embarrassed. Our evening ended abruptly when he yelled at me and stormed out the door. I uncomfortably bid our friends good night and walked home alone. He came home over an hour later, berated me again, and then angrily "apologized" for leaving me there while backing me into the corner. It was the first time I was truly frightened of being with him. I stood there trying not to show my fear while he explained that he had to get out of there before he hit somebody, emphasizing his point with his fist to the wall next to my left ear. I flinched, and at that moment, I knew I couldn't stay. I called my mom the next day crying. We planned for my dad to come over with his truck and load my things up. I went back home to my childhood bedroom, humbled, uncertain, and overwhelmed. For the first time in a really long time, though, quitting life wasn't even on my mind. I escaped what I can only assume would have become even more unhealthy & even more dangerous, and I was motivated to live again.

I thank God that I was pregnant, because in that moment, without her growing in my womb, I would have just stayed. I would have cared less about my saftey, hell I may have instigated further in the fight, in an attempt to not look scared, and unintentionally escalated the situation further, but I didn't because I was so focused on the safety of that baby, above my own. I stayed silent & trembling, for that evening. Then I used the first window I could find to get out. I hadn't left him though, just our apartment. We spoke later when he called angry, after he was home from work, and I was not there, and dinner was not ready. I answered and I told him I was not leaving him, not for good. I told him that I needed space and that I thought it would be easier for me to find decent work where my parents lived so that I could save money before the baby came. I told him this time apart would be good for both of us, and I told him it wasn't a forever move, just a for now move. I truly believed it at that moment. We ended the call with him in an emotional place, and me not sure how to make us both feel better about the whole situation.

The situation got worse in the short term; moving home to my parents only angered him and made him more desperate. In one breath, he accused me of cheating, saying the baby wasn't his, and in the next breath, he was begging my forgiveness, saying he could not live without me. I was still trying to maintain the relationship, just living apart for now. We would make plans a few times a week, but they almost always ended in us fighting and me arriving back to my parents in tears. His friends all thought I was emotional and overreacting. They understood why he felt rejected, I mean I was pregnant with his baby, and I had moved out right after finding out. Anyone would be angry, right?

Our relationship came to a final head, about a week before Halloween, after a night of bowling in a group setting, with all his buddies, and a few of their dates. I had a great night, at least until the end. I was having a good time, socializing in a real way, for the first time in a very long time, and it actually seemed easy. I was cautiously optimistic, but as the night wrapped up, I noticed his mood shifting and his temper begin to flair. He had been drinking, and he pulled me aside to tear into me about ignoring him and being more interested in everyone else there than I was with him. I was blindsided. I didn't feel that way at all. I had gone out of my way to interact & engage with him. I felt confused, and more broken. The debate turned into an argument, as I chased him out the front while the entire bowling alley was emptying around us now. He was again accusing me of cheating and it not being his, shouting it at me across the parking lot, humiliating me further. I froze

I was standing in a crowd of people walking by looking at us, thinking God only knows what about me? I was holding on for my own well being, and that of my baby, but I knew, in this moment, that I was not capable, or equipped to hold him together as well. I shouted back as he walked away from me, that it was over, and that he wouldn't see me or hear from me until after the baby was born. He left me in that parking lot, and went home with his buddies, in their car. I had gotten a ride from them, and just as I was starting to realize I was stranded, one of his other friends who had driven alone, came up beside me, ushered me to his car, and drove me home. Mostly silent, while tears streamed down my face. I doubled down on my request for space after that and pushed forward towards the due date. I would no longer stand for the verbal abuse as it was making me feel terrible as a whole, and my support system was reminding me, that everything I was feeling was affecting the baby. He continued trying to contact me, but I refused. I never got an official restraining order, because living at home with my father felt safe enough to me

I got a decent job in sales, fully feeling the weight of becoming a single mom, I met a guy unexpectedly at that job, and I started building a network of friends again. That guy became a little "thing" in my social life pretty quickly. I couldn't explain it if I tried, but it felt right, he felt safe, it felt as though I had always known him, and I trusted him. I was a teenager still, so I don't pretend to have done any of this perfectly, but I do believe that my decisions made in faith, led me to my perfect soulmate. As the due date rapidly approached, my ex had begun having his friends stalk me at work. They would walk around the big box store I worked at, circling my department looking for information. I made a difficult decision to not have my ex present at the hospital when I was scheduled for my labor to be induced, because I didn't want a tense enviroment and he had frightened me a few too many times.

I wanted our baby to be born into a positive atmosphere. I checked into the hospital for a routine induction of labor, a terrified 19-year-old. After 11 hours of labor, I was handed the most beautiful and perfect little being I had ever laid eyes on. My heart felt like the Grinch on steroids. It erupted inside of me, and my first, genuinely Divine mission was delivered to me screaming. She had the pinkest skin I'd ever seen and the most perfectly pursed lips in the most dazzling crimson I'd ever seen. She looked like she was wearing red lipstick from the moment she made her grand entrance! I felt a love I never really knew existed until that moment. We were released from the hospital 4 days later, and I took my sweet little bundle of joy home to my parents' house, just before dinnertime that day.

As my family was settling into our evening, taking turns soaking up baby snuggles, I was contemplating what the next steps would need to be legally to protect her, now that she was separate from me. As perfect as everything felt, I was no stranger to the harsh realities of this world, let alone the tumultuous situation I had brought her into. It was in the middle of that contemplation, that I was interrupted abruptly in thought, by my ex, walking right in the front door of my parents' house. It happened fast, where I was sitting in our back living room gave me the most precise and perfect line of sight to see a narrow window through three different doorways, only really visible from one seat in the room, the one I was in. I saw him shove my mother across the front foyer, he was screaming at me all the way across the house, charging towards me. That guy I was seeing regularly, immediately flew to my mother's side, putting himself between us. Without a moment of hesitation, my father shoved my sweet baby girl into my arms and told me to lock myself in the back bathroom, more screaming, muffled by the door and the distance, and then I heard tires squeal.

The tires were his, and he had been drunk, or at least smelled of alcohol, and he had nearly hit a tree speeding around the corner at the end of our road before flying into a tree lawn & then speeding away, as I later came to learn. Our night, my first night home with my daughter, ended with a police report, a very angry screaming call from him while the officer was still at our house, and some advice to him from the officer to seek his rights through more productive and legal methods. I stumbled my way through the next week and 3 days on very little sleep (ahhhhh, newborns) and adrenaline. My Momma Bear mode had been activated. My brain was fried with possibilities, and littered with worst case scenarios for our future. I was now, genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, angry as hell, but realizing he was struggling way more than I had cared to realize until then. Hurt people, hurt people, right? I was concerned about how all of that would impact our future, tied together, forever. Raising this beatuiful daughter. I was frazzled, fried and in need of a moment that was easy.

It was two weeks to the day after my daughter was born, when I decided to attempt to sneak out for a quick meal with the new guy. We had not even been gone for a full hour, when my mother called frantic sounding, and wondering when I would be home. The rest of this story will go quickly, to avoid details that aren't mine to share, and to be respectful. I arrived home moments after my mother called to discover that she was frantic because she had just recieved a phone call from the Sheriff's office, and they needed to speak to me to confirm my whereabouts, and to ask me to identify my baby's father by his tattoo's. They needed to confirm his identity. He had taken his own life, in his car, alone, with the paperwork from Job & Family Services on the seat next to him. My name on those papers was the only information they had to go off of to begin contacting his next of kin. Our daughter, who I would now be raising, alone, because I had not seen how broken he really was sooner. Because I had not been able to help him, or get him help.

I was shocked, I was broken more, and I had this feeling that it would take me almost 20 years to unpack.

It was in that moment that my suicidal thoughts ended. I had been so deep in my own fight for survival that I wasn't able to see how desperately he was fighting. I didn't have the tools or the knowlege, or understanding to help him choose to live. I did however realize, the first time I got REALLY low in my single mom walk, that I did have a responsibility to continue choosing to live. I'd like to say that at some point in the last 20 years that I had healed enough to stop wanting to die in my lowest of lows, but I can't say that yet. As it turned out though, I had picked up at least one thing in my season of AA meetings, I realized that I couldn't get too bogged down by the future, and the weight that multiplied on my shoulders when I looked forward in my lowest points. I had to take it "One Day At A Time". It is a battle I will likely fight the rest of my life, but I can say, that every day I choose to live, is in part inspired by my daughter's biological father, and the fact that I couldn't help him when he was here.

I now embrace that the best way I can honor him, is to be present for as much of our daughter's life as God blesses me with days on this earth to witness. I must cheer her on for both of us. It is because of this that I say, I am tired. Beyond tired, and on many days, ready to quit. I choose to live because, my story has taught me, that SO MANY don't have that priveledge. Regardless of if they were capable of choosing to live and had that choice taken away, or if they felt that choice was too big a burden to carry any longer and, ended their time here, either way if they are looking down, watching the pain their loved ones are enduring as a result of their loss, they would choose to live again. If they could choose to, if they were able to be here with their loved ones, one more day, I believe they would choose it every time.

That guy I met at the very start of my single mom journey, became my boyfriend for nearly 2 years, before he graduated to fiance & inevitably became my husband after 5 1/2 years together. He is the only daddy my oldest knows this side of Heaven, and he has been a shining star in that role, one I genuinely believe her biological father would respect and appreciate if he were able to tell us. My husband and I added 3 additional daughters to our family, and our tiny little palace is overflowing with love, and their junk! We have now been together for more than half of my life and I feel enourmously blessed to have him in my corner. He has been my rock. Being with him hasn't been a perfect story or an easy road, but what longstanding EPIC lovestory is ever easy, and that is what makes it perfectly ours.

The pressures of marriage are real. The pressures of being grown ass adults are real. The pressure of my entreprenueral journey is real. The pressure of raising 4 daughter is real. All of these pressures remind me daily, of how truly blessed I am, and how important it is that I make my own Self-Love, Self-Care & Healing ALL priorities in my days. It is only with these things, and my faith in God Almighty, that I can continue to wake up and choose to live.

Thank you for reading this, it was long, and filled with triggers for some of you.

If you find yourself in crisis as a result of reading this, please know that it is through sharing, that healing can grow, and this is what motivated my sharing. I hope you seek the support you need to begin the journey to healing in y our own life.

Your life matters. You have a purpose.

Help is just a phone call away! Use this link to ask for help

If you are a victim of domestic violence or find yourself in an unsafe situation, you deserve to feel safe.

Seek Help! Find a step towards freedom & support that can help you! Your life matters. You have a purpose.

If you are in an unsafe situation seek safety! Get Help!

Security Alert

Internet usage can be monitored and is impossible to erase completely.

If you’re concerned your internet usage might be monitored, call 800.799.SAFE (7233)

Remember to clear your browser history after visiting the website above.

I don't write this to illicit sympathy, or for it to come off as a cry for help. I share my story because, I believe it is my responsiblity, in this world we live in, as it evolves and changes around us, to do my part to break the stigma of Mental Health and bring it into the forefront of discussion. It is through my trauma and pain that I have come to realize true purpose, beyond living for another human. This snippet of my story shows , that in my case, temporary purpose in another was the literal key to unlocking my freedom, but as other parts of my story will tell, living for another is not a longstanding solution, and you certainly won't thrive that way. We must seek purpose in our own life, seperate of the roles we play for others. It is the only real way to seek a healthy balance in life & our care. My pain & trauma has made me a person capable of sitting in the hard stuff, of processing and communicating in the midst of great pain & trials, it has also made me a safe place to share. I am not liscensed in any medical profession or practice and I do not claim to be a therapist, but I am a real person who has walked through real pain and trauma and found purpose within it. I don't say this to toot my own horn, but rather to motivate you to toot yours instead. You, like me, have walked through your own scattered mess of drama, pain, hurt, damage, trauma & trials. Whether your story shares simmilarities to my own or not, you have survived, and you chose to live today!

For that, I want to celebrate YOU!

Keep Choosing to Live Today!

If you made it to the end of this story, and were inspired by anything at all in it's contents,

drop me a comment. I would love to celebrate you. I would love to connect.

YOU are the reason I do this crazy entreprenuer thing anyways.

I have been called to create this place, for all the people who need a place to go, that says to them:

"Hey you! You ROCK at this living thing! I see you with all your scars and bruises, and I think you look Dazzling, not despite them, but BECAUSE of them! YOU have had life throw it's absolute best load of crap at you, and you wash that shit off the very best you can every single time! Your light is bright! It's Dazzling Darling! I know it's sparkly like a diamond, trust me, it's there! You just have to make the choice to live TODAY, tomorrow will be there tomorrow, you can tackle it tomorrow. Start today & do the work to chip away all of the crap that's hardened around your Dazzling heart! It's HERE, at THIS place, Dazzling District, where you can come to pick yourself up and begin a quest towards, Healing, Growing & Thriving so you can become even more sparkling than before!

Darling YOU ARE Dazzling!"

WELCOME to the REALM!!! I really do hope you come back & visit.

Find Dazzling District on the Socials so we can become old friends!

~Stay Dazzling!

Rebecca Jackson

founder/creator