Jean Marshall The Artful Woman

One week post-ankle surgery. I really thought I was going to tough this one out. I told myself I’d be brave, stay strong, keep pushing, maybe even get back to the gym right away. But somewhere between determination and common sense, reality kicked in. Why would I push myself for two weeks and risk aggravating the stitches on my ankle when healing is finally within reach? Going to the gym would mean constant transferring, constant friction, constant irritation to an area that desperately needs rest. And after everything I’ve already been through with my amputated leg — the open wounds, the spitting stitches, the endless setbacks — I just couldn’t justify sabotaging my own healing again. I had finally reached a point where I could start wearing my prosthetic again at the beginning of May, only for everything to come to a complete stop because of this ankle surgery. Yesterday, I decided to try anyway. I put the prosthetic on just to see if I could do it. But because my ankle currently has...

  My Journey From Rock Bottom to Guiding Others Out of the Darkness I’ve been in the depths of despair more times than I can count. And every time, somehow, I’ve found my way back to the light—not because someone handed me a roadmap, but because I learned how to crawl, scrape, and claw my way out. That’s the only path I know: out of the darkness and toward the light. After my stroke, I hit rock bottom in more ways than one—physically, emotionally, spiritually. Life wasn’t just hard. It was suffocating and we were in the middle of a pandemic. I was exhausted from surviving. Tired of struggling. Tired of feeling trapped in circumstances that didn’t reflect who I truly was inside. And so I did the work. Not the kind of work where you journal for three days and suddenly manifest a Ferrari. I’m talking about the deep, gritty, ugly work. The kind where you face your anger, your fear, your trauma, your toxic patterns, your self-sabotage, your resentment, your victimhood, your grie...

After surviving a stroke and a catastrophic accident, I’ve had to rebuild not just my body—but my nervous system, my thoughts, and my sense of safety in the world. At the very least, I dedicate 10 minutes each morning to anchoring my body in safety. From there, I’ve developed a simple 3-step daily reset that helps me move through fear, regulate my thoughts, and gently rewire how I relate to uncertainty, pain, and hope. This is not about perfection. It’s about returning to yourself, over and over again, especially after trauma. 1. Morning Safety Anchor (2 minutes) I place my hand on my heart and breathe: inhale for 4, hold for 2, exhale for 6. I say: “In this moment, I am safe.” This helps ground my nervous system and even supports calming phantom pain when it shows up. 2. Midday Thought Flip (30 seconds at a time) When fear starts to spiral into “what if” scenarios, I pause. Instead of feeding the fear, I answer it gently: “And if it happens, I’ll handle it. What if it goes right inst...

I made it to the gym Saturday. And Monday. And today. If all goes well, I’ll go again Friday. It doesn’t sound like much. For some people it’s just routine. For me, it’s everything. Life is still chaotic. Today my workout got cut short because my caretaker had to rush to urgent care — teenage drama, a fight at school, one of those moments that reminds you the world doesn’t pause just because you’re trying to heal. Nothing in my life is moving quickly right now. Insurance is slow. Legal processes are slow. Disability is slow. Every step requires another referral, another form, another phone call. It feels like living inside a system that runs on “eventually.” Meanwhile, my body is still catching up to trauma. Nerves that were cut. Areas that are numb. Pain that lingers. A limb that’s gone. Metal holding things together. Some days I feel like a collection of repairs. And yet — the gym is the one place I don’t feel broken. It hurts to train. I’m tired. My body protests...

  Questioning the idea that survival comes with a purpose to fulfill I’ve survived two life-altering events, and what I’ve learned about purpose isn’t what people expect. They say, “God kept your alive for a reason,” or “God still has a purpose for you.” And I need to be honest about how that lands for me. It doesn’t feel comforting. It feels like pressure. Like surviving something traumatic automatically comes with an assignment—something I’m supposed to figure out later, some hidden meaning I’m expected to uncover. And in my case, this hasn’t been said just once. It’s been said twice. Once after my stroke in 2020. And now again after a near-death accident on September 6th 2025 that changed my life forever. So it starts to create a pattern I can’t ignore—that my survival is always being tied to some purpose I haven’t “fulfilled” yet. And that raises a real question for me: Why does it sound like I have to go through something catastrophic in order for my life to be cons...

 People ask me how I’m holding on after everything that happened to me. How do you keep going when one person’s reckless decision permanently changes your life? The truth is, some days I’m barely holding on by a thread. One man’s choice didn’t just destroy my car. It destroyed my livelihood, my body, and my ability to live the life I built. He took my leg. And as a photographer and artist, my work depended on being on my feet—moving constantly, creating memories, capturing love, telling stories through my lens. That life was taken from me in an instant. Now I live with constant anxiety about how I’m going to pay my rent, cover my bills, and survive while trying to heal from catastrophic injuries. I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have a landlord who has shown compassion and patience, but the reality is, that understanding can only last so long. There are days when I feel one wrong word away from a panic attack. But I’ve learned that I cannot afford to live in fear. I cannot let my ...

When Survival Looks Like Dependence There are moments in life where everything you thought you understood about yourself gets stripped away. For me, it happened in a single instant—an accident that left me with severe injuries, a long recovery ahead, and a body I no longer recognized. I’ve been trying to process it ever since. Not just the physical pain, but the emotional weight of waking up into a completely different reality. A reality where I’m dependent on other people for basic things I used to do without thinking. And that’s where things get complicated. Because dependence doesn’t always come with safety. Sometimes it comes with tension. Sometimes it comes with resentment. Sometimes it comes wrapped in help that has strings attached. The Strange Place I Ended Up In Before my accident, I broke up with my boyfriend. That part was clear. I didn’t love him, and I didn’t want to be in the relationship anymore. But life doesn’t always respect clear decisions. While I was ...

There’s a question that keeps looping in my mind since the accident: Why did this happen to me? Not just in a surface-level way—but in a deeper, more unsettling way. Was this random? Or was there a reason? And if there was a reason… was it somehow my fault? When Faith Gets Tangled with Fear I started questioning things I never thought I would. Even my curiosity—exploring things like tarot, pendulums, and spiritual tools—suddenly felt like something I needed to examine under a microscope. Was I stepping outside of my faith? Was I doing something I wasn’t supposed to do? Was this some kind of consequence? It’s a hard place to sit in—when your beliefs, your curiosity, and your trauma all start blending together. The Truth I Keep Coming Back To The more I sit with these questions, the more I realize something important: Not everything that happens is a message. Not everything is a lesson. And not everything painful is a punishment. Sometimes things happen because life i...

 It’s time for me to start telling my story. For a long time, I stayed quiet outside of a very small circle of close friends. I shared only enough to stay connected, but not enough to be fully seen. That wasn’t avoidance—it was protection. After my accident, my nervous system and my energy field simply could not take in more input from the outside world. As an empath, I had to retreat in order to survive and heal. But as my strength slowly returns, I feel that silence shifting. I was in a tragic accident on Ortega Highway that changed the entire course of my life. In an instant, everything I knew about my body, my independence, and my future was disrupted. Since then, I’ve been forced into a long and ongoing process of rebuilding—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. And I’m still in it. Even the simplest things that most people take for granted have become daily challenges. Basic mobility. Using the restroom safely and in time. Navigating transfers ...