Jean Marshall The Artful Woman

  T here are moments in healing when the body knows what it needs before the mind understands why. For me, it was the spirit drum. For days, I felt it — a quiet, persistent pull: Play the drum. When I finally did, something shifted almost immediately. The pressure in my body softened. The constant ache, the swelling, the tension I had been carrying — it didn’t disappear completely, but it eased. That experience isn’t random. There are real, grounded reasons why rhythm and drumming can have such a powerful effect on the body. Rhythm Regulates the Nervous System The body operates between two primary states: Stress and survival (fight or flight) Rest and repair A steady drumbeat creates a consistent, predictable rhythm that the nervous system can synchronize with. This process, known as entrainment , helps shift the body out of stress mode and into a more regulated, restorative state. As the body settles, tension begins to release. Muscles soften. Breathing deepens. Th...

  I fiercely protect my energy — and let me tell you why. For most of my life, I’ve been the type of person people could count on. A good person. Someone who would show up, give, listen, and hold space. But when you’re wired like that, people often mistake it for weakness. Instead of honoring it, they take advantage. They lean on it. They drain it. I call them time bandits, energy thieves, and soul snatchers — people who see your kindness as an open door to take, take, and take some more. And when you don’t have boundaries, they will absolutely drain you. And for me, being an empath only intensified that experience. I feel things deeply. I absorb the emotions, chaos, and energy of the people around me. At first, I didn’t even realize it wasn’t mine. I carried other people’s burdens like they were my own. And when it got too heavy, when the overload became unbearable, I didn’t have tools to release it. So I numbed. I distracted myself. I tried to bury it. But here’s the truth: a lo...

  Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about energy, consciousness, and the power of being together in alignment. As someone who has worked with sound healing, tuning forks, energy clearing, EFT tapping, and meditation practices, I’ve realized something profound: The real magic doesn’t live in the tools themselves. It lives in our consciousness. Over the last several years, life has forced me to understand this on a much deeper level than I ever expected. After surviving a stroke years ago, I thought I already understood trauma, healing, and resilience. Then came my recent catastrophic accident — the kind of experience that changes your nervous system, your perspective, and your entire relationship with life. Trauma changes you. Not just emotionally, but physically, mentally, energetically, and neurologically. When you’ve lived through something terrifying, your nervous system becomes hyper-alert. You start scanning for danger everywhere. And in today’s world, that’s almost impossible ...

  I came across a quote recently that stopped me in my tracks: “Quantum physics is where they hide the scientific proof of spirituality.” And honestly? After everything I’ve survived, that line hit differently. A few years ago, I probably would have read that quote and simply thought it sounded interesting. But trauma has a way of stripping life down to its rawest truths. After my stroke… after my accident… after losing a limb and watching my entire identity collapse in front of me… I started questioning everything I thought I knew about healing, reality, energy, and what it truly means to survive. Because when your body experiences extreme trauma, you realize very quickly that healing is not just physical. It’s emotional. Mental. Energetic. Spiritual. Science is finally catching up to what ancient spiritual traditions have taught for centuries: everything is energy. Our thoughts affect our bodies. Stress changes the nervous system. Fear impacts healing. Intention matters. Human b...

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...