Thank YOU ALL. I’m purposely wearing this heart necklace because I need it right now. And I’m OK with saying that I need that. Love. Any reminders, I’ll take ‘em. (The heart and chain are by Waxing Poetic, by the way. So are my earrings. I love that company’s name so stinking much. Don’t you?)
Waxing Poetic. Sigh.
Anyway, July 15th is such an important day for me. That would make that Today. (To be honest, my head is so far up my ass I need to be sure that is the actual date. Is it?)
Anyway, hello from the KATU ABC Station in Portland, where I just did the morning news segment and will be back again for the afternoon one! What a day this is, this particular July 15! (If it is indeed that date.)
July 15th. The anniversary of my beloved father’s death.
(Excuse this little break while I geek out that my FAVORITE Sterling K. Brown shared this (see right below.) That, and how entire being, is Generosity Embodied. So many of you are walking examples of that. Sterling and I have been Instagram “friends” for years, but have never met in person. But, look at that, what he did. And it cost him nothing. It was just kindness and love and I got you. And thank you for getting the book, because although these things change rapidly and Amazon is Amazon… um, Number 1 ain’t bad.)
Back to the trauma of July 15. I was 8, my dad was 38. I believed I killed him. That it was my fault, and that I had to be punished for the rest of my life for it because OBVIOUSLY I was a bad person. obviously. Come on, who makes their parent die? Bad kids!1 That’s right. I WAS BAD TO THE BONE.
The last words he said to me were Stop being bad Jennifer, you’re making me not feel good! To which I replied I hate you! And that was that. Last words spoken.
I was 8 and that was the moment I stopped being a kid, that I stopped feeling my feelings, that I stopped being IN my body and that I started dissociating. July 15, 1983, folks.
Historically, July 15th has been really really hard, beingthe day of my greatest trauma. ‘
So, rewriting this date is a beautiful act of grace, for me. And compassion.
So, thank you,
. For helping me co-write this day. Or rather, rewrite what it means and how it feels in my body. For modeling generosity the way you do Molly, as well as what being an I got you person looks like. It can look any kind of way, as long as it is rooted in love, fyi. Please do not forget that, dear beloved reader friends/fellow weirdos.We all get to do that, by the way. Meaning: rewrite our stories.
Our stories are never done.
As long as we can take a breath, we get to begin again.
We get to rewrite them. We get to change our minds about things we decided on as fact, when they were, in fact, NOT. As long as we can take a breath, we get too. That’s a money back guarantee.
We can’t change what happened in the past. Duh.
We can change how we feel about it or what we made it mean. We can let go of the belief that we have to carry shame forever. That’s Shame Loss, babies. I don’t care who you are- I mean I do, of course. I care, I love you- but no matter who you are, shame is not your birth rate. Nor is stress, feeling bad about yourself, or suffering. None of those are your birthright. No matter who you are.
I said what I said.
July 15 is now a date that represents pure love, so thank you Molly, and everyone who’s helping me make that so.
Thank you to those who watched our video, to those who’ve gotten my book, or have spread the word about it. It matters. You matter. We do matter. All of us. Jesus, why do we forget? (I am not really asking Jesus, but I’ll take it if he decides to surprise the f*ck out of me and answer.) Get my book here if you can/want.
Thank you to those who’ve recognized- and treated me gently, and with tenderness- how hard this moment in time is. Proof of Life’s book launch is the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I HAVE EVER NOT CHECKED OUT OR DISASSOCIATED OR SELF-MEDICATED (WITH BOOZE OR WHATEVER2) AND HOW FRIGHTENING IT IS TO HAVE EVERY FUCKING THING AND STUPIDASSMOTHERFUCKING3 FEELING I HAVE BURIED INSIDE ME SINCE 1983 COME RUSHING OUT.
Had to get loud. Not sorry. Also, I’m deaf. (That makes no sense. Unless you too are deaf.) Anyway, what I’m really saying is thank you to anyone who is out in the world doing love. I’m here for it. I see you.
It matters.
I’m going to pick the winner of the Italy retreat contest tonight after my Powell’s event.
Finally! I will send an announcement out after, of course.
You can still enter to win the Italy retreat.
You still have a bit of time. Order 10 books from any independent bookstore and email me (jennifer@jenniferpastiloff.com) with the subject line Take me to Italy and your name will be thrown in the hat. Except I forgot it (and my bra, sweater, toothpaste) in Ojai. So, a pretend hat.
The chosen name wins a spot at my September 13-20 retreat in Tuscany (costs $4,200 and airfare is not included.) It’s a very special prize. The retreat is life-changing. No there words to describe it. (Besides magic.)
Make sure to send a screenshot or some kind of proof of purchase so I can enter you. You have until 6:30 pm pst.
Order my book anywhere. Here’s the thing though: the first week is the most important in terms of sales and having a chance of the New York Times bestseller list. Today, Mel’s death anniversary- is the day that “week” ends and if that ain’t a sign- I don’t know what is. It would mean everything if you got the book today, if haven’t yet.
It’s on sale on Amazon today. If you're anti-them, get it anywhere.
THIS: I scholarship women who have lost a child to my retreat.
I don’t have any more scholarship money left; I already gave a spot away to one grieving mom coming. Sadly, I have a long list of women who have lost a child/children.
If you want to pay it forward or be a mensch, you can enter the contest as a donation.
Meaning: if you win, I would give the spot to a woman who has lost a child.
That is such a beautiful thing to do. It’s about a $300 investment, so this is not for everyone.
Enter for yourself too, if that calls to you and you are available. Or don’t. I love you no matter what and I am not the boss of you. You are your own permission slip, damnit!If you forgot, go reread Proof Of Life again. Or for the first time. Or, just trust me on this one.
If you enter the and don’t win the retreat, youstill have books to gift, which is lovely! Plus, you get a lifetime paid subscription to this Substack by entering. I do workshops (that I offer free to paid subscribers.) Little perks, ya know.
Get the book, if you are able. If you are able.
Also, libraries RULE!
I will never have the words to tell you how much it means to me. Just know that my gratitude for you is carrying me. Your love and support are what’s keeping me tethered to the earth. I am a raw nerve (and it’s really fucking annoying! 😂)
The sober journey has not been hard until this moment in time. LIKE RIGHT NOW. This second. Hi. Hello.
Thank you. For you being you. Here, hold my (non-alcoholic) beer while I go cry with gratitude, k thx. (Thanks
for turning me on to Athletic, great alcohol-free beer, by the way. Oh, and of having me on your insanely amazing WTF how is it so good podcast? Listen here and watch the clips on our Instagrams. Holy mother of coffee cups!)Read my lips, weirdo: if you’re truly not able to afford the book, just reach out. Don’t be weird. I mean, be weird! By all means, be weird! Just not about that.
I got you.
I love this community. Right now we need love more than ever. Shit’s DARK out there.
We need our I got you people more than ever. We need to lift each other up more than ever. We need kindness more than ever.
We need to show the world that the I got you effect is real. That it works! It does if we allow it, and I will die on that hill.
I am aiming for that. I am aiming high.
Why not? Why shouldn’t I? I’m sick of my Inner Asshole telling me I don’t get to do that; I don’t get to aim high, I don’t get to stop feeling bad. Aren’t you sick of yours too?
I’m finally my own permission slip. At last. I’m not too late either. (Neither are you.) It’s perfect timing. The Imaginary Time Gods can kiss our collective ass.
You in?
I forgot to tell you about the audiobook. I may have actually told you already. Probably I did? I don’t even know what day it is. OMG. That’s a lie right. I totally do know what day it is. July 15th, my dad’s death anniversary. I just lied to you. Now I’m a liar too, my Inner Asshole just informed me.
Nah. I’m just tired (physically AND emotionally.) Also ADHD. Also: the whole getting sober thingamajig. But I am not a liar.
The thing I was going to tell/remind you was that I’m the one who narrated the audiobook. Get it on here, or anywhere you want.
I’ll be at Powell’s in Portland tonight at 7 PM with
.Tomorrow- and I can’t believe I’m writing this- I’ll be in San Francisco with Anne Lamott!
ANNE Bird By Motherfucking Bird LAMOTT!
I’m dreaming, right? Nope. Not drunk either. Sober. Very. 8 months sober in fact, thank you very much. Re: raw nerve, endless tears, finally feeling my feelings, the whole not floating away thing, et al. etc. etc. ad nauseam.
For the workshop/signing with me and Anne, there are a few seats left for in person in San Francisco. Otherwise you can tune in virtually. Sign up here. Or there. Look down. Making it real easy.
July 30th, Henry and I will be with my buddy
in Columbus, Ohio! Tickets available here, as well as other info you may need.July 31, I will be with
in Santa Monica at bookstore. Ticket here.Don’t forget to email me if you want to sign up for Italy (as a regular ole- or young or who cares- paying person.) If we don’t know each other, let me know why you feel called to attend. A little something something about you, since it will be an intimate and magic week, (even though it’ll be my FIRST TIME EVER IN ITALY WITHOUT DRINKING MY FACE OFF WITH RED -OR WHITE, I DIDN’T CARE- WINE.)
I have an in-person retreat in Ojai, Ca Oct 2-5. Email for that too. My retreat are intimate so space is LIMITED.
Thank you again for loving me and supporting me.
Especially on this day, of all days.
I got you, too.
Too bad, you’re stuck with me.
Love, me
Of course Molly’s book became a NYT bestseller. Get it here:
Please know I do not believe that and if you thing I still believe that, my dry sense of humor is so bad and dry that it is actually non-existent. It’s not dry- it’s just dust. I know I am not bad. (Most days I know this, at least.)
Except drugs. my dad scared me off of those. Thanks, Mel.
They aren’t stupidassmotherfuckers but man, it’s tough. It feel so… vulnerable. Ewwww. Just kidding. Kinda. Allowing vulnerability is a VNT. (Very New Thing.)
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