If you haven't been following my 30-day series where I post things that help me out as a neurodivergent mom raising neurodivergent kids, let me just quickly reference this post: Year at a Glance - Day 30 of 30 - Things That Make My Life Easier In it, I show you the year-at-a-glance calendar I made (because I've been saving money where I can as I go to back to school). But then, this morning, I decided to just design one I can print in the future so I don't have to go through the task of hand tracing all over again. It takes time! So I jumped on Photopea.com (not an ad, but I love it!) and created one for all of us. Feel free to download your own free copy of the yearly perpetual calendar here. Download your copy of the perpetual yearly calendar by clicking on the image above Here are some photos of the process. If you don't mind seams, this one is for you! If you don't like the look...I can't really help you out. Maybe glue them down on a board or something? Let me know if they work for you. -Jaren Printable yearly calendar pages ready for assembly! All you need is tape. I overlap my pages by about a centimeter and tape along the back side Once it's flipped over, you get an idea of how it's going to look Then I repeat the steps for the bottom sheets See the gap right at the number 14? I'm going to cut along that line so that the 14 lines up with the 13 All the pieces I cut from the top Once they're all assembled, I start coloring a line where my Saturdays/Sunday are Then I add, in a different color, a line for each of the Fridays, then a dot for Wednesdays. Now we are getting there! Here's my hand-drawn calendar at our homework station

I’m Jaren—a neurodivergent voice artist turned student nurse, and you’re listening to the audio version of my blog series T he Pivot : my journey through motherhood, medicine, language, and music and the art of the mid-life remix. AI-generated image of a woman walking into an unknown forest with a pair of boots in her right hand. The Beginner Mentality *NOTE - I attend a CEGEP, which is a unique public post-secondary education system in Québec, Canada. CEGEP is situated between high school (Grade 11) and university and offers two-year pre-university programs or three-year technical programs. I'm currently in a three-year technical program. Holy smokes, being a beginner at something after having spent the last couple of decades being more or less of an expert in the field of voice work has sure been a mind f*ck. I hated it at first. I still dislike it, only I love learning more than how much I dislike not knowing what I want to know. Does that make sense? In my head, it does. In my case, I'm a beginner at everything : attending higher education, learning in a language that's not my own (yet)...I'm a beginner in all of my courses (except psychology, which I have always had an interest in and studied on the side). Being a beginner requires that I shove my ego deep into my pillowcase each and every morning and leave it at home to rest. At first, I thought this would be terribly painful, but that's not at all how I would describe the feeling. I'd venture to say a better adjective would be freeing . It has been freeing to leave my previous identity at the door and walk into my school as someone entirely new. Nobody knows me here. I don't really know me, here. That unknowing has allowed me to discover new sides of myself - ones I didn't know existed. Like the fact that I'm now an A student , even in another language. (I'm sorry, WHAT?!!) 17-year-old me would never believe this. She'd roll her eyes, call me a loser, and tell me I sold out . But it's true. And I've become more than a great student. As it turns out, I'm pretty awesome at breaking down concepts for my fellow neurodivergent classmates, and even more surprising...I've turned into somewhat of an advocate for higher learning. (I'm crinkling my nose as I write this because I've done my fair share of complaining in front of my kids about not liking school as a teen.) So, what changed? Well...I did. I felt forced into school at the time I made my decision to return because I didn't have a university degree (still don't) or a grasp of the french language great enough to find work locally. I tried, believe me. But after a full year of full-time studies, I can confidently say I made the right choice. I feel good. I sometimes wonder if I feel a similar sense of awe, joy and overwhelm as my young colleagues who are out of the house for the very first time, wondering who they will become. We are like a bunch of caterpillars cocooning with our text books and our pens, decorating the inside of our interior worlds, trying to figure out what kind of winged creature we'll transform into, all the while fully aware of the pressures that await us in the outside world. One thing is for sure: I might be one of the oldest students here, but I have life experience. And that's been something of a gift for myself and my professors. Heck, even some of my young classmates. For one, I am genuinely interested in what my professors are teaching. I am studious. I am dedicated. I ask questions from a different perspective, which benefits all of us. The same way my young classmates' fresh perspectives benefit me. Somewhere deep down, I hope I am showing them that it's never too late to change careers. If one day they wake up and decide to change course, I hope they'll remember me and think if she can do it, I can do it. It's a nice thought. Before starting CEGEP, I worried my classmates would make fun of me for being older. But I realized quickly they mostly just think I'm one of the teachers unless we converse. They've been kind and respectful, and I have to say I have so much hope for this generation. If you would have asked me what I thought about teenagers five years ago, I would have probably said they're terrifying. Instead, I find them resilient, inspiring, and constantly searching for answers. I'm searching, too. All this to say that if you have been thinking about returning to school, but you're scared - be scared and do it anyway. It's what the cool kids are doing. Join us. -J

I’m Jaren—a neurodivergent voice artist turned student nurse, and you’re listening to the audio version of my blog series T he Pivot : my journey through motherhood, medicine, language, and music and the art of the mid-life remix. Photo by Pok Rie: https://www.pexels.com/photo/winding-road-in-lush-green-forest-aerial-view-33275771/ The Only Constant Change is my only constant. And whether I want to admit it or not, I need it. My neurodivergence needs it. My soul needs it.  Stagnation is my enemy. It’s been my enemy in relationships and in my work. I’ve been told for years that sticking to one thing is the ideal and my need for change is the symptom of a much larger problem, one I need to figure out. But after decades of therapy, I’m not sure I believe that anymore. I’ve started over more times than anyone I know, so far. I’ve moved thirty-four times in my forty-two years, donated all my belongings to strangers (apart from a few essentials) twice, started over from scratch after divorce, had two mental breakdowns in the years after that had me seriously considering ending my life, and I've started my career over many many times. I’ve qualified for government assistance for most of my adult life, but have never taken it because I thought it would make me a bad person because… we just don’t do that in my family. I struggled. I found it impossible to find work in my own language in a North-American province worried about the French language police. I trudged through years of barely making ends meet; of refusing to go out with friends because I couldn’t afford to; of telling my family I, once again, couldn’t afford to participate in giving Christmas presents this year, nor could I afford to come home to see them in person. And yet, somehow, I made ends meet. Most of the time with a modest amount of debt. Things changed briefly when I became a voiceover artist. I made more money than I thought I deserved, so I started giving it away to strangers; buying groceries for families in need; donating belongings I felt guilty about owning. I was responsible. I saved up the money I needed to set aside in order to pay my taxes as an independent contractor. I saved to buy a car. I saved to pay off a loan to my Dad. Then I saved to make a down payment on a condo. And when I started losing some of my bread and butter gigs to AI, I sold my condo and bought a house outside the main city so I wouldn’t have to pay condo fees because they were killing me. My body knew rough financial times were ahead and, boy, did they come. In the span of a year and a half, I lost 75% of my income. I blame it on AI. But I’m not mad about it. Not now, at least. I was happy to make money as a voiceover for the first couple of years. Then I started getting bored. Life was becoming too predictable. Somewhere deep down, though, I really wanted stability - and here it was. I kept telling myself I needed it for my kids. They deserve it. I was a messy mother for so many years, surely this kind of boredom on my part is good for them.  But I lost motivation to work and more importantly, I realized many parts of being a voiceover no longer fit with my values. I felt like I was selling my soul to voice projects I didn’t believe in. But there were some I did, so I auditioned for those and stuck it out as long as I could. Anyway, how privileged was I that I even had a choice in the matter? First world problems, Jaren. Don’t be so ungrateful. The need to reinvent myself regularly is so strong that asking me to stay in one period of time, position, or place for too long physically hurts. I remember a famous DJ once told me, after having heard about my penchant for singing in other genres of music, that “It’s too bad you didn’t just stick to trance music. You could have been someone.” I was devastated and I went home thinking what he said must be true. There must be something wrong with me that I can’t just do the same thing over and over and over and ove… Why was I  given this gift of curiosity? I didn’t want it anymore. And then I thought back to when I was a kid. My Dad made ends meet by buying old houses and fixing them up. Often, we would live in these houses while he made improvements. And each time we went to visit a new one, my sister and I would run around the house declaring excitedly which room we called dibs on. No matter what it looked like, I would always imagine how I’d decorate it and how it would feel to sit at the end of my bed all by myself, alone in my own space. Essentially, I would ask myself two different questions: How will I take up this space? And how will I settle myself in? These questions inevitably became the two things I’ve asked myself during every real pivot in my life, since, I’ve come to realize. As a full-time student, I ask myself how will I take up this student space?  Will I put myself out there? What kind of student will I be? Will I be helpful to my classmates? Will I fend for myself?  And then I ask myself how I’ll settle in, essentially a derivative of the first question. This question triggers my intuition. In all the years I’ve started over, it’s always been by feeling. By tuning into my gut, for better or worse. In the worst cases, I realize I’m sliding down a very slippery slope, but not so fast I can’t reach out and find something to hang on to… a social worker, a psychologist…a voice on the other end of an anonymous phone line. In the best cases, my intuition tells me how to introduce myself to others. It lets me know if what I’m doing feels okay, or if it feels absolutely off. Am I comfortable? If I feel okay, great.  If I feel great. My god, I’ve won the lotto. So now, as I sit and type, I wonder if school will ever start to feel too predictable for my comfort. Right now I’m doubtful. I just love the subject matter so much. But the routine might get to me, eventually. And when it does, I’ll need a plan. Because I will always need change. And finally, I’m okay with that. -J

I will cancel a sale so hard if I feel the *slightest* bit of pressure. Why? PDA, mofos. For some reason, I’ve been seeing a lot of "professional sales rep" videos in my feed lately. Out of curiosity, I’ll sometimes watch what they have to say—mostly because I’m curious if any of them have ever figured out how to convert a sale from someone with Pervasive Drive for Autonomy  (PDA, aka Pathological Demand Avoidance), like me. So far as I can tell... nope. So, to all the aggressive sales reps out there: this post is for you. Even if I’m interested in your product, here are the things that will make me stop, turn around, and walk out the door before you can even blink: Immediately talking to me like we’re best friends.  We are not. It feels inauthentic; I know you’re trying to use familiarity to build trust we haven’t earned yet. It has the opposite effect, though —it makes me want to run. Small talk.  I hate it. Don’t ask about my likes and dislikes; I’m not here to make friends. I’m trying to understand technical specs. Anything else is just a distraction. "I’ll just go ahead and put this aside for you."  Before I’ve even decided to purchase? In this  economy? No, you may not. "You’re are lucky! Our sale ends today."  No, it doesn’t. This "special" is always happening. I eat scarcity tactics for breakfast, motherf*cker. The "Objection Handling" Script.  If I say, "This is more expensive than I thought; I can't buy it today," do not  respond with: "What makes you say that?"  (Trying to gauge affordability vs. perceived value). No, ma'am. Not today. Shifting focus to "gains"  (time saved, revenue generated). If it’s not in my budget, it’s not in my budget. Period. And insisting makes you reek of desperation. Breaking the price down  ("It's only $13 a day!"). Do not. SMH. This one, though...is the worst: Explaining what staying in my current situation "costs" me .  Seriously, f*ck off. I don’t need someone using sales psychology to manipulate me. I have done the research. Making me feel bad about where I am won't make me want to buy your product; it will turn me off of it so fiercely that I will cease to acknowledge its very existence. That’s how petty my PDA is. "Whoa, Jaren. Therapy much? Sales reps are just humans, like you." Yeah, I know. But there’s a better and more ethical way to sell to people like me, and it starts with leaving us the heck alone until we approach you. You:  "But how are we supposed to know if you have PDA or not?" Me:  Wait one minute before approaching me. If you see me coming your direction, it’s because I have questions. If you see me happily shopping on my own, leave me alone. I’m not an idiot; I know that if I need help, I can find you. I recently asked Gemini why I hate being sold to so much, and it nailed it: "For someone with a PDA profile, a demand isn't just a request; it's a perceived threat to your freedom and safety. When a salesperson uses 'manipulative tactics,' they are essentially trying to bypass your logic and force a decision. In your case, "canceling the sale" is a very effective response that removes the threat instantly." Exactly. This need to "cancel the sale" doesn't just apply to shopping. Sometimes simple questions like "What are you doing tonight?" or "Do you have plans this weekend?" trigger that same "threat" response. Wild, eh? I am solution-oriented, though. I’ve come up with a handy tool for others who despise being approached: The "Leave Me Alone, Please" Card.  Feel free to print your own and hand it to the first salesperson who approaches you. It’ll make the trip more enjoyable for everyone—and who knows, you might actually buy something now that the pressure is off. Business card reads "Hello. I am neurodivergent. I don't respond well to standard sales tactics. I'd appreciate the space to shop alone quietly; I promise to find you if I'm stuck!" Now, hows about them apples? -Jaren Do you deal with PDA? What works for you?

Gemini-generated image of a woman helping another woman after an accident. This is not the position I was in after my accident, nor was I able to get a good look at Kate. I just remember her kind voice, great sense of humor, light hair, and that she held my hand until help arrived. Nearly four years ago, I had a bike accident. It was silly, really. I was trying to return my ex-mother-in-law’s bike (she is like a second mother to me) after getting heatstroke while riding up a mountain with her boyfriend. Montreal is funny that way; sometimes summer days don’t feel as hot as you’d expect until the humidity knocks the ever-loving sanity out of you. Her boyfriend didn't really seem to be affected, but when she reached the top of the mountain to join us for a concert, she looked...ragged. Poor woman. Thank God for the air conditioning in the venue. After the show, I suggested I follow her boyfriend back to their house on her bike while she caught a ride in a family member’s car. As an experienced cyclist, I was comfortable with the arrangement. I remember very clearly adjusting her helmet to fit my big head and thinking to myself It’s so important to wear a helmet, even though I obviously won’t need it. Mmhmmm. Super important side note: On this day, the cell towers in our region were down. The massive Rogers Communications network outage on July 8, 2022, was a nationwide, 26-hour event that left approximately 12 million Canadians without wireless, internet, or home phone services. Funnily enough, I also remember (very clearly) hearing the announcement earlier that morning on the radio and thinking "Boy, that’s going to suck for anyone needing an ambulance." I hate when I’m right, sometimes. To make the events in this story even more hilarious (sarcasm intended), the bike I was returning was brand-spankin’ new. It was a beautiful navy blue cruiser, but the minute I hopped on, I knew I was in for an experience. The center of gravity on this thing was so freakin’ high! I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West - and here I was used to my road bike—lower center of gravity, chest practically glued to the crotch-crusher that joins the seat to just under the handlebars. This was not that. I struggled to keep pace with my ex-stepfather-in-law (say that ten times fast) as he rode downhill. I tried my best but found myself braking often and swerving to avoid Montreal’s famous potholes. Man, these breaks are so sensitive! Be careful, Jaren. Add to that, the fact that the evening was growing darker, making them more difficult to see. And then I hit one. Or maybe it was gravel; it’s still up for debate. Regardless, I flew over the front of the bike. Now…I tried to catch myself. I really did. But imagine trying to catch yourself falling forward onto a treadmill going 15 miles an hour. Both hands were immediately swept behind my body from the sheer momentum. My face caught the brunt of the impact only after my helmet did (the foam was grazed down—thank God I was wearing it), and an overwhelming pain shot through my jaw. I used my tongue to check if my teeth were still there. Imagine my shock when I realized they were all intact even thought I was certain I’d broken my jaw. (I didn't, but it took two full weeks before I was able to open my mouth enough to eat regular food.) Then, blood started pooling on the ground in front of my face, inhibiting my vision. I knew facial wounds were "bleeders," so I tried not to panic, but I couldn't lift my head to assess what was going on because a shooting pain in my lower back kept me pinned to the asphalt. And then came the familiar voice of my ex-step-father-in-law when he realized I’d taken a tumble. “Oh no, Jaren!” I’ll never forget the worry in his voice. There I was, in the middle of the street, feeling all kinds of broken, but I knew that even if I wasn’t, it was wiser to stay completely still until paramedics could give me the all clear. And that’s when Kate arrived. Well, technically, her daughter had jumped out of their vehicle first to check if I was alive and okay. Only a moment later, Kate showed up. Then a few moments after that, I was covered with a blanket. It was warm, so I didn’t understand how it would help at first, but as the shock started to take over, I was thankful for the cover. Remember how I told you the cell towers were down? Apparently, people had to knock on doors in the neighborhood to find someone with a landline from a different provider just to call 911. It took 45 minutes for first responders to show up. When you’re in that much pain, every minute feels like a lifetime. Thank God for Kate. Here is what I know about Kate: She had light grey or white hair (a literal angel). She and her family were visiting from Toronto and had taken a wrong turn onto the street where I crashed. Like a true mom, she was prepared. She had an emergency blanket in her car (I now carry one in my own kit). She had worked as a midwife during her career. We talked about that because I love midwives with all my heart. We also talked about nursing, because I remember bragging about my mom, a nurse. She lay on the ground in the middle of the street, inches from my face, and held my hand the entire time. (Special thanks to the people directing traffic so we didn't get run over!) When I told her the pain was becoming unbearable, she suggested I shout the "F-word." It made me laugh, even though laughing hurt. And boy, did I yell it. She kept me calm. She kept me sane. I held onto her words and the sound of her voice. When the firemen arrived, she made sure to tell me I would find one of them particularly attractive because he was tall, hot, and rocking a man bun. Mmmm. I love me some Tristan in Legends of the Fall. When paramedics finally loaded me into the ambulance, I called her over to say goodbye. I could still barely see her face, but I remember saying: “Kate, I know we don’t know each other, but I love you. I really, really love you.” And it was true. To be so dependent on someone when you're used to being the one your entire world depends on, is a great lesson in surrender. When the doors closed, I cried from the mix of appreciation and pain. The Aftermath I had broken my sacrum and my nose, and split my chin wide open. Months later, after additional testing, it was confirmed that I had also broken my elbow and likely my shoulder and wrist, though they were just fractures that needed time to heal. The back pain was so dominant that it took me a while to realize the damage done to my right arm. I learned it was called delayed pain perception. Six months passed before I could fully straighten my elbow, and nearly two years for the pain in my shoulder to resolve. Almost four years later, I’m still working on my wrist strength. And the bike? Not a scratch. Anywhoozle. I really hope Kate finds this post and reaches out to me here. I have so much to tell her: I’m in nursing school; I want to helps others the way she helped me; I believe in humanity and kindness again...you know, little stuff. So if you know Kate, please let her know I'm looking for her. Thank you for reading and I’ll keep you posted if I ever hear from her! -Jaren

AI Generated picture from Gemini of a woman who looks as frazzled as I do today from bilingual burnout How does one deal with Bilingual Burnout? Sleep and self-forgiveness. That's it. That's the post. Psyche. Just kidding. Something I didn't predict about going to school in another language, was how often I'd experience what I'm calling bilingual burnout. I'm an anglophone, but I attend school with francophones and let me tell you - for every two days I'm able to speak French fluently enough to surprise myself, there's one day when I can barely get by, even in my own native tongue. It feels like my brain is either on or off - there's no dimmer switch. Dammit. Is it realted to AuDHD? Perimenopause? I do have a processing disorder. I know about it, and so I try to be forgiving of myself. But it becomes frustrating when I'm forced to explain something out loud in class versus in writing. It takes me twice as long to speak what I mean than to write what I mean. Why is that? It's as if my writing and speaking are governed by different language processors. It drives me nuts. Like today, for example, in my weight-lifting class. Firstly, I have a little crush on my gym teacher, so it's already more difficult to ask him questions because I inadvertently blush. (Side note: I think we might be around the same age, but don't worry - I'm sure he's married - and anyway, I don't know how to flirt). Every time I need to ask him a question, I become super aware of the fact that I struggle to say what I mean. So, as I wait in line behind my classmates, I rehearse what I'm going to say, using every available brain cell to formulate my sentences. And then, when my turn comes, I start stuttering. Idiot. Then I roll my eyes in disbelief at how quickly my confidence has just up and disappeared, mutter 'Je suis désolée' a few times while turning bright red, and follow it up with "Gosh, I can't even find the words in English." Lord, child. Then and only then, do I proceed to take five minutes to ask a question which could have been asked in fifteen bloody seconds. Calisse. La vie est dur. To his credit, my gym teacher is very patient. All this to say, I've noticed I am three different people at school these days: confident and bold when I realize someone in my class also speaks English; confident-ish but shy when I'm having a good day and all my neurons are firing in the correct order; and completely and utterly hopeless when I lose all my confidence, all of my French, and all of my English. So, how do I deal with bilingual burnout? I go to bed early on the bad days, and right before I close my eyes, I say to myself, 'Jaren, I forgive you. You are doing the very best you can, and I'm proud of you for trying so hard all the time. You will get it one day. And if you don't? Well, nobody will ever hire you, and you'll have to sell pictures of your feet on OnlyFans.' Then I laugh for a minute straight—because I think I'm hilarious—and follow it up with, 'No, seriously, Jaren. I'm proud of you for trying. Also, your feet are beautiful.' Then, I close my eyes and pray I don't make as much of an ass of myself tomorrow. *sigh* -Jaren What do you do when you can't communicate the way you'd like?

When I was 18 or 19, I got audited by the IRS (I was living in the US at the time) because I forgot to declare $600-something  I made working for my dad. He sent me a slip at the end of the year; I didn't know what it was for, so I probably threw it out. I can say with confidence, though, that as big of a pain in the butt as the auditing process was, I am glad that experience happened. It forced me to come up with a system to make prepping for tax season easier and less dreadful, and I’ve perfected it over the last five years. I thought I’d share what I do, in case you find something in this process helpful. Keep in mind: I am self-employed, but I receive slips (1099s and T4s) so my income is variable. Tips to Make Tax Season Easier If you're struggling to stay organized, try any of these tips and let me know if they work for you! 1. Keep Track of Receipts in a "Remarkable" Container Choose a unique or even wild container where you can dump your receipts. At the end of each month (ideally), put them all in an envelope and mark the month and year on the outside. Then, transfer that envelope to the box mentioned in step five. Pro-Tip for the Self-Employed:  You’ll need to circle or highlight expenses on your receipts, but a word to the wise: do not use highlighters on heat-transfer (thermal) receipts; they will fade over time and become unreadable. Instead, circle the date and underline the expenses. If you’re new to this and unsure what to keep, just keep everything. 2. Highlight Monthly Statements I highlight my credit card and checking account statements for two reasons: to maintain a budget and to catch any "weird" spending patterns. You can color-code however you like, but here is my system: Yellow:  Fixed costs (mortgage, rent, insurance, utilities). Orange:  Variable essentials (groceries, personal care, pets). Green:  Memberships and subscriptions. Blue:  Transportation-related costs. Pink:  Payments and debt servicing. You will likely have other categories, such as gifts, medical, dining out, or "fun money." I recommend watching @inspiredbudget’s Real People Budgets  to help figure out your specific categories. 3. Create a Budget I highly recommend @inspiredbudget’s series Real People Budgets (mentioned above); they’re addicting! The host also wrote a book on the subject. She teaches how to create zero-based budgets , which are great if you're on a fixed income. Even though I have a variable income, I still set a fixed zero-based budget; anything extra goes directly toward paying down my school debt. 4. Track That Money I use the Goodmoney  app—it’s essentially a digital envelope system. I’ve found that I stay more motivated when I manually log my spending. In a way, it actually prevents me from overspending because I hate the chore of inputting data! While there are apps that sync to your accounts automatically, those don’t work for my brain. I have to be an active participant. 5. Use a "Master" Container for Important Documents Keep a separate, larger flat box for "big picture" items: government papers received throughout the year, the monthly envelopes from step one, contracts, and checks, etc. Having everything in one place makes it incredibly easy to scan and upload for your accountant. Make sure to hang onto everything for seven years! That's it! That is how I stay organized throughout the year. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. — J Do you have a better system?  Please share! I love learning new ways to stay organized, especially when it deals with money.

I decided to try using military terminology in this post because it sounds cooler. And if there's one thing I know about the military, it's that it's full of systems and lives to streamline for efficiency. Which, coincidentally (flips hair over should like Cher), is my goal in life. I tell you, you have to be really smart if your end goal is to be lazy. So in this post, I'll be sharing what I learned from my 30 day challeng where I shared things that make my life easier as a neurodivergent part-time single mom of neurodivergent kids, going back to school full-time in my 40s...in French. Say that ten times real fast. What was supposed to happen? To be honest, my goal was really just to complete 30 days of posting something on my blog and on my YouTube channel. I think my intention was to get over my fears of both posting regularly and possibly looking like a dumbdumb online. I also wanted to test the waters to see if there's space for me somewhere in the world wide interweb. Maybe I'm too niche? Maybe there are others out there like me? I'm don't actively search out my kind. What actually happened? I learned a lot! Primarily, that I can post daily while going to school right this semester. I did get some engagement on my YouTube channel and managed to grow it by 88 subscribers, I think. That wasn't my intention but I'm happy if people are resonating. What went well (Sustains)? As it turns out, I discovered the joy of writing daily. I endeavour to keep this up. What can be improved (Improves)? Oh, plenty! For one, I think it would be a lot easier if I wrote out everything I wanted to say before recording instead of just plopping down in front of the camera, winging it, then trying to make sense of it all in editing later. Thank god for descript.com . So, what's next? Well... having looked at the stats of which posts performed the best, I came up with a 7 day challenge: 7 Days of Money Tricks From This AuDHD Mom Which, to be honest, will probably end up turning into a 14 day challenge because I have a lot to say. Who knows. I will take the next week to organize it all and start shooting over the weekend. Welp. There you have it, folks. Starting off modestly. Comfortably. I like this pace. What projects are you working on? -J

Dear future me, Here is a list of expectations I have as I embark on this 3.5 year Nursing Program. In French, of course. The first semester is going to make or break me. I will spend it focusing on improving my French. My comprehension isn't really a problem, it's the ability to express myself fully and fluidly and with the use of plenty of Quebecisms that I really want to improve. If I can survive the first semester, the rest should be more fun. Because I LOVE studying nursing. I completed half of an 18 month LPN (Licenced Practical Nurse) Program and loved every single minute of it. It was in English, so that helped - but I also met some of the nicest, coolest people in that class, and the teachers? Chef's kiss. I expect I will cook a lot less because I will have less time. I expect my kids will pitch in a heckuva lot more! They're teens. I expect alone time at home will be essential for me not to burn out. And plenty of time with my pets. I expect I will discover a lot of really useful tools and techniques for studying that I will then share with anyone who will listen. I expect that I will keep up my gym game, especially now that I discovered studying on the treadmill is my secret weapon to better recall. The weight-lifting afterward is the cherry on top for my AuDHD brain. I expect I will study a lot more with my kids. Family time will now include study time. yay! I expect I will become a minimalist during these 3.5 years because I will NOT have time to clean, shop, or put shit away and instead will have quarterly melt-downs where I'm too overwhelmed with the amount of shit I'm trying to shove into my brain that the only thing I can control is how much crap I give away. Gosh. That even felt good writing. I expect I will be REALLY annoying to everyone around me who mentions a scraped knee, illness or injury. Because I care. I expect I'll want to throw in the towel and give up a thousand times. I hope I don't. Signed, Jaren of 2026 #audhd #momlife #greatexpectations #nursingschool

Let me preface this by saying that on the fame scale from A-listers to D-listers, I am most probably a Z Article was originally posted on Medium.com Perhaps I was a W or an X at the height of my fame as a recording artist in 2008 when I toured with a very famous DJ and later went on to tour on my own. But in no way am I pretending I was anything more significant than that. However, I did experience the joy of having personal bodyguards once at a gig in Malta. I thought they were assigned to me as a joke or to make me feel special. As it turned out, the reason was very real, I was a liability to the club, and when I escaped their lines of sight to grab my own drink at the bar and was subsequently stalked by a creepy fan who was higher than sputnik, I realized parts of fame could be scary. But that’s not what this piece is about. This is about all the things I wish someone would have told me about fame, in any form, when I was 17. Perhaps my kids will read this one day and say “Wow, Mom, you are so wise. I will start listening to you now because you’ve been around a lot longer and maybe I don’t know everything.” Probably not. But here goes. Focus on your love of creating , not on the recognition you hope you get from it. There’s a very distinct line between those two intentions. One is more heart-focused, the other more ego-focused. The first will lead to happiness and fulfillment. If you find yourself needing the recognition, ask yourself why. If it’s to make up for the fact that you didn’t feel believed in by your parents or peers as a teenager, I totally understand. That’s what motivated me. Recognize it. Feel it. Accept it. Whatever you do, don’t deny it. I challenge you to become friends with that part of your experience and work with it. Together, you’ll find more purpose for your creative process. With big highs come big lows. Landing a tour is wonderful! Losing a tour is devastating. If there’s ever a time to start practicing mindfulness, it’s on the artist’s journey, especially as the public gets hold of your name. The extremes will take a toll on your mental health. Period. With big dreams come bigger responsibilities. If your art is gaining attention and traction, that’s amazing! It can feel overwhelming when suddenly you have to deal with lawyers, agents, managers, and a whole slew of other professionals who, by collaborating with you, must ensure they get their return on investment. Gone are the days when you wake up feeling crappy and need to take the day off. Sorry. You’ve committed to an event. You must be there. You’re now ultra-responsible or you lose your partnerships. Privacy…. The first time I was recognized I couldn’t believe it. I was over the moon. The fifth time I received a video of some stranger jerking off to my music video, I was full of rage. By and large, fans can be supportive and truly uplifting. There will always be those bad apples who find your personal email or send you threatening or inappropriate DMs that make you question everything. How you deal with that is critical. Be smart about what you reveal. And as for the bad apples? Deal with them. Security. Therapy. Mindfulness practices. Find support. Make your art because you can’t NOT make it. Not because someone else is telling you you should. Having been pressured for many years with phrases like “Other singers would give anything to sing on these tracks” and “You’re letting your fans down by not making more music”, I continued for years longer than I should have. I was miserable and left the industry a shell of the once passionate songwriter I was. If I had made the time to check in with myself regularly and to ask myself if I was still writing and singing because I loved it, I would have realized I was just trying to please other people. Re-evaluate! If you decide a year into a career that it’s not your thing— or perhaps you realized that you are a better fit for a different artistic career, that’s okay. READ IT AGAIN. THAT’S OKAY. YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD. IT’S NEVER TOO LATE. Commit to following your gut. Commit to following your heart. And if you are unsure of what your gut and heart are telling you — again, I recommend a mindfulness practice. There’s no rush. It’s perfectly okay to pause what you’re doing, do something else for a while, or even move on to a different project that feels more aligned. That. That is what I wish someone would have told me when I was 17. What advice did you need to hear when you were 17? Leave me a message in the comments.