As the year 2021 closed out, I reflected on the dawning horror of 2020 and how that was somewhat transformed into hopeful productivity and excitement over the course of the year.

I took the warmer months by the horns as I got to go up to Grafton, NY for a BIPOC farming immersion,
continued learning more about urban agriculture, had a fire escape garden and radically eased back into performance art
and art making up at Three Phase and Art/Life Institute, primarily at the Queerteenth Festival (yes, I literally, radically “Queerteenthed” my heart out).
I was also blessed enough to be able to take one of the final classes in cordwood masonry from Rob Roy, a natural, earth building pioneer in upstate New York and also gained trades certifications through a trades
pre-apprenticehip program focusing in the green trades.

An artist residency at Three Phase Center for 2021-2022, Documenting process  was crucial.
After time on land in Grafton, NY, I tapped into making PJ some more time traveling tools whose purpose not only centered farming, but also self-care and fighting narcissism (professional, institutional, systemic, domestic, intimate).
A dawning realization further into pandemic revealed logging on to social media and engaging with people on social platforms, began to give me anxiety. Even keeping up with cultural affairs, pop culture and my own website maintenance  and sending out updates and was exhausting and anxiety inducing with self-ingrained “performative” pressure.
This greatly contributed to my  mantra of low-to-no-social-media, which I currently practice.
Self awareness and some evaluations revealed that I was severely burnt out and that the process is usually a 4 year healing journey...
I showed all the signs, and struggled wildly against growing fatigue, racing thoughts, sensory overwhelm,
not being able to function executively; flailing desperately against  severe depression, difficulty with tasks, and
articulating thoughts/feelings. I had become extremely socially withdrawn to the point of isolation - being hyper selective around public and social interface. Learning to be in that space and accept that I couldn’t just work it, wish it, or-try-a-new-activity or imagine it away has been a difficult journey but serves to provide systemic rest, time and insight and tune into the core of a resiliency I didn’t know I owned.

2022 brought all kinds of surprises including a second health intervention - but one that I now know was induced  by relapsing into hyperproductivity, amidst anxiety and neglect. However, I now have the insight to notice and decolonize toxic practices around productivity and family patterns and can slowly pinpoint and identify their presence.

It’s been a boon to complete another Queer/Trans/LGBTQIA2+ BIPOC rural farming immersion, gain various
trades certifications and a certificate in urban agriculture. I’ve really tuned into some wonderful learning spaces and
affirming queer/trans/LGBTQIA2+/BIPOC communities, held virtual space while facilitating daringly bold and vulnerable allied and gender affirming youth exploring theatre and world making, learned how to tractor and continue to relish in the uncomfortable space demanding stillness and self reckoning that the universe has yet again mandated to me.

This season of life for Pirate Jenny is far from what I envisioned, but being held in the loving hand of the creator
and leaning into life from such a tender, supported and authentic place -  feels different, but right.
I hope to continue examining this art-life continuum with PJ -  existing within the trades and BIPOC farming justice; outfitting her in tools that fortify her in food, care, farmer, artist and land justice while also uprooting and defending
her and others against narcissism.

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ

lIn February of 2020, It took an acute health intervention and hospital visit  - later revealed to be associated with severe burnout -  to put me and my racing ambitious thoughts in check. This intervention exposed that I had been rather unwell; engaging in highly toxic practices around hyper productivity, most likely trauma related.

Somehow, I mistook tolerance for resiliency; functioning through a nervous breakdown, depression and CPTSD (triggered by a 4 year narcissist relationship & breakdown/discard) and burning the capital candle and both ends trying to "make it" as a performance artist.

Grateful to transition the same black therapist pre-pandemic into the virtual space - I was able to piece together that a lifelong association with Complex PTSD and anxiety/depression and (at the time) a rare yet thankful diagnosis of ADHD in the late 90’s  - had finally rubbed my system dangerously raw to the point of successive blackouts.  Furthermore, my time in therapy provided much self reflection of the 4 years spent in intimate narcissist abuse; (love bombing, pursuing, gaslighting, hoovering, discarding then regret/supply stalking) while somehow managing to pay my rent mid-throes of a nervous breakdown down - triggered by Post Traumatic Infidelity Disorder. Then there’s the post-breakup carnival of animals with flying monkeys, catfish and random ex-wack-a-moles popping up and down in supply seeking delusion (aka a relationship).  Additional insight was spent on me scratching the lucky 7's with an increasingly and fiscally controlling sociopath. True to lesbian fashion, this union darkly erupted into the inevitable saturnic-return of a relationship fissure, replete with one trillion crisis coins, naturally unlocking beast mode into Break-Up-Stalker Upgrade.

I also began reckoning with how this toxic tolerance was a precedent set up in childhood, being the offspring of divorce and emotionally, physically & narcissistically abusive parents. Inevitably, this set me up for countless sub-par and dysfunctional relationships that I thought at the time were beneficial (professional, institutional, social, systemic, et al). Throughout my early 20’s and 30’s, my tolerance for high stress knew no limits. My hyper productive default allowed me to soar on the fumes of organically powered high octane immigrant guilt and I continued to mask and highly achieve, proudly learning later and immersively. By the time I finished graduate school (just after finishing my undergraduate degree) - my ongoing panic attacks were self-justified as a normally exhaustive event and regularly throwing up during thesis was par for the course. Culturally, I was already a "standout" to some members of my Antiguan family, not just as an artist (forgoing the typical health/nursing school track) but as someone openly in professional therapy (not a pastor) for Major Depression Disorder, ADHD and motherloss. Up until 2020, my life long occurrences of palpitations, dry mouth, and tingling hot flashes were internally deemed normal either in conflict, on the way to or during work, job interviews or other daily occurrences. It took 2020 for me to digest that as a black queer immigrant lesbian - there had been no collective platform for me to connect with other black or BIPOC women around anger and anxiety within our respective cultures. Earlier interventions around childhood anxiety, learning disorders (specifically around math/dyscalcula) and rage stemming from domestic abuse, trauma and my parents divorce - were not even in the books for professional intervention let alone for an immigrant family in capitalist survival mode.

As the shock wore off post 2020 hospital visit - the need to be proactive (not too hyper) showed up as me recalling a friends prior suggestion to play in dirt and that I also wanted to learn how to build things. A carpentry for queers class was happening in Brooklyn, and I found a community garden up the street from me and an additional gardening class in the Bronx. I began learning about urban agriculture and BIPOC farming justice and got into some great farming immersions and programs, and even learned how to ride a tractor. If Pirate Jenny hadn’t had the medium and truth serum of dirt along with her other tool making implements, especially when the stillness and reality of life patterns got to real and raw; I’d be more compromised and not for the better. I’m proud to say I’m not, but *Trigger Warning*: it was hard not to feel hopeless, overwhelmed, isolated and desperate enough to end it all initially during the pandemic, as I didn’t know how to deal with the stuff that finally came up when the chance to peel back layers was presented.
*End Trigger Warning*.

I’m no longer suicidal or posses intent of harming myself. There is a fully whole value in the community and the professionals I deem safe and loving enough to support me in my quest for living the fullest most revealing life yet.

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ

A mere "lucky" 7 years later after walking across the stage with my terminal art degree in Baltimore.
Systems reengaging but knitting.

This is probably the first of a series diving into PJ making more tools to deal with more life, mainly centering black joy within recovery and healing from CPTSD/Narcissism & Domestic Abuse and severe burnout. Life has been bold and full, while my ever extended low-to-no social media communications have been sparse and on hold. Yes, the cliche of motion sickness is over used, but Pirate Jenny has been out to sea, reflecting, pausing and learning how to hammock, build, grow food and dive into the art as life continuum, amongst other things.

There’s been a deep lull. 
Finally forced to take stock and heed of the words I’ve used lately to describe PJ for the past few years  -
“PJ’s Tired” “PJ’s hammocking” - I’m taking my own advice. We tired - been tired - so tired -  I’ve been low and quiet.
The Quiet has been stereotypically deafening and its been hard for everyone. For me, the silence undulates between muffles screams of a dealt blanket party - replete with life’s bruises, bashes, bumps and backstabbings and betrayals - to its comforting weight; stable, grounding, validating and anchoring while holding space in a protective, subconsciously woven cocoon.

I thought everything leading up to Freddy Gray was horrific enough.
We lost George and continue to lose black, brown, poor and native lives while I continue to naturally experiment with and slip into social distance physically and emotionally; a new language in self-protection. There’s an innate drive to keep unpacking my key, jolting and revealing life memories and patterns while today’s worlds affairs and collides and converges; threatening to toss my last tactile reminiscences under a digital rug and into the meta universe.  These reminiscences float, dart and backstroke in this comfort; brushing past my eyelashes, neck and hair in acknowledgement of their impending release. Pirate Jenny, hypervigiliante of the social seas has finally been taking the rare privilege of time, graciously mandated to me by the Universe - via a job layoff right before the Great Pause and some recent other worldly interventions. It’s been a sacred challenge and blessing to afford the space in this queerly non-conforming edged form; this black, brown, lesbian and artist immigrant body -  just to stop and analyze my ghosts. More importantly, I get to deeply articulate how each of those complex creatures got there...

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ