Dear Jen Hamilton
An Open Letter to an Influencer (and to anyone else facing the questions heartbreak brings)
Dear Jen,
You don’t know me. And I don’t really know you. I’ve watched your videos—I love your chickens, and I love the way you love your chickens. I’ve seen how you care about the health, safety, and dignity of mothers and babies. Of all people, really. I’ve seen your faith in action, channeling your outrage into challenges to fellow believers and providing for the underserved. I’ve laughed along with you at things that are ridiculous because they are silly, and ridiculous because you can’t believe where the last few years have brought you. I’ve silently celebrated successes with you, even though I’m not the target market for your book. From what you’ve allowed us to see, you are a woman trying to make your corner of the world a little more just, a little more fun, a little more beautiful. And today I’m among so many grieving with you.
You shared a video1 baring your broken heart for the world, the audience, to see. Later, you took that video down, and I fully understand why. Your story is yours to tell (or not tell) in your own time. You are not obligated to share details. No one is entitled to the backstory of your pain. You get to choose who to let in, and how. And I pray you also get to choose when. Thank you for letting us bear witness for a little bit and show you some love.
You captioned your video “Day One.” You didn’t share details of the situation, but the internet is speculating as only the internet can do. Some will be right about what they think happened. But the speculation only adds to the pain and the sense of urgency to set the record straight. Urgency doesn’t always mean necessity. A lot of things will feel urgent in the coming days, and most of those can just sit and feel urgent all they want, by themselves, on the other side of the room.
If I knew you, and could take you out for coffee and impart some comfort and wisdom, these would be the things I would say:
Day One will always have its own peculiar dissonance in the rhythm of your life. Some years it will be louder, some years it will fade to nothing, but this was an impactful day (whatever it brought you), and your body will remember even if your mind doesn’t, and that’s okay. We are designed to carry hurts and wired to remember them because they point to the things that mattered. This was a Before & After moment, but the After doesn’t negate the tangled beauty of what came Before.
Now you’re on to Day Two2. And here’s a secret—every day after this is also Day Two. When you get to Day Five, or Day Seventy-Two, or Day 14,368, it will still be Day Two. Day Two is the day when you look at the situation and make a decision. Deciding to stay in your bed and scroll your phone is a valid decision. But other types of Day Two will be getting up and making meals. It will be getting back to the work you need to do. It will be school registration and shopping for supplies. It will be decorating for holidays. It will be crying in the shower over what “could have been” used to mean. Day Two is a day of “okay, now what,” the day that makes moving forward with life possible.
I hope you have an inner circle that is trustworthy. Because you will need that. You will need people to hold your quiet thoughts and yell about injustice. You will need people to show up and start laundry, to work out school drop-off schedules. You will need people you absolutely KNOW are on your side. The people you will trust to not only hype you up, but to redirect you and give you perspective when you feel yourself spinning out of control.
At the end of your video, you said something like, “I just want to know that my older self is proud of me.” She is. She is sooooooo proud of you. You may make a few missteps as you go along, but every decision you make will be the right one. You can trust yourself to carry on for yourself and your family. You are wise, loving, and so so capable.
I don’t know you, and I don’t know your exact situation. I can’t possibly. No two set of circumstances are ever the same, and while I can’t know exactly what you’re going through, I can recognize elements of the pain you shared with us in my own story. It’s been nearly fourteen years since my own Day One, thirteen years since final signatures and court stamps and a surreal embrace of this new reality. Our stories are not the same. But I’ve walked parts of this road, and here’s one thing I know:
You will be okay.
We will be okay.
Those of us who have been left with the pieces of a life we worked hard to build, with the pieces of a broken heart still beating, who have rebuilt and re-imagined life without all the tools we need, we are okay.
Anyone else reading this, also facing a Day One or an endless stream of Day Twos, you will be okay. You are also capable. Competent. Creative. Compassionate. You can handle anything that comes your way. You can trust yourself and you can trust your people to help carry you. Day One may always be a definitive moment in your story, but it doesn’t define you. All of the Day Twos that come after tell the real story of who you are.
And when you are a few years down the road, you may not ever be able to say, “I’m glad that happened,” but I believe you will say, “I’m proud of who I’ve become.”
With love from afar,
Andrea
Note to regular subscribers—you may not have seen this video or know who Jen Hamilton is. This letter can still be for you or someone you know. Even for public figures, I believe tragedy is never for personal consumption. We should be allowed to grieve and grow privately and share in our own time. But this will be in the public discourse for a little bit, and I feel like I have encouragement to offer in this space.
I talked a little bit about Day Two thoughts following a more positive moment of decision, but the same principle applies here. Whether something happens to us or we choose a new path, the days after the decision (high or low) are the ones that build character and momentum and show our true direction.
Andrea, this is so beautiful. 🥹