The Rebellion of the Unseen

At the end of last December, the world felt thick.

​I was recovering from a misdiagnosed staph infection that had turned my body into a battlefield, but the physical pain was only half the weight. Between the high-stakes demands of a Director-level job, the intricate dance of co-parenting, and the quiet responsibilities of being a wife, I felt like I was moving through a room filling slowly with honey.

​I wasn't stuck; I was being preserved. Like a fossil in amber, I was visible, functional, and entirely stagnant.

​I had published three children’s books. I had finished a novel. But those felt like the achievements of a ghost. I had become my own sleeper agent, waiting for a signal to wake up. That signal didn't come from a viral notification or a paycheck. It came on a dark, freezing night when I typed a familiar URL into my browser: Vocal.media.

​The Myth of Productive Art

​We are conditioned to believe that if a tree falls in the forest and no one "likes" the video, the tree never existed. We’ve been fed a lie that says: If it doesn’t make money, it’s a hobby; if it doesn’t get clicks, it’s a failure.

​Logging back into Vocal wasn't a strategic career move. It was an accident that felt like destiny. I signed up for Vocal+ before I even fully realized what my hands were doing. Suddenly, the honey started to thin.

​I started writing. Not for the "Top Story" badge (though the ego still whispers for it), but for the sheer, intoxicating freedom of saying anything at all. Some days it’s a haiku. Some days it’s a jagged fragment of a thought.

​What I discovered is a truth that the "hustle culture" of the 2020s tried to kill: You can be a magnificent writer and go entirely unnoticed. And that doesn't make you any less magnificent.

​Creation as the Opposite of War

​There is a line from the musical Rent that has become my North Star: “The opposite of war is not peace, it’s creation.”

​When we create, we are in open rebellion against a world that wants to commodify our every waking second. When I sit at my desk in the dark, I am at war with the insecurity that told me I wasn't enough. I am at war with the version of myself—the "Younger Jazmine"—who was too sensitive to speak her truth.

​Every time I hit 'Publish,' I am giving that younger version of me a quiet, restorative hug. I am telling her that her words don't need to be "optimized." They just need to be out.

​The Mirror of the Next Generation

​I see my daughter watching me. She is a small mirror of my soul, and I realized that if I spend my life waiting for "validation" before I call myself an artist, I am teaching her to do the same.

​I want to model a different kind of life for her. I want her to see that standing alone and being your own cheerleader is more sustainable than standing in a crowd that only cheers when you’re performing.

​The Freedom of the Unseen

​Since I stopped second-guessing my posts, the world has grown brighter. Even my Instagram feels different—less like a gallery of curated perfections and more like a sketchbook of a life actually lived.