Wait, it’s over? Already? Or: F*ck Scarcity

By Jen Pastiloff I’m on the plane. I have Game of Thrones on in front of me, paused on…

Persister.

Hi, it’s Jen Pastiloff here. I never blog on the site anymore but here I am in New York,…

Turn on The Light, Mother F*%cker. Post Italy Blog.

By Jen Pastiloff I don’t blog often here on the site anymore but I wanted to share about my…

The Aleksander Scholarship Fund.

The answer to why some of us have to experience such pain in this life is a non-answer. There is no answer or platitude. Everything doesn’t happen for a reason. Donate if you feel inspired to.

Getting Older is Everything. Don’t Believe The Lies. A Message To Young Women on Jen Pastiloff’s Bday.

I was terrified of getting older. In my 20’s I lied and said I was younger. When I was 28, I said I was 25.

I thought once I turned 30 I would be useless. Read that again: useless.

You Really Should Be Skinnier

Don’t comment on my body or my face or if I am smiling. Don’t ask me if I am pregnant unless you see me giving birth or you know for sure. Don’t offer unsolicited advice about how I can be more beautiful or perfect or womanly or successful. Unless I ask you, zip it, Dude. Zip it.

You’re Enough. Don’t Be An Asshole & Go Forgetting That.

By Jen Pastiloff As you know if you follow me on social media or come to my workshops etc,…

Lying to Ourselves.

I think we lie to ourselves to survive.

The Truth About Depression. No Bullshit.

  By Jen Pastiloff I just got back from leading a beautiful retreat for Mother’s Day. I feel hung…

What Happens When Justin Timberlake & 25,000 Fans Sing Happy Birthday To a Boy With Autism?

Hey there! Jen Pastiloff here, I’m the founder of The Manifest-Station. Marika, the author of this piece, won a spot at…

Depression is a Duplicitous Asshole.

by Angela Giles Patel Everyone battles something. Some of these battles are episodic and some rage over the course…

Nevertheless She…

I am convinced that religious fundamentalism is not just a social evil – it destroys the psyches of emotional individuals who are predisposed to self-examination and who care about being good people.

No Kids, No Regrets

When we’re settling into our seats, an emaciated brown-haired woman with a Tom Petty overbite slides in. Her thighs are the same width as my forearms, and Zoe appears in the aisle. She’s screaming like a banshee.

THE FIELD

I hear the ching of the aluminum bat. It’s a double. I watch my son leave home and round the corners, stopping at second. I wish it were a triple, so he’d be standing on the third corner, closer to where I’m sitting.

Woman Reading Newspapear

I had been wandering through other gallery rooms and went to join my mother only to see that she had claimed a spot on the floor near a corner. She’d seated herself, let her coat fall off her shoulders, plopped her handbag on the floor beside her, and arranged the newspaper in front of her as if she were reading.

Mueller Time

Because of the experiences I’ve seen Rachel go through, I have a heightened sensitivity to watching people treat others with blatant disrespect.

Walk This Way

If you’d told me last summer that I’d be training for a half-marathon this summer, I would have laughed hard and loud. Not because it was funny, per se, but because of my mental illness and the crippling grip it has on me.

I Made Peace With My Body And Found My Soul

I could have gone to the gym every day to expel that pent up desire, anxiety and anger. But a completely numb body is easier to manage than a body that is partially awake.

A Female Fighter

As I drive, I think to myself, maybe I expect too much out of friends, but I don’t think so. I expect a friend to have my back in times of tragedy. After all, that’s what friends do.

Yellow Bath Towels

Your new home is made your parents’ RV in their backyard. Finally. A place for you and your belongings. A place that you can freely be without being in the way. A feeling that you haven’t had in a while. Because you had a roommate for the last five months.

One Morning With Amy

When a couple of attempts to correct her resulted in angry shouts of “No, you are not right! I am right!” I surrendered to her certainty.

Grief, Unfolding

Her illness and mortality have bitch-slapped me into understanding and appreciation.  My mother’s killer screams Wake up!  Don’t you realize the gift you’ve been given?  I do.

Who Are You – A Mad Libs Identity

Over-strategizing becomes a roadblock to living life fully. At times it’s best to live life with blanks, uncertainties if you will, so that some miracle can come and fill them in.

Breathwork

Now I mourn my mother through breath. Each morning I lie on a mat in a hot room and squeeze my eyes shut and breathe her in. Or breathe her out. Yes, breath is supposed to anchor me in my body but I use it to exit my body, just as my mother taught me. I rise to the celling of the yoga room, alone and untethered.

I Didn’t Love Her Until The Day She Died

I didn’t sit there because I loved her. I sat there because I didn’t want to watch her die alone in a room full of people who should have been there holding her hand.