About Me
I’m Jenni. Jst Jenni.
I’m Jenni. Jst Jenni.- a little chaos, a lot of heart, and a lifetime of learning things the hard way because the easy way never seemed to apply to me.
I spent 20+ years in the food and beverage industry, where I learned to thrive in the kind of pressure that makes other people crumble. Give me a slammed shift, a broken fryer, a dozen complaints, and a full dining room, and I turn into the calmest damn storm-chaser you’ve ever seen. That’s just how I’m built.
I became a mom young — a baby raising babies — and somehow now have four incredible grown human beings and three even more amazing grand-littles I’d walk through fire for. I’m still not entirely sure how they survived childhood with all their limbs, but here we are. I didn’t have a roadmap, a mentor, or a model to follow. I was often an on-and-off single mom, figuring out everything from communication to boundaries to basic life navigation on my own. And trust me… life didn’t go easy on me just because I was young.
And fuck, do I feel everything. Like, everything hits me deep—joy, rage, sadness, love—it all crashes in at full volume, no mute button. I’ve always been this way: hypersensitive, picking up on every vibe in the room, every shift in someone’s tone, every unsaid thing hanging in the air. I feel it all so hard that sometimes it’s like I’m drowning in it.
But I’m also sassy as hell. I’ll call bullshit when I see it, say the things nobody else will, and yeah, I’m probably “too much” for most people. I love hard, give too much, ask the questions that make folks squirm. And when I talk, what comes out doesn’t always match the storm spinning in my head—so people misread me, pull away, or just decide I’m intense in all the wrong ways.
I thrive in chaos. Throw me into a slammed restaurant, kids melting down at once, life falling apart around me—I’m calm, I’m sharp, I fix shit, I hold it all together. My daughter used to always say that I worked "miracles" lol Nobody knows how, but I just did.
Give me one quiet, open-ended thing to focus on, though? I’m gone. My brain starts spinning a thousand new ideas—“What if I did it this way? Why does it have to be like everyone else’s?”—and suddenly I’m bouncing to the next project, the next possibility, leaving a trail of almost-finished things behind me. I don’t get bored; I get overwhelmed by how much better it could be.
People tell me all the time, “Jenni, you never stop.”
And they’re right — I don’t.
My brain was wired in high-definition chaos from day one. (My birth chart practically screams this — Gemini Sun in the 8th house with Mars in Gemini, Moon on the Ascendant… translation: I think fast, feel fast, solve fast, and see 14 angles most people never notice.
I’ve been unselfish for so long it became instinct.
A friend once told me I’d been so unselfish for so long that it felt like I’d been institutionalized into it. And honestly? They weren’t wrong.
I grew up learning how to survive without expecting anyone to catch me. That kind of upbringing breeds two things:
- Hyperindependence — I’ll figure it out myself, even if it kills me.
- Hypercompetence — I’ll do it better than anyone expected, because I always had to.
It’s a strange combination: I can handle anything, but I rarely let anyone handle anything for me.
I’m hyperindependent because I had to be. Trauma, abuse, a baby having babies—nobody was coming to save me, so I learned to handle it all alone. I give and give until there’s nothing left, then keep giving anyway. My needs? They don’t even register most days. I’ve been so unselfish for so long that it’s baked into me—like I institutionalized myself into always putting everyone else first.
Underneath everything: I care deeply.
My Moon sits right on my Ascendant, which means my emotions are visible whether I want them to be or not. I feel big, I love hard, and I read people instantly. It’s why my work — creative, personal, professional — has depth. I don’t do surface-level anything. Ever.
I see beneath the polish, the patterns, the wounds, the potential. Even in people who don’t see it in themselves.
And here’s the brutal part: all of this combined? I’m literally wired for a lifetime of hurt, pain, and loneliness.
I feel too deeply in a world that doesn’t know what to do with big emotions.
I love too hard in a world that pulls away from intensity.
I see too much, need real connection, but scare people off just by being me.
I shine in crisis, but crises end—and then I’m alone again, carrying it all.
I can’t half-ass anything, can’t settle for surface-level, can’t stop seeing new possibilities… so I keep starting, keep giving, keep hoping, and keep ending up exactly where I started: feeling everything, alone.
People get pieces of me, but nobody gets the whole storm. And honestly? I’m starting to think nobody ever will.
But I’m still here. Still writing, still creating workbooks out of my wreckage, still turning the pain into tools for anyone else who feels too much in a world that doesn’t get it. Because if I’m built for this hurt, at least I can make it mean something. My life didn’t hand me shortcuts, but it damn sure handed me perspective — and I weave that into every thing I touch.
Why I Do It
Because people like me weren’t meant to follow someone else’s blueprint.
We were meant to make our own.
And I’ve finally reached the point in my life where I’m ready to show the world exactly who I am.
That’s me. Jst Jenni. Feeling it all, carrying it all, and somehow still standing.