Endeavour

Lately, the messages and comments coming my way have been revealing—to say the least.

Someone recently wished me luck with my “new endeavour.” I saw that word and immediately thought… endeavour? That word no longer resonates with me or anything I’m doing here.

The only time I’ve really heard that word used was back when I worked at the law firm and Flymiles. Some corporate email would come through saying something like, “Louise Johnston is no longer with us. We wish her the best in all her future endeavours.” That’s what that word feels like to me—corporate. Professional, strategic, business. LinkedIn energy.

Let me make something clear: what I’m doing is not an endeavour.

Somebody in my cardiac rehab class asked me how sales were going and I remember just looking at her for a second. Sales? This isn’t a product rollout to me. This isn’t some calculated business venture I sat down and mapped out on a whiteboard.

I told her I honestly don’t know. I haven’t even sat down to figure out how to track any of that. I’m sure eventually I’ll receive some kind of update and look at it when I look at it, but until then, the book is just out there.

How it’s doing out there? I don’t know. I don’t need to know. What I do know is the book will find whoever it’s meant to find.

I said before—I’m not trying to make a million dollars. I’m not trying to monetize my story. This didn’t come out of a business plan. It came out of my life.

Someone else said to me, “I hope your book doesn’t fail!”

Do ya—do ya really? Who even says that to someone?

But the truth is, the book already did its job. It can’t fail because, for me, it already did what it was supposed to do.

I’ll tell you this though—all these little things people say to me tell me more about them than they probably realize. It shows me who they are and how aware—or unaware—they are of what it is I’m actually doing.

And that’s OK. Continue to watch, read, and listen. But if you’re here looking at this through the lens of success or failure, treating it like competition or spectacle, you’re misunderstanding it completely.

This is a response to what I’ve lived through.

What I’m building isn’t a business venture—it’s space. Space for truth, release, conversation, and people who are tired of carrying everything in silence. A space where people can stop performing, stop pretending they’re fine, and finally say the shit they were never allowed to say out loud.

You will never see me on Instagram selling courses on how to become awakened. You will never see me on Facebook turning my experiences into workbooks or packaging pain into some marketable formula. That ain’t my lane.

A lot of what you see online now is content creation. Marketing and branding. Performance.

This here, along with my memoir, is different. It’s documented. Witnessed. Excavated in real time. Same with Truth Serum. None of it is manufactured because none of it was created for performance in the first place.

I survived something that changed me permanently, and now I can’t not do this.

And I know a lot of people understand exactly what’s happening here. I was in a room full of them on April 21. You can feel when people recognize themselves in something real.

It ain’t for everyone—and it’s not supposed to be. But the people who need it get it immediately. The people who relate to it feel it in their nervous system before they can even explain why. Those are the people I’m connecting with.

This isn’t an explanation. It’s clarification.

—Jaye 🖤