The Woman Behind the Words

And if you really want to know me, you should know this:

I still collect forgotten words in notebooks.

And I own far more journals than one person probably should.

Every time I see one that feels like it belongs to a future version of me…

I buy it.

As if one day, the right words might finally find their way there.

I love books—but not just books. I love old books. The kind you find tucked away in thrift stores, estate sales, forgotten shelves. Twenty years old. Forty years old. Sometimes older. It does not even matter what they are about. History. Poetry. Gardening. Religion. Cooking. Random encyclopedias no one has touched in decades.

I want them all.

I think there is something beautiful about forgotten things still waiting to be found. Maybe that is why I collect old words too. 

Most people who know me professionally know spreadsheets, deadlines, and precision.

They don’t always expect that the same woman who audits payroll files spends her evenings chasing forgotten words.

For most of my life…

Payroll Jennifer and Poet Jennifer have felt like two strangers passing in the night.

Separate worlds.

Separate identities.

And now that those worlds are finally beginning to meet…

I am equal parts excited…

And terrified.

When I was little, I loved playing with Barbie dolls. But I never played with them the way most kids did. My Barbies were singers. Teachers. Mothers. Dreamers.

I would spend hours with my sisters making up elaborate stories, entire worlds built from imagination and possibility. Looking back now…

Maybe I have always been telling stories.

I just did not always know it.

I still sing in the car.

And yes…

I will absolutely do karaoke if the mood is right.

I am quick-witted. A little goofy. I love making people laugh. I notice little things other people miss, and sometimes that turns into humor. Sometimes it turns into poetry. Sometimes it turns into both.

And if there is a movie with dogs…

There is a very good chance I am going to cry.

Dogs have always had my heart. Maybe because they love without condition. Maybe because they do not care who you used to be. Maybe because they remind me what pure loyalty feels like.

Our dogs, Gus and Gabby, are my babies. I cannot have children. And if I am being honest…

That was a grief I had to learn how to carry.

But those two little souls love me in a way that feels almost sacred.

When I walk through the door…

I am their whole world.

And somehow, they became part of mine too.

I have fifteen nieces and nephews. Most of them live in other states, and I do not get to see them nearly as much as I wish I could. But I try to pour into the ones I can. Because family matters deeply to me. So does legacy.

I have also recently discovered something surprising:

I love gardening.

With the help of my green-thumb nephew, I started building something from the soil…

And somehow…

Things are actually growing.

That feels symbolic somehow.

Crowds still drain me. I still rehearse conversations in my head before I have them. And somehow, they never go the way I planned.

I still second-guess my writing. I still stare at “publish” longer than most people probably realize.

Truthfully…

Part of the reason it took me so long to release Scar Tissue & Stardust into the world was fear.

Fear of judgment. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being seen too clearly.

And yet…

I pressed publish anyway.

I still get nervous around new people. I still fear public speaking.

But when I have to step forward…

I do.

And I have been told I do it well.

I think that is funny sometimes how bravery often looks terrified from the inside. And if you asked me what dream scares me most…

It is not writing.

It is what comes after.

I want to see BFF Youth Network grow far beyond Texas. I want to see it become something national. Something powerful. Something that helps break cycles of poverty for families everywhere. I want that to be part of my legacy. And if I am honest…

What scares me is not the work.

I am not afraid of working hard.

I am afraid of having to carry something that big alone. But maybe that is what I am still learning:

That I was never meant to carry it alone.

And if you want to know who I was before the poetry…

Before the nonprofit…

Before the healing…

Before the titles…

Before the world ever asked me to become strong…

I was just a little girl with a tender heart…

Playing make-believe with her sisters…

Believing in magic…

And quietly dreaming of becoming someone who made a difference.

Maybe…

I always was.

— Jennifer Rene Wallace