Past the Break- Book 1- Approx 250 pages (Paperback)
The Author- JessSea
Wife, cult leader, mother of three, innovator, jokester, entrepreneur, and a mermaid at heart.
JessSea’s story begins like so many others; fighting her demons while simultaneously chasing her dreams.
The ocean is more than home for her; it’s her life’s blood and it runs through her veins. Forever drawn to the sea, she had a choice to make: let it consume her or dive in and make waves of her own.
Struggling with a career that was drowning her slowly, she woke up crazy and quit everything to find herself.
What she found, was way more than she bargained for.
By reading her story of strength and survival, you’ll learn that feelings aren’t facts and things aren’t always what they seem.
Hi. I’m JessSea and this is my survival story.
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
PAST THE BREAK
Written by JessSea
Once upon a time, there was a little mermaid that was removed from the sea and forced to grow legs and live on land. On earth, she noticed a sense of restlessness that she didn’t experience when she stayed close to the water. Confused but deeply saddened by her relocation from comforting, familiar waters to foreign land, she began to create and surround herself with everything that reminded her so very much of the place she would always call home. The Sea. Wanting to share her magical home with the world, she began sharing her created treasures with her new two legged friends whom she had grown to love. She eventually grew fond of their land as well and even somehow married a human but still longed for home. Today, you can find her sharing her Secrets or painting her treasures by the sea.
Well, that could pass as the short version. It’s the too long, won’t read version if you’re interested in stopping. It’s essentially what happened. The real version is much longer. Practically a trilogy.
Staring out to sea from my ocean front balcony, I can’t help but be in awe that this home is my own.
My entire life I’d dreamt what it would be like to have my own little slice of paradise.
On my countless trips to the beach, I’d walk along the shore gazing at the expensive homes that aligned the sand. I’d watch the seagrass rustle in the wind as the breeze flowed through the palm trees. It was paradise as far as my eyes could see. Never once did it feel like a dream I’d get to experience first hand. In my mind, the closest I would ever come would be vacation . Thankfully, life just doesn’t go as planned.
I went from willing myself to die, to having the time of my life. Practically over night. If only I had known earlier on that everything was eventually going to be okay. I just needed to make it, past the break.
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
I’m JessSea and this is my story.
It’s actually pretty complicated, you see. I’m somebody new but forever the same, if that makes any sense. At this point in the story, I’m rather sure it doesn’t but it will. Time always tells.
Some would even say I killed the old me but I assure you, she left on her own. It was just her time to go. Sure, she just up and disappeared but we all have limited time on this earth. Our days are numbered, don’t you know?
To wrap it up, she’s long gone by now and if I’m honest, hardly missed.
Instead of her, it’s just me, sitting on the bed, sorting through boxes of things in my newly remodeled beach home. With my legs tucked underneath me, I casually flip through photos and bills. The rustling of the papers between my fingers competes with the roaring sound of the sea.
The One With The Ugly Baby
Watching the birds glide gracefully above the ocean,
My chest swells with gratitude as I try to soak it all in. Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. My eyes fill with grateful tears. How did I even end up here? This was never supposed to be me. How did I end up so lucky?
The past few years have been filled with a roller coaster of emotions. Despair, sadness, anger, frustration, pain. It all fueled me to here, I guess. Right here, where I need to be. Home. By the sea.
I’m now a firm believer that you have to taste the salt to appreciate the sweet. Really taste them. I’ve tasted each, thoroughly and individually. I’ve held both in my mouth, letting the aftertaste linger on my tongue, even when I wanted to spit it out.
Clutching the photos between my fingertips, the ugly baby in the photos smiles happily back at me. I try to grasp where my happy ending began.
My memory blurs and nothing feels real anymore. The details slip my memory as if it was all a dream. Maybe it is a dream.
Maybe I’m dreaming.
Sorry. Back to the story.
Once upon a time, I was dropped as an infant. Perhaps that is the most fitting factor in all of this. Wait! Still too far back and perhaps not the way to win an audience or build credibility. Back to 1984 and how I thought I was destined to be a complete loser. At least that is somewhat relevant. It was the year 1984 and with a head full of black hair, I entered the world kicking and screaming during the 13th hour. Perhaps this was my first 13. Maybe the 13 is me. Forgive me, for this sounds like rambling, but it will make sense eventually. Maybe. At the age of 35, it’s still a mystery to me, but I’m trying to make it make sense. It’s more like a haunting than anything. Can one be haunted by a number? If you had asked me that ten years ago, I would have certainly said no. Today, the certainty isn’t so sure.
There I was pink, precious, and fatherless. Well, not actually fatherless but his name was left off my birth certificate none the less. While my sperm donor flirted with the nurses down the hall, my mom was bringing an ugly baby girl in the world. Seriously, I was hideous. Ugly babies exist and I was one of them. Anyhow, it was a blessing that that they split shortly after my grand entrance in to the universe. Perhaps it was even meant to happen, if you believe in that sort of thing. Destiny. Fate. Irony. All of those things.
His absence, for whatever reason, never seemed to bother me. Born independent, it never even occurred to me to mind. My childhood was just fine.
For the first few years of my childhood, it was just my mom and I. Determined to give me a better life than she had for herself, she moved us to a little Florida town called Palm Bay when I was barely three. The streets were lined with mostly homes and palm trees. The ocean a short trip away, just a few miles east. Cost of living was low and it had the beach. What more does a single mom even need? We eventually settled on the town next door, Melbourne Florida. She may have moved there to escape her own past and to give me a better life but I’m so grateful she did. I truly belong by the sea. Sometimes I wonder if there is a way she could have known this small but very large thing. Large to me, at least. The beach has always been my place of therapy and escape. My happy place.
Her own story is filled with demons far more traumatizing than my own but it isn’t my story to tell so I’ll just leave it alone. I will say this; she escaped the very depths of hell. Raising me wasn’t easy. Looking back, I can even see this. I was a difficult kid. When she raised me, she could only do so well. I fought everything tooth and nail. That’s a rather stupid saying, isn’t it? It still somehow fits. It matched my unrelenting grit. Forever questioning anything and everything, I’m confident that I drove her to her own town of crazy.
As a young girl, imagination took center stage for me. Innovation and color were part of me long before I even knew who me was. There were plenty of examples but the most vivid one was the time my mother told me not to color on the walls. Don't COLOR??? Of course, this wasn't something I could possibly understand but in my younger days I was much more eager to please. Being a creative soul, I climbed on the top bunk and proceeded to color the ceiling instead.
The bunk was adorned with my bedding and stunning decor, my color coordinated stuffed animals. To me, this added the perfect touch. Thankfully my taste has evolved slightly. By the time I was done creating with bears thrown about and the ceiling littered with my fine artwork, my mother was less than pleased. Sorry, Mom. I was just trying to color the world beautiful in the only way I knew how at the time.
Little did I know, one day, I would color the world. One jar at a time.