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  • Hello There!

    I'm Sarajane, a blogger, workshop facilitator, and career consultant based out of Asheville, NC.

    I believe chasing your dreams shouldn't be so hard and I dedicate my energy to helping others to take large and small steps in their career while maintaining creative inspiration.

    This is my space to create whatever comes from my heart. It's not marketable, it's not always good, but it's honest. It's not uncommon to find stories from my experience, portrait projects, my thoughts on the world, and tips for how to make the most out of life.

    Grab a cup of coffee (or bourbon) and make yourself at home!

    If you're interested in a workshop or a 1 on 1 consultation get in touch through the consultation tab at the top of this site!

    with love,

The Hardest Job I’ve Done.

Have you ever entered into a new position only to find yourself unsure of what your role is, uncertain as to whether you should take initiative or wait for some instruction? You know that feeling when you want to do the best job possible, you just don’t know what that really means so you find yourself throwing out effort here and there and seeing what sticks? Yeah, that’s exactly what being a stepmom feels like.


When I fell in love with Oby I knew that he had a son. I knew that Ford and I got along well and that our relationship would eventually develop and grow.  I knew that people think of step mothers as evil and I was well prepped for the fact that it’s a thankless job.

I chose love anyway.

I chose to move in with the love of my life and through that I gained another love. Ford and I developed our relationship to be more than buds and I moved into a parental role in his life. We were thoughtful and intentional about the transition although at times it felt like I was pushing fast forward while Oby pushed pause and other times it felt like he was ready for me to take on responsibility that I wasn’t quite ready for. As time has gone on we’ve moved into being partners in the process.

In the beginning I would often describe it as knocking on the door of a party that no one invited me to. Like, this was never the plan. I was never the plan. It created feelings of uncertainty and doubt. I was constantly ‘aware’ that I was the back up plan. Now that we are more solidified and sure, I recognize that this was the plan along. That we were all meant to contribute to the life of this incredible boy and it may not be what we all saw coming, it is most certainly my home.

If I’m honest, transitioning into feeling more solid as a family unit has made my role in some ways more difficult. I am to remain objective, open, kind, and distanced from the larger decisions. Decisions can be made that affect my life that I have no say in. I am to allow space for questioning of my motivations and commitment while staying fully committed, fully loving, fully unifying and fully available both in my finances and schedule.

Essentially, I have to swallow my discomfort and be everything that everyone else needs.

Something that I’ve spent my entire life unlearning.

A behavior that has served me so poorly in the past is now the way that I can show up as the best case scenario in the role that I’ve taken.

It’s easy to feel unappreciated here. Easy to feel misunderstood.

And it’s fair because if you google anything related to a stepmom, well, we’re the bad guys in all the stories.

I usually like to end these things with the positive twist, the realization I’ve had about how to positively move forward. Today, I guess it’s less of that and more of an acknowledging that things are hard sometimes and that sometimes they’re still worth it.


Angry Poem

I used to speak up less.

I’d hold my tongue when someone stepped on my toes or the toes of another.
The blood seeping from that muscle as my teeth dug deeper.
Better to harm myself than to make my oppressor feel uncomfortable.

When my gut learned to speak, it behaved like a child learning to use chapstick for the first time.
I rolled my defensiveness all the way up and made a mess of it.

The years of silencing my difficulty, the years of trying to be smaller.
It makes it easy to confuse a man being an asshole with a man just not being a woman.

I’ve searched their eyes for what was left behind in their mother’s womb.
Intuition, emotional complexity, deep wells of compassion.

It’s been a while since I’ve written an angry poem.
I used to write them often.
Shouting rhythmic suppression from my gut like a fountain pen overflowing.

While maybe not wise or calculated or particularly intentional;
there are moments when angry poetry feels like the only option.

How to Get Festive Without Trashing Your Body ( Guest Essay by Lily Calfee )


I love any excuse to make things special, and Christmas has all the perks: special music, fancy food, special clothes, ancient traditions…

I love red and gold bows, cute cards, and yummy-smelling candles. I love (dairy-free) eggnog and christmas cookies. I love singing carols, ice skating, wrapping presents and staying up late by the woodstove. I love tromping through the snow to the neighbor’s house on Christmas eve, and telling stories to their babies after dinner. I love popcorn and cranberries and Christmas brunch and festive cocktails

You know what sucks though? Having a sugar hangover.


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Winter is Here.

I ran to the top of the tower. For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to see the tops of buildings and watch the people and cars along the street below. To gaze at the grid of a city as if it were so far away that it could be pretend. The cars could be matchbox cars and the buildings just figures of what a real city may look like. I like to watch the people below and think of their lives. Where have they been? Where do they want to go? What is their most urgent concern?

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