The Nuance Diaries

Alexa Juanita Jordan
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What sensitive, deeply feeling people are thinking but don’t say. AKA the stuff you usually save for the group chat. Consider my vulnerability a permission slip for yours. thenuancediaries.substack.com

  1. 3d ago

    How to Come Out After Your Therapist Decides That You're Not Gay

    READ/LISTEN ON SUBSTACK (and subscribe while you're there!) "I bet your feelings for her will go away as soon as the play ends. You’re probably not actually gay." The first time I wondered if I might like women, I was playing Hermia opposite a girl playing Lysander (traditionally played by a man) in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. For the first time in my 21 years, I was questioning my heterosexuality. The circumstances are both poetic yet unremarkable, having my first crush on a girl playing my love interest in the theater department at a liberal arts school.   Up until then, I had always been a fierce LGBTQ+ ally, but had never once considered that I might be a part of the community myself. I grew up at the intersection of conservatism and liberalism; a Native New Yorker raised in a religious household on 20th and 1st. I started attending Sunday School as a toddler, and was teaching it myself before I entered middle school. And yet, my family thankfully does not share the same conservative beliefs that so many churches do. I first learned about same-sex couples as a toddler while driving around downtown with my mom. While waiting in traffic, we intercepted the Pride parade. I asked my mom why two men were kissing. She said something along the lines of “people kiss when they’re in love.” Until then, it hadn’t registered to me that Barbie could love Barbie, and Ken could love Ken. It immediately made sense. It wasn’t a big event. Just a fact. And it still is. Love is love.  Ironically, I don’t remember much about my first impression of the girl playing Lysander. I do remember thinking that she was funny in an irreverent way. A little elusive. Definitely disarming. There was something unique about her. I wanted her to like me, and it went beyond wanting to work well together. I also didn’t want her to think I was trying too hard, because I wanted to seem cool. I don’t remember the exact moment that I fell for her, but it truly felt like it happened overnight. At first, I told myself that my fascination was purely about taking my acting role seriously. I had never played opposite a woman and wanted to ensure that we developed a believable connection. The more we got along offstage, the better. Yet even now, years and years later, I can remember the electric, thrilling feeling of running into her on campus, or walking into the room and meeting her gaze at a rehearsal. I was so bewildered by my feelings, even though I couldn’t have been in a more supportive environment. I had no idea what her sexual orientation was, or if she would ever be interested in me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with myself. I once ran on the treadmill for miles without stopping to release some of my pent-up emotions. I couldn’t just show up to rehearsal and blurt out, “Hey, I’ve never had a crush on a girl before, but I have these feelings toward you that I can’t describe, and I have no idea if I want to pursue them, and no idea what your sexual orientation is, but just thought you should know!” So, I ran. From her and my feelings. Even when she appeared next to me on the adjacent treadmill by total coincidence (true story), I kept on running. (Very unlikely for me. I only run when I’m late. Back in freshman year, it took me until December to realize I hadn’t packed sneakers. That’s how much I don’t care about the gym. Eventually, I told one of my best friends and housemates about the crush. She was supportive, but not shocked. It was an anticlimactic conversation. You have to understand that we went to Vassar. Coming out was a non-event. The percentage of people who come to Vassar thinking they’re straight and leave queer is astronomical. And so, that’s the attitude I went into my therapy session with when I told my (former) therapist the news. “By the way, I think I might be gay. How’s the weather?” Alexa, I bet your feelings for her will go away as soon as the play ends. You’re probably not actually gay. And just like that, I wasn’t queer. Because my therapist said so. If my therapist of 5+ years didn’t think I was gay, I couldn’t be gay, right? Part of me was shocked. But I didn’t question her at all. I immediately agreed with her, and I thanked her for helping me “come to my senses.” Imagine thanking someone for telling you you’re not gay. I let myself continue to indulge in my feelings for the girl playing Lysander until the show ended, and then we went our separate ways. My feelings “faded” just as my therapist said they would. Until five years later. I’m 26. I am still convinced of my straightness. I’ve stopped seeing my old therapist for an entirely different reason. I am quite literally on my knees after a devastating breakup. I am anything but well. For the first time in a long time, I find myself craving a church community. I’m in desperate need of faith. And the idea of new friends doesn’t hurt either. After a few weeks of attending virtual church services on YouTube, I decided to bravely look for a church community once more, and found one rather quickly that happened to be right in my neighborhood. It almost felt too good to be true. (Which usually means it’s too good to be true.) There was a vibrant, diverse community of young people. The sermons were accessible yet driven by the text of the bible. And the music was gorgeous. It was so easy to feel at home. I was quickly persuaded to volunteer in all kinds of ways, from Sunday School to joining the welcome committee to inviting people to my home for weekly bible study and other fellowship events.  I was finally beginning to develop a personal relationship with God, after years of simply reciting scriptures and playing the part of a ‘good church girl.’ I felt so connected to my faith, those around me, and myself. My faith and this community were both such a grounding force in my life, exactly when I needed it. I thought that nothing could go wrong.  So naturally, everything went wrong. Seemingly out of nowhere, a close friend from that church reveals in casual conversation that being gay is a sin. I was completely appalled. Did other people know she felt this way? Did our pastor know? I wanted to be compassionate and take a sincere, thoughtful approach. I wanted to help her tackle and unravel this clear, obvious homophobia. My first and only thought was to help her see the light. I texted my pastor to get coffee. Everyone is welcome in our church, but I would never perform a marriage ceremony for a same sex couple. My pastor agreed with my friend. All of my friends agreed with her. I walked around numb for days. Until the following Sunday, when I found out that our community was part of the Evangelical Covenant Church. I was standing outside with the welcome committee petting a passerby’s dog when I heard another volunteer tell an inquiring stranger that we were an evangelical church. I truly thought he was mixing up the words episcopal and evangelical. I told a friend later, hoping we could laugh it off together. There was no mix-up. I had somehow been part of an Evangelical church for half a year without knowing it. A group that famously promotes “faithfulness in heterosexual marriage.” I felt like the ground was being ripped from beneath me. I felt like I couldn’t trust myself anymore. How had I not seen this? How had I not instinctively known? Why didn’t I ask? How the hell did I convince myself that this Evangelical church was inclusive and non-denominational? I am 26. I am healed from my romantic heartbreak, but facing another of an entirely different kind. I still think that I’m straight. But I’m as fierce an ally as ever. I sent the following to my pastor: a paraphrased quote from an episode of Glennon Doyle’s podcast We Can Do Hard Things. I am firmly of the opinion that it is not possible to celebrate and love anyone by simply tolerating them. You can only love or reject them. We’ve decided that as a society, we can disagree with people’s identities. What we call disagreement is in fact rejection. Many would make the counterargument that you can privately disagree with someone’s “lifestyle choices” and publicly support them and love them, as Christ called us to do. Yet to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, we have to want every good thing that we want for ourselves, for others. (Ex: freedom, marriage equality, protection by law, safety.) I don’t even remember his reply. I think he said we could agree to disagree. To which I say, no we f*****g cannot. * The episode, ‘QUEER FREEDOM’, is linked. I’m 27. It’s been a few months since I left that church, and almost exactly five years after my A Midsummer Night’s Dream crush. And the truth of who I am is finally ready to bubble out of me, quite rapidly, as truths so often do. I now realize that I was absolutely subconsciously protecting myself and making space for my full self to emerge when I left that church. On a cozy March Monday, a guy I had briefly dated called to tell me that he was no longer romantically interested in me. I was less upset about the rejection and more upset about how he handled it all. I made my usual short-lived vow that I was going to swear off men for a while and mused about how much easier life would be if I could just be attracted to women and never have to deal with men again.  That evening, I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a status update from a classmate who had recently transitioned. They shared some photos, along with their new name and pronouns. I hadn’t seen this classmate in years, so I decided to scroll down memory lane to our younger days before doing a little deep dive into what they had been up to since we graduated. Sitting at my kitchen table, looking at these pictures, and watching my old friend’s journey unfold, I meditated on the idea of transformation. I thought about my younger self. I thought abou

    18 min

  2. Jun 21

    I know I’m working hard and sometimes I can see it

    SUBSCRIBE Read The Start Of It All Read '5 Life Lessons From The Devil Wears Prada 2' Book a Coaching Session with Me! Welcome back to The Nuance Diaries! I’ve been playing around with how I describe what I write about here, and recently landed on this: “Unfiltered alchemy from your most unhinged group chat. Consider my vulnerability a permission slip for yours.” I kind of love it. Thoughts? I wrote this song around 3 years ago now. It was inspired by a conversation with one of my best friends last weekend. A specific sentence that she said inspired the whole thing, and that specific sentence is in the song - verbatim. I’ll let you guess what it is (or you can just listen to the voiceover where I’ll tell you!) Highly recommend listening to this one if you’re usually a reader. Highly recommend listening to The Nuance Diaries in general, honestly. It’s not a robot voice - I read them! Can’t see where my life is headin’ But I can see the bottom of my sink And that might not mean much to you But Lord it means everything to me And I cannot remember The last day that I went without a drink But today I did my dishes And that’s gonna have to be enough for me I think myself in circles As I sit here sprawled on the couch I have all these great ambitions Sometimes I even write a few down And I cannot remember The last time that I believed in me But today I did my dishes And that’s gonna have to be enough for me I know I’m working hard And sometimes I can see it They say I’m doing fine Maybe one day I’ll believe it This is a great big world And I am just one girl I wanna do everything And nothing at all I’m gonna try to work on Not feeling so small I’m gonna try to work on Thinking I can have it at all But for now I’ll clean my closet Do my dishes Sing this song Can’t see where my life is headin’ But I can see the bottom of my sink That might not mean much to you But Lord it means everything to me This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    6 min

  3. Jun 14

    The Knicks, The Fans, and a $100K Lesson in Audacity

    Read This on Substack (and subscribe!) Me all of last week, “The amount of think pieces we are about to see on LinkedIn about the Knicks… Fast forward to me, last night, writing this between Q2 and Halftime to avoid freaking out. As a Broadway Baby, I have often likened sports arenas to theater performances in order to understand the appeal. When the Chiefs were in the Super Bowl a few years ago, for Taylor Swift’s first appearance in Travis Kelce’s box, a creator on TikTok made an analogy between a football stadium and a theater in the round. There were many first-time viewers that year, many of us Swifties. We wanted to understand what was going on. We wanted to root for Taylor’s boyfriend’s team. But we simply had no idea what was going on. After all, the last time we were at Arrowhead, it looked a lot different. I remember a creator on TikTok saying that a football game is like theater in the round, and the football itself is the thing that the players/ “actors” want more than anything in the world. Therefore, they will do anything they have to do to get that ball. It is the thing that matters most to them. Is this a simplification? Sure. But it was also my access point into a pretty gate-kept and gendered world. Fast forward to the Knicks’ championships. See how I’m calling it the Knicks championships, even as I write this during the second quarter of the game? The Spurs are technically also there, too. Their biggest adversary. And the refs — the Knicks’ other biggest adversary. Thousands of spectators inside MSG and Frost Bank Center wholeheartedly believe in the Knicks more than they have ever believed in themselves. People who spent large sums of money to be in the room where it happens, and watch the Knicks soar to victory (edited: WHICH WE DID!!) Audience members at plays and musicals also pay similar sums of money to watch actors play characters that they’ll root for far more than they do themselves. Both audiences and fans are there to be entertained and moved, as they ruthlessly root for the people on court and on stage. The difference? In a sports arena, there is no way of knowing how the night will end. No script. The stakes are honestly much higher than they are in a theater, in a lot of ways. People pay hundreds to thousands of dollars, with no idea how the night will unfold, and deep trust that the outcome will be in their favor. Sure, the teams have performed well before. There have been great sports games before. Many would say it’s an objectively worthwhile risk, and money well spent. How much would you have paid to be at one of the championship finals games? How much is that rush of adrenaline worth to you? That piece of history? Would you, too, spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to attend an event with an unknown, unpredictable outcome? If you were offered the chance to have a life-changing experience with an unknown outcome, would you take it? An unforgettable night. A singular experience. One that could truly change your life. Would you go? What about an unforgettable conversation? A singular conversation. That could change your life in the same way. If I offered you that experience, would you take it? Without knowing the outcome, purely hoping and believing in the best? That’s the bold, brave risk that people make when they sign up for a session with me. A conversation with me is an unforgettable experience, with an unpredictable outcome, that will likely change your life. Want to change the end of your story, when you’re down 29 points in the second half? And find a way to get the thing you care about most, when all the odds (refs) seem stacked against you? Just like our Knicks, you’re capable of all that and more. But you can’t do it alone. No one does it alone. I’ve honed a rare and powerful set of skills that perfectly position me to help people figure out who they are, what they want, and how to get it. I help people get connected to themselves so that they can get the most out of life and achieve all that they want to. I’m the coach you want in your corner for your personal championship. Reach out to learn more about how we can work together. OR head straight to the free throw line to take a shot at a 1:1 session (I had to get one more basketball reference, come on!)BOOK A SESSION Buy My Book Buy Me a Coffee This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    7 min

  4. May 30

    I Don't Talk About My Book Enough

    Less than 0.1% of the global population will ever write a book. Not publish — write. Someone told me that statistic recently, at an event where I talked about my book. Around 0.0086% are published authors. Over 50% of U.S. writers are women, which is major, major progress. And when we filter by Black women? We make up 4% to 7% of published authors in America. Regardless of the exact stats, which are changing all the time and differ based on where you collect them — I’m in very rare company as a published author. And a self-published author at that. You know what’s wild, though? As I went to type ‘self-published’, what I first wrote was ‘selfish.’ And I can’t blame that on autocorrect. That was 100% my subconscious at work. Selfish. It’s a word that’s been viewed as ‘dirty’ and very much weaponized as an insult. It makes my skin crawl a little, as a recovering people pleaser. We’re all selfish to some extent, though, aren’t we? Or shouldn’t we be? I deserve to be proud of my book. I deserve to talk about my book without making excuses about what I would’ve done differently. It’s not about the number of copies I’ve sold or the money I’ve made. There is a book with my name on it, sitting on people’s bookshelves. A book I rarely talk about. People have said such beautiful, kind things about my book, The Start Of It All. Many people read it in a day. Someone in their seventies even loved it. Imagine that, a 70-something loving a book that I wrote for 20-somethings. And yet — I don’t really talk about it. Ever. I wrote it, published it, posted about it a few times, sold a hundred or so copies, and then…just stopped. It’s not intentional. I’m not trying to hide my book. Or maybe I am, subconsciously? The Start of It All is a book full of questions designed to help you get to know yourself better, paired with stories about my 20s. And that’s mostly true. But if we’re being specific… Those stories about my 20s? They’re about my messiest moments. When I hand my book to someone, it feels like I’m handing a part of myself over to them — because I am. I truly poured my entire being into this book. I always say that I want my vulnerability to be a permission slip for yours, and I mean that. I love handing out those permission slips left and right, here inside The Nuance Diaries each week. I talk about this Substack all the time. But not the book. Why don’t I talk about my book? I’ve already had more success as a writer than I ever could have dreamed of. I have an amazing playwriting agent. My work is featured in The Best Women’s Monologues of 2022; the same kind of anthology I used to look for monologues in high school. My plays have been performed across the country — most recently, at Notre Dame this Spring. The college senior directing it emailed me that they were rehearsing on the beach in Mexico on Spring Break. I’ve never been to Mexico. Or Notre Dame. But my words have. A play that I wrote on my couch in pajamas has literally been to a country that I myself have not. I’m pretty proud of that. So why not the book that I wrote in pajamas at my kitchen table? In the project proposal for my senior thesis, I told the committee that if just one person had a “me too” moment during my play, I’d be unimaginably happy and proud. I still feel that way about all of my work. If any contribution I’ve made to the world can help someone feel less alone, I’ve done my job. I know for a fact that The Start Of It All has helped many people feel not only less alone, but truly seen. The very thing I craved during my 20s — and still do now. In my 20s, I needed to know that I hadn’t screwed up my life entirely. I still need daily reminders of that. In my 20s, I needed to know that I still had time. I still feel like I’m running out of time, a la Hamilton. In my 20s, I needed to know that it was okay to have a lot of questions and no answers. These days, I’m smart enough to know that no one has the answers. In my 20s, I needed to know that ‘crushing my 20s’ wasn’t a prerequisite for a good life. I now know that anyone who says they crushed their 20s is lying to either you or themselves. Perhaps what I needed most of all in my 20s was for someone to tell me that no one knows more about me than I do. Because it’s true. No one knows more about me than me. Just like no one knows more about you than you. Having that kind of personal autonomy would have drastically changed my life at any point in my 20s. I have no idea how different my life might have been if I had started listening to my intuition over everyone else’s advice sooner. No regrets, though. I sincerely mean that. Some of the biggest, messiest moments from my 20s that I swore in the moment I would never tell anyone? They’re in the book. My messiest moments are now my best stories. I fully own my entire story, not only because I have compassion for myself, but because I want to extend as much compassion as I can to as many people as I can. I’m realizing that I can’t really extend the compassion without talking about my book. And also, that owning my story means celebrating my story. If in their lowest moment, someone thinks to themselves, “Alexa would never be as hard on me as I’m being on myself right now”, then I got one thing right. I want The Start Of It All to be a companion to you in those moments — just like Glennon Doyle was to me on the night I lost my mind, and found myself. (Well, her book was that companion to me, not actual living, breathing Glennon Doyle, although I really do think we’d make such great friends.) Glennon Doyle is truly my proof that you can embrace your mess, feel it all, pivot more than a few times, and still wind up with a beautiful, beautiful life. My life is proof of that, too. I actually think imperfect, messy women lead the best lives. Imperfect, messy women who aren’t entirely sure why they’re uncomfortable talking about their books, but are doing it anyway. An older version of me would have waited until I self-analyzed to death and figured out the precise reason why promoting my book feels so icky. I hate that it feels icky. I don’t want it to feel icky. But instead of trying and trying to figure out why that is, I’m going to just start running in the opposite direction of my discomfort, feel the fear, and talk about the book anyway. At that same event I mentioned in the beginning, an incredible woman said something I’ll never forget. While telling me about her new affirmation cards, Chantha Thach said, “They’re magic.” She kept talking about the deck with the group we were chatting with. I interrupted a few moments later. “Did you just call your cards magic?” She confirmed. She did. I told her how much I loved hearing a woman confidently describe her own creation that way. I told her that I wished I could be that confident about my book. I’m working on it. I’ll get there. For now, I’ll repeat that statistic to myself. For a Pisces, I actually really like data. Less than 0.1% of the global population will ever write a book. Not publish — write. I am part of that 0.1% I’m a published author. I wrote a goddamn book. And it’s high time I celebrate. PS It’s 22% until Sunday! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    14 min

  5. May 20

    To The Class of 2026

    This is less of a speech, more of a pep talk, and really — just some reflections from someone coming up on their 10-year college reunion who feels like graduation was just yesterday. Instead of picturing me on a podium in regalia, let’s pretend I’m sitting next to you on the floor of your dorm as you pack up your things, or sitting across from you at brunch after graduation, or in the backseat of the car on your drive back home, or wherever life is taking you next post-college. To the Class of 2026, The day after I graduated from college, I didn’t get out of bed until 5 PM. I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t watching TV. I barely texted anyone. I was just scrolling through my Instagram feed and well…lying there completely exhausted. The only reason I got up was to get dinner at a pizza place that no longer exists with a friend I stopped talking to a few years later. It would probably shock my 22-year-old self to read these words, about losing touch with that friend, not the pizza place closing. As a native New Yorker, I’m all too familiar with favorite restaurants, coffee shops, and bookstores closing down. My favorite Barnes and Noble on 86th and Lex is now a Target. The benches by the magazine section where I spent countless hours pouring through glossy pages, have now been replaced with a homeware section. I once leafed through a magazine in that very Barnes and Noble, with a cover highlighting a Hollywood actress and her “hard-won happiness.” That phrase always stuck with me. At the time, I probably didn’t have the self-awareness to admit I was far from truly happy. I did know that I liked the idea of describing happiness as “hard-won.” Those two words made me feel instantly seen and validated, as someone who used to secretly roll her eyes when people talked about waking up happy in the morning, with an easy-breezy feeling that I was convinced only exists in fairy tales. The summer after graduation, I moved to Portland for an acting program, hated it, and came back to New York with no idea what I was going to do next. I eventually landed a role in an incredible new play at La MaMa, after originally inquiring about being the stage manager’s assistant. It was an amazing experience. I was featured in the New York Times. Everything was going according to plan. But it turns out, I didn’t love the life of a working actor as much as I thought I would. I started working as a temp receptionist at many Manhattan offices and ended up writing a play while at my desk. I wouldn’t realize that I wanted to be a playwright for a few more years, though. I spent too much money doing things I didn’t enjoy, with people I didn’t have a lot in common with, trying to keep up with the “New York scene.” I look back, and I really don’t like what those “friends” brought out in me, but if you’d asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a great community. I constantly hustled for my self-worth, and was so busy trying to prove myself to everyone that I could barely enjoy success when it came. I co-directed the same play that I starred in as a fourth grader at my elementary school (Charlotte’s Web) and found more joy working with kids than I’d had in years - even though if I knew I wasn’t meant to be a teacher long-term. Those kids are now in high school, close to entering college themselves (which feels impossible, because they were 9 and learning how to spell just yesterday).(I’m 31, and I still feel like I’m learning how to spell.) We used to dance across the floor to this song called Shine during warm-ups, in a dance class I took in college. I’ve loved it ever since. It goes, Here's where you lose your mind The water here's divine You're doing just fine So, come on, darling Oh, don’t you want to shine? I’m not always sure of what it means to shine. These days, I’m less interested in sparkly, shiny perfection. I do love the heat of the lights in a theater. And the brilliance of the sun, when I’m on a walk listening to a podcast. The verb “shine” is defined in the Oxford American Dictionary as “give out a bright light” or “direct (a flashlight or other light) somewhere to see something in the dark.” When I was in your position, I just wanted all the answers to everything. I was longing for someone farther along than me to pull me out of the darkness and guide me through the murkiness of adulthood, straight into the light. I wanted to shine, and I wanted someone to tell me exactly how to do so. I was adamantly convinced that someone could give me “all the answers.” It took me an entire decade of searching, but I now finally know that no one has those answers I once craved. No one knows everything. And most importantly — No one knows more about you than you. So while I certainly can’t give you any answers, what I will tell you is this — I still fall into the trap of thinking everyone is doing better than me. I literally sometimes walk down the street and make up stories about how complete strangers are happier than I am. I often wonder what strangers might think about me, as they pass me by or catch my gaze. Do they make up stories about why I’m happier than they are? Do they assume that I’m sad, because they’re sad? I wonder what version of me exists in their heads. I think about the version of me that exists in my head; how I somehow know myself best and still often assume the worst. I often contemplate how we can tell truer stories about ourselves, or at least re-examine the ones that we’re telling. Who do you say you are? Who do you think you are? Who are you really? I’m the lady waving at kids on the bus and petting dogs in the elevator. I’m the girl curled up in bed watching a bad TV show I can’t get enough of. It’s somehow the only thing that turns my brain off these days. I’m the girl who watched almost ten seasons of Grey’s Anatomy in one week in college when I skipped all of my classes because I was too depressed to get out of bed. I’m the girl who has a hard time relaxing and has convinced herself that all of her worth in this world is tied to what she can do for other people. I’m the girl who’s trying to unlearn that. I am convinced that tacos can solve anything and that you can’t be upset while watching Legally Blonde. I am convinced that I can do anything with enough coffee. I am convinced there are greater things ahead of me than behind me. I am convinced there are greater things ahead of you than behind you. I hope you know I’m rooting for you, even when you’re feeling lost or you think you’ve ruined everything. I’m especially on your side when it seems like everyone has it figured out except you. Whether you’re sad, anxious, excited, hopeful, or something in between as you enter “the real world” post-graduation, I have a feeling it’s all going to turn out quite differently than you can plan or expect. You never know what’s coming in the next chapter. Even when you’re convinced that you do. As Taylor Jenkins Reid wrote in Daisy Jones and The Six, “Don't count yourself out this early, Daisy. You're all sorts of things you don't even know yet.” You are all sorts of things you don’t even know yet. This is just the start. Congratulations. Go rest and celebrate. You deserve it! The above was adapted from the introduction to my book, The Start of It All. BUY MY BOOK SUBSCRIBE BOOK A SESSION LEAVE A TIP This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    10 min

  6. Apr 28

    You do not have the same 24 hours in a day as Beyoncé

    Subscribe to The Nuance Diaries on Substack Buy my book Book a session + Check out client testimonials I’m going to list out some different kinds of people. I’ll tell you what they all have in common in a second— but you can guess first for fun if you want. * People with chronic illness * People with PTSD * People with Complex PTSD * Trauma Survivors of any kind * Disabled people (physical and/or mental) * Parents * Caregivers * People who are grieving * People who don’t have housekeepers * People who don’t have laundry in their building * Eating Disorder survivors who love or hate meal prep * People who commute * People who work from home * Astronauts * Oil pastel artists * Toddlers who are teething Did you guess? Ready to hear the answer? Time moves differently in each and every one of their lives. Someone doing a Broadway show has a different 24 hours in a day than someone working on a cruise. ER doctors have a different 24 hours than podiatrists. Our lives are all different. It may sound redundant, but it’s true. This simple fact bears repeating, every time a stranger tries to tell me I have the same 24 hours as Beyoncé. I do not have the same 24 hours as Beyoncé, and shedoes not have the same 24 hours as me! At no point during her 24 hours can she run to the corner and buy a banana on a crowded New York City block. At no point during my 24 hours can I outsource all the household tasks and life admin that take time away from my career. We have different privileges. Our lives are designed differently. I consider it a privilege to go wherever I want without paparazzi. Beyoncé gets the privilege of being Queen B and performing all of our favorite songs, running an empire, using her wealth for good, and being a goddess, diva, and cowgirl all in one. God, I love Beyoncé I digress. I do not have the same 24 hours in a day as Beyoncé Neither do you. And that’s okay. Stop shaming yourself into accomplishing more or using your time more constructively, or whatever it is you’re doing to yourself when you tell the lie that you have the same 24 hours a day as everyone else. You’re not lazy. You’re not deficient. You’re doing your best with the resources available to you and the energy in your body. Maybe use a few minutes inside your 24 hours to remind yourself of that today. I myself am going to use a few minutes of my 24 hours to listen to some Beyoncé. Further Reading/Listening: My ancestor's wildest dream is me doing dishes listening to Beyoncé This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  7. Mar 30

    How I Found My Broken Hallelujah pt. 4 of 4

    Have you read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3? If not, I recommend doing so! So, what does a girl do after the worst panic attack of her life leads to a broken mug, a surprising amount of clarity, and a new song? She stays up all night so that she won’t miss her early morning flight, and then takes her first flight in forever to Missouri, for her middle school bestie’s wedding. It was absolutely beautiful. I cried a lot. While I was on the trip, I got a lead on an even better opportunity than the new temporary job I was originally excited about back in Part 1. That fall, between the new gig(s) and some unexpected money, I was able to start paying off my credit card debt. Suddenly, I could afford to go to happy hour with my friends again. We came in second place at Broadway trivia. I had energy again. I started having fun again. I came super close to falling in love, but got my heart broken instead. I saw Dylan Mulvaney’s epic solo show three times. I told her about the guy who broke my heart. She said he sounded like a coward. I can’t help but agree. She also inspired the name, The Nuance Diaries, and I got to tell her about that, too. I went viral on Substack again, with another essay referencing - but not about - Taylor Swift. I developed a multi-step skin care routine, which I have now fallen off of (but I don’t feel too bad about it because the girls at Sephora are always gagged when I tell them I’m 31.) All the while, I kept the broken mug. To this day, I am still fascinated by it. It feels like a relic from the dark age I’d survived. And yet, when Lunar New Year came around, and I read that broken glass was bad luck, I knew that it was time to part with the broken mug for good. I took a few last pictures - and even traced the handle to make an abstract drawing. I also broke it even more before throwing it out — for catharsis. I couldn’t find my hammer, so I used the handle of a screwdriver 😂 Ironically, as I was finishing this piece, I came across even more broken glass; a container of leftovers slipped out of the refrigerator and onto the floor. The glass shards looked so much like ice, scattered among spaghetti noodles and marinara sauce. I was once again fascinated. I thought about taking a picture of the icy shards in the dustpan. I wondered what symbolism this moment might hold — another sign about the beauty of broken things? Maybe. Probably. Who am I to fight the alchemy? And then I thought, Is there such a thing as too much alchemy? I swept the glass away and threw it out. I used to listen to a song called Broken Glass all the time when I was living in Portland, Oregon. Another wild chapter. A story for another time. The first week or so I was there, I took this very dramatic walk over a highway every day, to get my coffee from a Starbucks inside a huge grocery store. Was there a closer coffee shop? Probably. Could I have found something similar to (or better than) my cinnamon dolce latte? Definitely. But that’s not the choice I made at 22 years old. I was living across the country by myself for the very first time. It somehow felt scarier than being in London by myself. I needed my familiar comforts — like cinnamon dolce lattes. (My therapist also totally validated this for me years later. I had a panic attack after Trader Joe’s was out of my favorite creamer for 3 days. She said it was because one of the few constants in my life was ripped away. Yes, I was going through it.) I feel like the universe sent me all kinds of signs through my favorite songs, inside that grocery store with the Starbucks. Whoever made those weekday morning playlists had excellent taste. But on the way to the grocery store, I was the DJ. And every morning, like clockwork, I played Broken Glass by Rachel Platten. There was something so 90s music video about crossing a highway while blasting the lyrics “I’m on a highway full of red lights.” But I feel it changing. I can taste it, I’m on the wave, I won’t waste it I have been patient, but I’m not waiting anymore I’m gonna dance on broken glass I’m gonna make that ceiling crack So what? still got knives in my back. So what? So I’m tied to the tracks I’m gonna dance on broken glass. Here I go, here I go You know what’s crazy? I have probably listened to that song over 100 times in the last decade, and it has only just now occurred to me that the broken glass is from the glass ceiling she’s going to crash. What other glass would she be referring to, Alexa?? I don’t know!!! I guess I was too stuck on the symbolism of dancing on broken glass to connect it to a literally cracked glass ceiling mentioned one line later. I was an A+ English nerd, but I was also 22. I think the broken mug marked the beginning of my dancing on broken glass era. After the hardest year of my life, I was remarkably broken and yet still intact. Both/and. I have come a damn long way, and I am unbelievably proud of how I carried myself through the last year — the last few years, honestly. And for the first time in maybe 17 months, I have enough white space in my brain and ground beneath my feet to think about what comes next. What do I want? What do I want to happen? Who do I want to be? What I’ve been through is part of my story, but not all of it. I’m ready to add some more notches to my belt, beyond damn tough survivor and broken glass dancer. There’s this invisible step at the end of the list, outside the traditional trajectory of healing. You get through the hard thing. You realize you’re a survivor. You get to breathe again. And then… You let yourself want things again. You do things for fun again. You dream big dreams again. You take risks again. You learn to trust yourself again. I’m doing all of that now. It feels like a reunion with myself. An unapologetic, wilder yet calmer version of myself. I’m not that 22-year-old girl walking across a highway in Northeast Portland. Nor am I the 29-year-old who spent one weekend in San Diego before uprooting her whole life to live by the beach. I’m not the 30-year-old woman who fought tooth and nail for her sanity (and often lost the battle) while making financial sacrifices she never thought she’d have to make. To the shock of the girls at Sephora who tell me I look much younger — I’m 31. And while my past selves will always be with me… It’s time to thank them and sweep up the broken glass they broke through to get me here. Cheers to beginning anew, entering the next chapter of my life, and finding out just how good it can get. Thank you so much for checking out this series! I hope you’ll hit subscribe, stick around, and stay tuned for what’s next. And if you yourself could use some support in figuring out what’s next, I’m always here to chat. SUBSCRIBE | BOOK A SESSION | BUY MY BOOK Here's a testimonial from one of my past clients: Prior to beginning life coaching with Alexa, I had a full-time job in healthcare IT where I experienced a lack of meaning in my interactions with clients. At that point, had been teaching yoga after work for several years, and found myself wanting to pursue it more seriously. This was right as I was beginning to experience a stronger desire to travel, something I had not done much of previously. By the time I completed my coaching with Alexa, we created a clear plan for leaving my IT job, combining yoga teaching and travel for the span of one year through work exchange programs at various resorts, and all the steps in between. As that year of travel has now come to a close, I realize I could not have done it without Alexa’s coaching. The year that we planned together was the best year of my life, and I am so grateful to have had the space to dream and plan it out. -Marc This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    11 min

  8. Mar 23

    The horrors persist, and so do the emails.

    A week or so ago, a new subscriber told me that the following piece really resonated with them. The sentiment behind that piece has never felt truer, and these reflections came from the same chamber of my heart as that piece did. I saw the Wild Party on Sunday night. It was indeed a wild, wild party. It was so good and so intense. Earlier that day, I watched another intense performance — Hippolytus (in the arms of Aphrodite), an immersive augmented reality theatre experience. I’ve seen countless exceptional performances at CultureHub, where I’m on the board, and this one was no different. On the way home, when my Sunday of theater was over, I speed walked to my subway station in the rain, so I wouldn’t have to wait 15 more minutes for the next one. It was then that I realized how sore my ankles were after 2+ miles of walking all day + jump roping that morning. I got home, had some leftover macaroni and cheese, and fell asleep after watching 3 hours of Golden Girls. But not before reading about the plane that collided with a fire truck at LaGuardia upon landing. You think you’re about to be safe and sound, and then just like that, the ground is ripped out from beneath you. I woke up and stretched a little. I check the news and can’t stop myself from watching the video of a woman being detained by ICE at SFO. I learn that they’re apparently coming to New York, too. I start puttering around my house, washing my face, brushing my teeth, and making coffee. I feel off. I’m judging myself for that feeling of offness. Why do I feel so down, so lethargic? I have got to get it together. I’m reminded of how I kept on working when I heard about the January 6th insurrection. I was in a consultation when it happened. My phone was buzzing uncontrollably when I turned it back on. I turned on the news and watched in horror as I continued to send emails. Here I am, five years later, watching more horrors and sending more emails. I am not hopeless — but I also won’t pretend to have all the answers. What I do know is that I feel better when I feel less alone. Sitting with all of my feelings, and all of these atrocities, I was reminded of something that Andrea Gibson said on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast. “I have spent my entire career encouraging people to have their feelings. Don’t push down your feelings. Open up to them all. That is where, in my experience, like I would have, if I would get depressed, I could, and I know this, and I don’t want to negate the fact of clinical depression and meds, all of that, I’m pro-meds. But I would get more depressed if there was something I wasn’t allowing myself to feel. And I thought, I am allowing myself to have all my feelings. Why aren’t I f*****g happy? And I realized that the feeling I was pushing down was joy. That I was afraid of that feeling. And there were a certain number of things that led to that. And some of it was how I was relating to our culture, how I was relating to activism, growing up in activist communities, and thinking that if you weren’t devastated, if you weren’t despairing, if you weren’t enraged, then there was something about you that was heartless. And some people respond to the world in really vibrant ways because they’re furious or because they’re grieving. For me, I am much better, and I have far more to offer the world when I am joyful.” Andrea Gibson I, too, hope to look back at my life and say I spent my entire career encouraging people to have their feelings. I am furious and heartbroken beyond measure for every single individual being affected by this monstrosity of an “administration.” Families crying both inside and outside these detention centers have been senselessly ripped apart. I finally started reading Kamala Harris’ memoir, 107 Days, yesterday at one of my favorite Italian restaurants, between plays. I want to be at an Italian restaurant in Italy. I want Kamala Harris to be the President. I want Donald Trump to go back to being a punchline in sitcoms. Lorelai: It’s the title search for the Rachel property. And guess who owns it! Sookie: Tell me it’s not that bastard Donald Trump. Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 8, 2001. There’s no grand moral here. There never is. Tell someone how you’re feeling today. Share this piece. Leave a ‘like’ or comment for a stranger. Text a friend that you love them, and you’re thinking of them. Do as the incomparable Corinne Bailey Rae says, and ‘put your records on.’ Call your senators, and then order your favorite takeout. And maybe check out this song. It’s quickly become my anthem for these times. It truly feels like Elton and Brandi are singing directly to me every time. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thenuancediaries.substack.com/subscribe

    9 min
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About

What sensitive, deeply feeling people are thinking but don’t say. AKA the stuff you usually save for the group chat. Consider my vulnerability a permission slip for yours. thenuancediaries.substack.com

Information

  • Creator
    Alexa Juanita Jordan
  • Years Active
    2024 - 2026
  • Episodes
    59
  • Rating
    Explicit
  • Copyright
    © Alexa Juanita Jordan
  • Show Website
    The Nuance Diaries