Hello, hello! My name is Jordan Tyler Brown - JTB for short, but it really stands for ‘Just the Beginning”; a moniker sparked in college that has traveled with me ever since (i.e. the faded typescript font tattooed near my left boob). I’m a daughter and sibling to my two sisters and #TaurusTwin brother, making me an older, younger, and middle child. I’m a Black woman raised by LA and brought to BK. Most importantly, I’m really just a girl navigating womanhood.
I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Ayorinde through an old job and bonding over fitness and wellness spaces for women of color. I’m indebted to her for allowing me to share her platform and audience to bring you my story. Thank you for hearing me.
the story
I ran my first half marathon last year. It was my first time doing anything competitively as an adult, since my teen years were spent shape-shifting between a cheerleader, softball player, track runner, and anything else adults thought I should be. Bigger than that, it was the first time I trusted myself to aim higher than I thought I was mentally, emotionally, and physically capable of in a long time. Post-college burnout, I grew comfortable not setting goals, building discipline, or visualizing a higher self who could go after my dreams.
I always had a natural talent for athleticism, but my competitive drive was inconsequential. When it came to academia, I had this constant fixation on not only doing good, but “GREAT,” as a means of validation. It heightened at a time when two of my siblings ran into chronic health issues. In response, as a high school teen with no real income or financial contributions, I assumed the best way to contribute was to not be a distraction. Keep my head down, do the work, don’t make problems, be in the background, and excel for those who physically “couldn’t.” Most importantly, never forget the privileged position I was blessed to be in – good health is not something we’re all born with. It felt like some happenstance fate – luck I didn’t deserve, but had to accept.
This self-proclaimed role in my family took me out of adolescence quickly. After high school, where I graduated top of my class, volunteered in student gov/yearbook, and was a shoo-in for teacher recommendations, college became a playground with a lot at stake and much to prove. Medical bills were piling and my family moved back into my childhood home. It felt like I was being propelled forward while my family was going the opposite direction.
”What's it to me to starve a little?” I told myself often.
Seeing my family sacrifice for my success was hard. There I was in San Francisco, the most expensive city in the country, living alone in a one bedroom apartment no one could really afford because I didn’t understand that getting accepted into school didn’t come with housing – that was a different application (#firstgenstudentproblems). There I was, almost getting evicted my freshman year and going to court to advocate for myself. There I was, working two jobs, the president of a student org, and the secretary of another, trying to make all the money invested into me worthwhile.
And then, there I finally was…the first to finish college. The degree symbolized a blur between “thank you” and “I'm so, so sorry.”
By the end of it, four years felt like fleeting moments of great friendships and more permanent emotional damage from life, love, and heartbreaks. I’d call home every week, trying to keep things lighthearted with laughs and my college highlight reel. Now it was time to return home. The day after graduation I got a “big chop.” I knew I had begun to unravel – a Black girl burnt out.
the lesson
Since then (after a lot of therapy) I realized I became someone fearful of her own success and what the underbelly looked like. What did it mean to have done it all, if I felt so empty after? I received reputable roles that I deserved, moved to New York alone, built a community, yet still I struggled to enjoy it. I was insecure, and hesitant to take advantage of the path I had carved since my teen years.
The word “hustle” sent chills down my spine. I turned into someone who was so afraid to achieve that any expectations I had previously set felt suffocating. I was a shell of myself, feeling stuck between how I wanted to be perceived and what it would cost to maintain that image. I didn’t allow myself to dream big anymore. Instead, trauma defined and set limitations on what I was capable of, because anything more felt like pressure to perform. I changed my mindset to believe that if I tried, failure would be the only outcome.
I poured this inherent feeling of lack back into all the wrong places. Relationships especially. I put a lot of pressure on myself to be a good girlfriend and be of service to others. I intrinsically linked my value and importance to what I could do and be for other people. I only knew how to show up as a caretaker and provider for people who never asked that of me, then resented acts of thankless effort down the line. I had to learn to release control and allow love and partnership to show up as a collaborative effort. I wasn’t responsible for fixing everything by myself.
the light
In a time where I lost the most control, I turned to running. I put no expectations on myself there. I accepted the pace, the mileage, and the body that would get me through. I realized as I ran the same route every single day, the results were always inherently different… and that was okay. Acceptance was my freedom, detachment from results was my savior. Prioritizing movement in other spaces like boxing, pilates, and walking helped build a lighter mind, body, and spirit of connection and trust.
When I finally signed up for the Brooklyn Half Marathon last year, I knew I was allowing myself to set goals again, alleviating limitations on what I could achieve. I welcomingly accepted that the journey between me, 13.1 miles, and the finish line would be one I ventured alone – confidently and comfortably.
In the end, my parents surprised me with a trip to NY for the very first time to see me run. When I crossed, I saw them there with their sign screaming “run Jojo.” I melted, recounting all the ways I told myself I had to grow up and be a Savior for everyone around me. In reality, I just needed to be myself. A daughter, a sister, a good person – but no one needed saving really. I needed to recognize the good, the grace and God in me, and reflect that onto others. I needed to trust that everything in life has a way of working itself out.
my matcha moment 🍵
Presently, I’m loving the process of visualizing my higher self and moving in alignment to become her. What she wears, reads, eats…what time she rests and wakes up. How does she check-in on her friends and family? How does she affirm happiness as part of her reality and remind herself that everything works in her favor? I journal and jot it all down and everyday I think about one actionable step I can take to embody her essence as part of my reality.
I wanted to be more present in my community, so now I volunteer at a garden, talk to my neighbors more, and attend local events hosted by my friends. I’m rewriting my story through positive self-talk and affirmations. I text first and follow up on friends and family even if they don’t always reply.
Grace is inspiring and guiding me to show up only as I need to. It reminds me of the power of my words and that perceptions don’t have to define me if I don’t allow them to. “I am, what I say I am” is an affirmation grounding me to believe the only image of myself that matters is my own.