My Story is Not Unique

and that's why it must be told



The Road to Good Girl

When I started the journey back in April, I had no clue what a trip I’d really be taking, nor that I’d come out of it with a new passion, a new tribe, and a new project.   What I did know was that my story was pleading to be told and the world was craving it just as badly.

It wasn’t easy, nor was juggling work, commitments,  and unforseen hardships that seemed to befall our family like a curse.  At first I felt alone, isolated even from the other Ones for a litany of made up reasons, but as Good Girl became a tangible reality so did my place on this team. As things began to fall into place, so did a realization. This is what I do; this is who I am.  A teacher, a counselor, a care giver, whether in my spiritual community,  the poly community,  or elsewhere.  The missing piece has always been my story.  

When I started building My Story is Not Unique I knew it was important, but I couldn’t begin to fathom just how important until Good Girl took the stage.  I blushed and smiled politely over and as people thanked me for my story and commended me for having the strength and courage to do so.  I knew this show had forever changed my life, and conceptually I knew it would touch some people who saw the show, but I had no idea what kind of energy and emotion would come from my audience as they sent me their support and took what they needed from the moment.  The power these people saw within me was breathtaking for me. 

What they didn’t see were the times I wanted to give up, the breakdown I’d had on that very stage just days before,  or the tears I cried when my family missed opening night, because life doesn’t stop for something like this, and sometimes life has other plans.   What they didn’t see were the fresh wounds by the old scars, the issues exhumed, and the half a dozen times I contemplated killing myself because I truly didn’t feel I had, or ever would, actually heal.  What they didn’t see was every time the Power of One tribe picked me up, held me close, and reminded me why I needed to keep going, the power they all gave me to merely be in the moment. 

How many people feel this way on a daily basis? How many people don’t have that community to help them get back up? How many people feel like falling is the worst that can happen?  This is why our stories are so important.  They bring us together, and together we are stronger than anything life can throw at us.

On the momentum of Good Girl and all the places I want to take this show and all my yet untold stories I began my Year of Here, a year dedicated not only to being present in my spirit but being defiantly so in the face of whatever life brings.  Last year I contemplated suicide more times than I have in almost a decade, but something kept me here, and I am determined to make that worth something.   I am determined to still be here next year, and so much further on my journey.

Why My Story is Not Unique

It only seems fitting to start with my own story, so here goes. 


I was not supposed to be born.  My mom was advised, then warned, that having me would have severe consequences to her health.  Being a pregnant diabetic in the early 1980’s was generally not seen as a blessing, and it was hell on her body, but my mother was a force to be reckoned with.  My first breath was an act of survival.

I’m not going to tell you today about threatening phone calls from drug dealers, what it was like for a child with diabetes in the 90s, or losing my mom just before my 13th birthday.  I’m not going to tell you about rape, leaving college, or struggling without medical insurance or a way to feel myself.  I’m not going to tell you about the heartbreak of losing a child and giving up on every trying again, how many times I’ve faced homelessness, or what it’s like to live with an illness most doctors don’t believe exists.  These are big fires I have risen from like a phoenix.  No, today I talk about surviving the slow embers that burn beneath the surface everyday, the fires you don’t always see.  These are the fires I’ve survived alone.

I cannot remember a day when I didn’t question why I was still breathing, or why I was worth the sacrifice it took for me to enter this world at all.  There has not been a day I haven’t been terrified to look ahead.

I was 5 the first time the idea of suicide crossed my mind, 9 the first time I planned out how, and since then I have made countless attempts, both planned and unplanned.  I have opened car doors on the freeway and laid in bed at night wondering how much it would scar my husband to wake up next to my lifeless body.

I am in constant physical excruciating pain.  I constantly question my ability to be a responsible adult, watching friends and family buy homes and have babies while I wonder if I’ll be able to eat this week.  My schedule makes it impossible to plan a family or settle anywhere too long, and even my marriage feels like a long distance relationship.  I freshly survive my depression and anxiety every day I don’t give up and every time I put on a smile and breathe through the pain.  I survive every time I reach out instead of walling myself in.  Every birthday that passes is not another year closer to death, it’s another year farther from the death I’ve felt inside my entire life.  This.  This is the only thing I’ve ever felt I couldn’t push through.

I have been described as a survivor, asked how I do it.  The simple answer is, “I don’t have a choice.”

What has  been my choice is how my life portrays me today.  At this moment I am a poet writing and performing a one person show.  At this moment I am a writer revising my first novel.  At this moment I am a flight attendant working my dream career and taking care of my family, allowing my husband to follow his dream and start his own business.  I have worked as a teacher at the zoo.  I have earned my Master level as a Reiki healer.  I have learned to craft, brew, and sew, and recently I was able to show off my own cosplay designs at Wizard World.  These things, and so much more, are how I want to be remembered, not for having walked through the tragedies of life and continuing to breathe.  Surviving is the easy part.  Living, well, that’s where it gets tricky.

My family has been exceptionally supportive of me.  We have defined what love, marriage, and family mean to us, and both the polyamorous and kink communities have helped us through some of our most trying moments.  I have built a web of tribe (my Ohana) across the country, and they have ensured I feel secure.  I am learning to feel worthy of love, to be present in life, and to trust my spirit in the hands of my Ohana when I can’t hold it up myself.

This is why I started My Story is Not Unique.  So many times I’ve felt alone.  So many times I’ve thought “how can ANYONE possibly understand this?” and I have found that everyone I meet has these same thoughts because everyone has a story. Through telling these stories we stop feeling isolated and start stepping out into the world.

My Story is about community.  It’s not about coming together under the same experience, but coming together to share our experience and celebrate the spirit alive in each of us.  We are not connected by our tragedies.  We are connected by the fact that we have chosen to live our lives on our terms!

Jennifer Clifford is performing her one person show Good Girl in NYC in December as a part of The Power of One Program. For more information, follow her on Facebook at Jennifer L Clifford or go to The Power of One.

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