The Vennie Dispatch: June 2026

a field report from the organized chaos of my creative space…

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🌃Opening Transmission

🎉 June Note: Puget Sound’s favorite game show is back: Guess Today’s Season! Yesterday was summer. Today is spring. Tomorrow may be autumn. Contestants should bring sunglasses, a raincoat, and emotional resilience. 🐝🌸♨️😆

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✍🏻 Threads: Posts You May Have Missed

Women Who Stare at Walls

→ The Silence Before the Storm: On empathy erosion, collective numbness, and the quiet war to remain human in a world trained not to feel
→ The Founder’s Circle: What It Means to Believe: Ten seats. Years of work. One writer who needs you to stay with her.

Sevenlines

→ Sevenline No. 37: Pretty, but Wrinkly
→ Originlines: Limited to 25 Founding Members
→ Suspended Laughter: A ghost searches for her lost daughter

Paper Paint Blood

→ Tangled in Emotion: On love, instinct, and the art of breathing beauty into the ordinary.

Centarficus

→ The Four Ways a Human Being Loses the Soul: Ancient Warnings, Trauma, Manipulation, and the Spiritual Fragmentation of the Human Mind

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✨ Featured Work: Why You Were Called “Too Sensitive”

You weren’t called “too sensitive” because people recognized that you were sensing into things deeper and wanted to compliment you on your ability, or even ask more about it. You were called “too sensitive” because you saw and reacted to things those people wanted to minimize, ignore, or conceal. There is a difference, and it’s one most people don’t stop to examine.

Sensitivity, in the way it was used against you, was never about your emotional capacity. It was about your unwillingness, or inability, to pretend something didn’t affect you, when it clearly did. Sensitivity became something you folded up like a napkin and shoved in your pocket while trying to contain the emotions from the overwhelm of what you sensed.

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💦The Well and What Fills It

I used to feel deeply strange asking for support. Strange enough that I worked through it in therapy.

As a child, asking for help was not allowed. As a teenager and young adult, the times I did reach out were answered by predators, leaving me more wounded than before. I carried that into my middle years as hyper-independence, and an armor that kept me upright but eventually wore me down into years of illness I did not see coming.

Slow living saved me. It is the only way I have found to sustain both my mental and physical health without paying for it later in ways I cannot afford. But slow living requires something most of the world does not freely offer a woman who creates for a living; it requires trust. Mine in myself, and yours in me.

I am self-propelled. I create because I cannot not create. And I have chosen to believe that those who find genuine value in what pours out of me will show up for it.

To those who already have, you feel like oxygen. You keep the spark lit.

If this work has ever moved you, grounded you, made you feel less alone, or cracked something open inside of you, consider feeding the muse. Not out of obligation. But because creative wells this deep are worth keeping full.

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🎨 Featured Art: Visual Work From the Gallery

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⚙️Featured Object: From the Swag Mall

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🎯My Target Focus

• Because of your generous support, I got the air conditioner I targeted for in last month’s dispatch. Thank you!
• Keep working out in short stints each day and loosening up my joints
• Releasing the lessons of the past year and allowing newness to wash over me

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June has arrived in one of her familiar moods, unable to decide whether she wants to be summer or spring. One day she stretches herself out beneath blue skies and eighty-degree sunshine, and the next she retreats behind gray clouds and sixty-degree rain. Sweaters are folded away, then pulled back out. Windows are thrown open, then shut again against the chill.

I’ve stopped trying to predict her and have instead settled into her rhythm, letting the month be exactly what it wants to be. Whatever. I’m floating with it. On the rainy days, I’ve tucked myself indoors with coffee, notebooks, and glowing screens, staying locked into the work. There is a certain comfort in creating while the rain taps against the glass, a coziness, and a knowing that I’m exactly where I am supposed to be.

As July approaches, I find myself quietly charting little dates with myself on the calendar. Most of them lead toward the nearby beaches, where the tides roll in and out with far more certainty than June’s weather. I look forward to wandering shorelines, collecting moments, taking photographs, and allowing myself the simple pleasure of being present.

I hope to share some of those images and small summer discoveries with you in the weeks ahead. For now, though, I am content to let June do what June does best, drifting in her unpredictable fragments, wavering between seasons, and reminding me that not everything beautiful shows up in a straight line.