Idea Dust

Author: Felecia J

  • A Thousand Years: Pregnancy Loss by Felecia Jacks

    A Thousand Years: Pregnancy Loss by Felecia Jacks

    New Post: A Thousand Years: Pregnancy Loss By Felecia Jacks
    June 16, 2025 | Interpersonal Insight

    At the James Arthur concert, I was caught off guard when he sang “A Thousand Years.” Two weeks earlier, I had shared the story behind that song with Abigail—our pregnancy loss in 2010. When we got home that night, she played it on repeat through her Alexa.

    I don’t have the words to express what it feels like when you realize your daughter understands the depth of love, pain, and hope that stories like these bring to life.

    “Mom, why does it mean so much to you?”

    That question lingered—echoing the unspoken pain and deep emotion I carry.

    The Heart of Loss

    In June 2010, my husband and I faced a heartbreaking reality: we lost our first child. My heart shattered when the doctor told me I wouldn’t be meeting the little one who had already stolen mine.

    I tried to understand—did I cause this? Was it something I did? But there isn’t always an explanation. And that might be the most brutal truth of all.

    A person you loved had to go, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. No lesson to learn. No habit to fix. Just grief.

    Grief that leaves a hole in the soul.

    What Does Grief Look Like?

    It looks like a new reason to look forward to heaven.

    It’s marked by two dates—one for the due date, and one for the day they were lost.

    You count each year how old they would’ve been.

    Even without holding them, there are vivid images—face, hair color, personality. They grow in your heart, not in front of your eyes.

    You celebrate silent birthdays. You remember them in private. You feel them in sacred moments.

    Over time, anger softens. The pain doesn’t go away, but it transforms. You don’t get over it—you grow around it.

    Until one day, a “birthday” arrives, and the dam breaks again. The memories flood in: the image of their eyes, the way they’d fit into your family, the life that might have been. You smile. You cry. You know they would’ve belonged.

    A Sacred Space in Your Heart

    In quiet moments, if you close your eyes, you see something holy—
    eyes that never opened, dreams that never unfolded, love that never faded.

    They live deep in your soul, and in that hope—something only God gives to parents of children in heaven—you find peace.

    You know they’re waiting.

    And that knowing becomes something you feel in your skin.

    The Story of Love and Hope

    When that song played, everything came rushing back.

    Why does it mean so much?

    Because it’s more than a melody. It’s a story.

    Your dad was surprised by that pregnancy. We had only been married two months. He wanted me to finish school. He wanted peace. I wanted hope.

    Each month, I prayed silently for a surprise.

    Handwritten prayer journal page dated April 3, 2012, expressing gratitude and hope after discovering a pregnancy
    A heartfelt prayer written the day I found out I was pregnant with Matthew

    The Moment of Hope

    In January 2012, I dared to hope again. I calculated: if we conceived in March, I could finish school by December.

    He felt the ache I carried. He said yes.

    And in April, the test turned positive. I ran to my journal. He came home to a gray shirt with a very obvious message.

    A Prayer from the Heart

    “Dear God,

    I come to you today because I just found out I am pregnant, and just like I come to you when I’m sad or scared, I come to say thank you.

    Thank you for Robert. Thank you for this child.

    After those cramps Sunday, I knew that was you at work. Thank you. I can’t explain it, but I know you’re near.”

    Life’s Unexpected Trials

    But life had other plans.

    In May, I saw blood. At the OB’s office, I learned I had a subchorionic hemorrhage. A 50/50 chance of survival. I was crushed.

    In the shower, blood washing down the drain, I dropped to my knees and prayed. That prayer became a life-marking moment.

    I sang “A Thousand Years.” I waited. I braced.

    The Miracle of Matthew

    Matthew Bryan Jacks was born in December 2012—almost exactly a thousand days after we lost the first baby.

    When I held him, he was so still I thought he had died in my arms. I screamed.

    But then he moved.

    And I knew—God answered.

    The Meaning of Love and the Song

    I hear the lyrics differently now:

    Heart beats fast, colours and promises. How to be brave?

    How can I love when I’m afraid to fall?

    I have died every night waiting for you…

    And I would love you for a thousand more.

    Final Reflection

    That day in the car, when Abigail asked, “Mom, why does it mean so much to you?”—I didn’t have the perfect answer.

    But in my heart, I knew she understood the story.

    Not just the one I told her—but the one written into the song.

    This wasn’t just about music. It was about a love that endured. A faith that healed. A loss that shaped forever.

    Because even love that only lives for a moment can shape eternity.

    And the truest love really can wait a thousand years.

  • Stop Being the Court Jester: Stop Overexplaining and Choose Peace

    Stop Being the Court Jester: Stop Overexplaining and Choose Peace


    June 17, 2025 | Interpersonal Insight

    Stop Overexplaining

    Don’t Crown the Court Jester
    By Felecia Jacks

    There comes a moment when telling your side
    stops being healing
    and starts being exhausting.

    When you realize the truth doesn’t always need an audience,
    And peace doesn’t require approval.

    The peace is within you.
    And only the devil sits in the details.

    Telling becomes a temptation—
    because we believe our version of the story might change someone’s mind,
    soften someone’s heart,
    Or finally open them up.

    But if we’re being honest…
    Think of someone you actually know.

    Like your spouse.
    I’m picturing mine right now.

    We’ve let each other down.
    We’ve walked through fire.
    There have been moments that needed apologies—
    But not performances.

    We didn’t sit on trial.
    We didn’t beg to be understood.
    We didn’t weaponize silence
    or make understanding a condition.

    That’s the difference.

    There’s a line between the people who are worth explaining yourself to
    and the ones who never should’ve had that power in the first place.

    And more often than not?
    The ones worth explaining to
    Don’t demand it.

    Each time you choose to explain yourself to someone,
    You put yourself on trial.

    You become the defendant.
    And in court, most defendants don’t take the stand.
    There’s a reason for that.

    Defending yourself already puts you under scrutiny—
    exposed to twisted narratives, manipulative questions,
    and people who weren’t listening to understand in the first place.

    So just like you guard who you tell your secrets to,
    be especially careful about who you defend yourself to.

    Think about your life.
    Think about who you’ve wasted your breath on.
    Did their opinion actually change your path?
    Did their judgment actually matter?

    Because if someone doesn’t make a real impact,
    They don’t get a vote.

    Bottom line:
    There’s a standard to be relevant.
    So don’t bother crowning the court jester.

  • Real Honesty is Artless

    Real Honesty is Artless

    June 17, 2025

    Some truths aren’t shouted.
    They’re whispered between lines—subtle, sharp, and devastating in their accuracy.

    This quote came from a moment when I realized that truth and performance are often confused.

    Real honesty is artless.
    A performance of honesty is pure art.
    Going out of your way to tell a lie to appear honest… now that’s creativity.

    Some people don’t just tell lies.
    They design them.
    Package them.
    Wrap them in enough “honesty” to make you question your own truth.

    Let this be a reminder:
    Just because it looks clean doesn’t mean it isn’t covering something rotten.

  • The Toy That Once Sang: Validation Conditioning

    The Toy That Once Sang: Validation Conditioning

    By Felecia Jacks

    June 18, 2025 | Unwritten & Understood

    Author’s Note: In a world where approval often dictates worth, many of us become like children tugging at a toy—desperate to hear its song, seeking reassurance in its melody.
    That’s called emotional conditioning.
    This poem explores the silent struggle of constantly striving for validation, even when it’s broken or elusive.
    Through the metaphor of a toy that once sang, it reveals the human tendency to persist—to pull harder—and to hope endlessly for a flicker of light amid the noise and silence of unmet expectations.

    The Toy That Once Sang

    You probably remember the times you felt it—
    The sweeter goosebumps of approval.
    Two hands come together and make a tap.
    You’d found the string
    that made the machine sing.

    You wanted a lullaby in encore.
    But sometimes the string stuck.
    Not because it was broken—
    Maybe you just didn’t pull hard enough.

    So you learned:
    Pull harder.
    Even when you didn’t want to.
    Even when your chest throbbed.
    And on the days the toy stayed silent,
    something behind your bones began to rot.

    In the quiet,
    your face surrendered to gravity
    a little more each day.
    Until it couldn’t rise above water
    without the noise.

    So you pulled that string
    harder,
    louder,
    more often than not—
    just to see a flicker of light.

    The one at the end of an endless tunnel.
    A light just out of reach,
    but bright enough to keep you hoping.

    The ocean between you and the glow
    carries what crashes with the weight of all your collapses.
    Each wave a memory
    of the string that once worked.
    And how you never really figured out
    what made it sing.

    Still,
    You keep pulling.
    Because a performance with no applause
    is easier
    than walking away from a toy
    that once made music.

    Even if it’s broken
    more times than not.

  • Haunted Hell: What Trauma Teaches You

    Haunted Hell: What Trauma Teaches You

    What trauma teaches you is rarely neat or noble—it’s buried in chaos, survival, and the silence between storms.

    June 18, 2025|Unwritten & Understood

     Hit Play, Not Pause. 

    Author’s Note

    For the ones who learned chaos before comfort.
    For the ones who flinched when the world got quiet.
    We see you. We love you. This was written with you in mind.

    This piece explores the psyche of someone who has endured relentless trauma and emotional war—the kind that leaves scars no one can see. It reveals how enduring constant turmoil can become a familiar, though destructive, refuge—a “Haunted Hell” where the line between survival and surrender blurs.

    Personal Tribute

    To the foster children who moved through our home—
    and to the son who stayed.

    Kaleb,
    You taught us what it means to love someone fiercely through the noise.
    You are proof that storms don’t always destroy—
    sometimes, they plant something worth growing.

    We see you.
    We always will. 

    Haunted Hell By: Felecia Jacks

    The heaviest thing you ever carried
    was the silence between storms.
    War began before you could spell the word for it.
    And the worst part?
    You never knew when the next shot would come—
    only that it would.

    You learned early:
    Calm is the real threat.
    It lulls you.
    Makes you think you’re safe.
    Makes you think this time might be different.

    But chaos—
    chaos keeps its promises.

    Fury spared isn’t mercy,
    it’s a delay.
    A sharp inhale before the blow lands.

    So you found peace
    not in quiet,
    but in the noise you could count on.

    Because when the bombs are already falling,
    you stop flinching.
    You know where the shrapnel will hit.
    And pain you expect
    hurts less than the hope that betrayed you.

    You learn to keep your life broken—
    not because you like walking on shards of glass,
    but because it keeps you.
    Fixed always lets you go.

    A bubble bath of fragments,
    swimming in an ocean of red.
    Not because you like pain or the color,
    but because clean water requires
    maintenance you’re not capable of.

    Soldiers don’t go to battle
    with hearts that aren’t beating.
    They see blood and they flee.
    You can’t fight someone
    who’s already dead inside.

  • Karen Read Acquittal

    Karen Read Acquittal

    Karen Read Acquittal – A Court Reporter’s Perspective on Truth, Tone, and Reasonable Doubt

    Such a compelling case, indeed

    I watched the Karen Read docuseries. A friend asked me to weigh in—probably because I’m a court reporter, and I spend a lot of my life watching people under pressure, trying to lie, bluff, or convince. This one was hard to pin down. Some of it felt deeply compelling—like the part where she says she pulled a piece of glass out of his nose. But other parts didn’t quite make sense either.

    Here’s what I noticed.

    Usually, when someone’s done something as serious as killing another person, their calls afterward don’t feel real. Most of the time, you can hear the performance—the overly sweet voicemail, the fake calm. They try to sound clueless, loving, innocent. But the tone is wrong. You can feel it.

    Karen Read didn’t sound like that.

    She came across as full of passion—chaotic, raw, erratic even—but not calculated. I watched an interview that talked about how many times she called him after the incident. How much she screamed. And honestly, that kind of energy is highly unusual for someone trying to cover up a murder. The tone of her voice, the volume, the effort she poured into those voicemails? It wasn’t giving “clean getaway.” It was giving spiraling confusion. If she did hit him, I’m not entirely sure she knows that she did.

    Robert and I talked about it, and we both landed in the same place: even if there’s a chance she did it, this case was nowhere near beyond a reasonable doubt.

    And body language says a lot. Her tone, her physical responses—even the sheer number of calls she made before learning he was dead—all of it pointed to a kind of passion and denial that doesn’t align with guilt. If someone knows they’ve killed someone, they don’t call to scream at them. They usually call to pretend they didn’t have issues. They clean things up. They delete the evidence. They try to rewrite the narrative.

    Karen didn’t do any of that.

    She didn’t try to fix her broken taillight. She didn’t wipe off the hair found on the car. She didn’t act like someone with something to hide. And when she was giving her thoughts and opinions—on camera or in court—she consistently shook her head yes. That’s actually a well-known indicator of truthfulness. When people are lying, their body often betrays them. Take Scott Peterson or Chris Watts, for example. In their televised interviews, when asked if they knew where their wives were, they shook their heads no—while saying yes. Look it up. I noticed it years ago while watching their documentaries, and it stuck.

    That kind of stuff matters.

    And then there’s the other side. The lead detective in this case? He sent inappropriate, raunchy text messages and had personal ties to the family who owned the house where the victim died. The people inside that house the night it happened were all butt-dialing each other left and right—no one explaining why. And one of the men who was there took his phone and ran it over with a car. Who does that? Most people just trade their phones in or upgrade. I’ve never known anyone to destroy both their phone and their SIM card unless they’re trying to make sure nothing is left behind.

    Put all of that together, and the verdict makes sense.

    There may always be pieces we can’t explain. But guilt has a pattern, and so does innocence. And this case—despite its chaos—looked a lot more like the second.

  • Sanitized Stories – The Filtered Truth and Hypocrisy

    Sanitized Stories – The Filtered Truth and Hypocrisy

    June 19, 2025

    Filtered truth and hypocrisy don’t just distort the story—they erase the blood, rewrite the roles, and let the guilty pose as the blessed.

    It’s a strange thing—

    watching someone dust off a crown they stole

    and wear it like they earned it.

    They speak of blessings,

    post about timing,

    insinuate waiting,

    sell disaster as destiny

    and the wreckage as divine favor.

    But some of us remember the blood under the rug.

    Some of us read the fine print behind the fairytale—

    the late-night whispers,

    the door that never closed all the way,

    the home that cracked from the inside out

    a fracture in a place where family was,

    while someone else waited in the shadows

    already moving in.

    And now, they claim virtue.

    Now, they tell the story with the spotlight pointed just so.

    They forget the weeping.

    The trail of tears streaming down faces without a clue,

    They forget the one who begged for mercy

    while they rehearsed how to smile in pictures.

    Bought some shovels 

    and dug holes for the skeletons in the closet.

    But injustice doesn’t need a headline to be real.

    And hypocrisy doesn’t need to shout—

    it just needs a filter,

    a platform,

    and no one brave enough to remember out loud.

  • Emotional Immaturity in Men – The Haunting Truth Behind Men Who Stay Boys

    Emotional Immaturity in Men – The Haunting Truth Behind Men Who Stay Boys

    June 22, 2025|Unwritten & Understood

    Emotional immaturity in men doesn’t always look like cruelty—it often hides behind silence, avoidance, and the refusal to grow.

    Author’s Note:

    Took myself back in time.
    You’ve been there.

    Some boys don’t lose their shadow.
    They live in it—sheltered, hidden, never questioned.

    This isn’t about heartbreak.
    It’s about the kind of immaturity that leaves ripples in places it never had the courage to stay.

    The kind that lets children wonder what they did wrong.
    This is for the ones left holding the silence..

    As Psychology Today explains, emotional immaturity in men often stems from unprocessed childhood patterns and avoidance mechanisms.

    Men Who Stay Boys
    Emotional Maturity in Men
    Emotional immaturity in men

    Men Who Stay Boys

    Some Boys Don’t Lose Their Shadow. They Hide In It.

    The only difference between him and Peter Pan
    is that Peter lost his shadow—
    and missed it.

    This one?

    He lives in his.
    Walks inside it.
    Lets it speak for him
    when truth gets too loud.

    Peter chased wonder.
    This one avoids mirrors.

    Neither of them grew up—
    but only one
    ever admitted it.

    Some boys never become men.
    They just study the role,
    wear the uniform,
    and smile on cue.

    Until a child asks for something simple—
    a number,
    a connection,
    a friendship worth keeping—

    and the boy inside the shadow
    can’t even breathe.

    So he disappears.
    Again.

    And the silence left behind
    becomes a lesson
    no child should have to learn.

  • Still Standing (and Still the Best Seat Outside of the House)

    This DIY outdoor wooden daybed bench cost under $50 to build—and two years later, it’s still my favorite spot to sit.

    June 20, 2025|Woodworking & DIY

    DIY Outdoor Wooden Daybed Bench

     How I built a $50 diy daybed: a cheap diy


    —Two Years Later, This DIY Daybed Hasn’t Moved an Inch—

    Two years ago,
    armed with 2x3s, grit, and a stubborn kind of joy,
    I built something that lasts.

    It started as a sketch—
    a nap-worthy daydream with sharp angles,
    cut corners, and a whole lot of screws.
    What it became?
    A resting place with backbone.
    A soft space with a story.

    I followed the tutorial from Lovely Etc.—simple, clean, and under $50 if you’ve got a stash of paint already whispering your name.

    Here’s what it took to make the thing that still holds me:

    🪵 Supplies:

    • (14) 2x3s @ 8 ft – framing lumber
    • (1) 2×4 @ 8 ft – framing lumber
    • (1) 2×2 @ 8 ft
    • 1/4″ plywood – cut to 36″ x 73″
    • 2.5″ Kreg screws and pocket hole plugs (or wood filler)
    • Nail gun (or hammer and finishing nails)
    • Exterior paint or stain + sealer (if outdoors)
    • Twin mattress

    🔧 Tools I used:

    • Miter saw (for angled cuts) Ryobi 
    • Kreg Jig (I used the smaller version—plenty strong) but I have since bought the larger and I love it.
    • Drill
    • Pencil + paintbrush
    • Optional: scrap wood slat supports (8.5″ tall = lifesavers)

    I built the frame in layers:
    two sides, a back, a platform.
    Cut clean lines. Sanded soft edges.
    I traced my confidence
    with each pull of the drill.

    Then came the moment—
    paint mixed from leftovers,
    applied with a brush that’s seen better days.
    But the result?
    Still beautiful.
    Still strong.

    Now, two years later,
    it’s more than furniture.
    It’s where I’ve sipped coffee,
    read too-late texts,
    and watched my kids climb up just to be near me.

    It hasn’t wobbled.
    Hasn’t chipped.
    Hasn’t let me down.

    So if you’re looking to build a place that holds more than just weight—
    build this.
    Even if you don’t think you know how.
    Especially then.

    Full tutorial and cut list:
    👉 How to Make a DIY Daybed for $50 – Lovely Etc.

  • No Such Thing As Neverland – A Reflection on Avoidant Attachment and Emotional Immaturity

    No Such Thing As Neverland – A Reflection on Avoidant Attachment and Emotional Immaturity

    Avoidant attachment in men leaves traces—sometimes in what they say, but more often in what they never do.

    June 22, 2025|Unwritten & Understood

    Author’s Note:

    Took myself back in time.
    You’ve been there

    Some boys don’t lose their shadow.

    They live in it—sheltered, hidden, never questioned.

    This isn’t about heartbreak.

    It’s about the kind of immaturity that leaves ripples in places it never had the courage to stay.

    The kind that lets children wonder what they did wrong.

    This is for the ones left holding the silence.

    Men Who Stay Boys

    Some Boys Don‘t Lose Their Shadow. They Hide In It.

    The only difference between him and Peter Pan

    is that Peter lost his shadow—

    and missed it.

    This one?

    He lives in his.

    Walks inside it.

    Lets it speak for him

    when truth gets too loud.

    Peter chased wonder.

    This one avoids mirrors.

    Neither of them grew up—

    but only one

    ever admitted it.

    Some boys never become men.

    They just study the role,

    wear the uniform,

    and smile on cue.

    Until a child asks for something simple—

    a number,

    a connection,

    a friendship worth keeping—

    and the boy inside the shadow

    can’t even breathe.

    So he disappears.

    Again.

    And the silence left behind

    becomes a lesson

    no child should have to learn.