Things to read, practice, listen to, and return to.

Some seasons call for a conversation. Some call for a book. Some call for a few quiet words, a practice, or something you can come back to when you need it.

I've gathered these resources from different seasons of my work—writing, poetry, spiritual care, grief, embodiment, and the ongoing work of becoming more fully ourselves.

Take what you need. Come back whenever you want.

Books

Still Here: A Poetry Memoir of Grief & Love

For the first year of grief—and all the years that follow.

When unexpected loss enters our lives, grief doesn't stay neatly in our thoughts. It settles into our bodies, our relationships, our ordinary days.

Still Here is a collection of poems written in the first year after I unexpectedly lost my youngest brother.

These poems make room for the shock, anger, tenderness, confusion, and strange beauty of learning to live alongside loss.

They are for anyone who has lost someone they love—and for anyone who wants language for the places where grief and love become impossible to separate.

They’re still here.

So are we.

There She Is: Love Notes on Finding Home

For the part of you that is still there underneath everything you've been carrying.

Sometimes we need help finding the part of ourselves that shimmers with strength, especially when it has been buried beneath complicated lives, expectations, and survival.

There She Is grew out of poems I wrote during a season of wild change and challenge in my own life.

These are love notes for the journey inward—for telling the truth about what hurts, learning to trust what we find, and discovering that home isn't always somewhere we return to.

Sometimes home is the relationship we slowly build with ourselves.

There she is.

Gently Fierce: Poems of Faith, Rage & Holy Imagination

For the places where tenderness and resistance meet.

These poems were written at the fault line between faith and fury, grief and hope, tenderness and rage.

They wrestle with what it means to remain human—and to remain connected to something sacred—when the world feels increasingly fractured.

Gently Fierce is a collection of poems about faith, anger, grief, justice, embodiment, and the stubborn insistence that love still matters.

These poems don't offer easy hope. They offer something more honest: the willingness to stay present to what is true.

Free Resources

These resources are available freely because sometimes a small practice or a few words are exactly what we need.

The Gentle Way writing

You can also explore the free essays and poems here on the site.

A Conversation with Wendy Marsh on Amplifying Autism

Enjoy this 25-minute conversation between Jenny and Wendy Marsh on trauma-informed healing, nervous system regulation, and why healing for autistic and ADHD adults must be gentle, embodied, and compassionate.

Resources for Going Deeper

Some things are worth having in a form you can return to again and again.

Here you'll find paid guides, practices, audio, and other resources I've created to support the deeper work of The Gentle Way.

A Gentle Return: Audio Companion

A Gentle Return is a gentle, nervous-system-aware audio experience designed for people who are exhausted from pushing, performing, overthinking, or trying to “fix” themselves.

Big Sister Text List

Small reminders delivered to your phone for the days when you need some big sister neurodivergent wisdom. Offered seasonally.

Looking for something more personal?

Books and resources can offer language, companionship, and a place to begin.

Sometimes, though, you want someone beside you.

I also offer individual sessions for neurodivergent women who are navigating unmasking, burnout, identity shifts, nervous system overwhelm, relationships, spirituality, and the slow process of building a life that fits.

A final invitation

You don't need to consume everything. You don't need another self-improvement project. Choose the thing that meets you where you are.

Read a poem. Try a practice. Listen for something your body has been trying to tell you. Or simply close the page and go outside.

The point was never to give you more to do.

It's to offer you something that might help you come home to yourself.

Gently,
Jenny