Jen James, IFLC Community Engagement Manager

Most of the time, courage doesn’t look like a cinematic slow-motion walk away from an explosion. For me, courage looks like surviving one more day, asking for help (which I find about as pleasant as a root canal), and letting people love me when I still hadn’t figured out how to love myself. It’s choosing to keep going even when life feels impossibly heavy. I often describe my life in three parts: Birth, Rebirth, and Reincarnation.

My Birth
I was quite literally born a survivor. On New Year’s Eve in 1972, my parents were speeding toward the hospital, but I decided the front seat of a purple Dodge Demon was much more stylish and I made my entrance into the world by being caught in my mother’s muumuu just before I hit the floorboard. Honestly, it’s a fitting start. My story has always been about unexpected beginnings & finding ways to keep going.

My Rebirth
In college, the “funny and outgoing Jen” I pretended to be, was becoming challenging. I was drowning in depression, anxiety, and voices I didn’t understand. This was 1995; back then, we didn’t talk about mental health—we just assumed everyone else was doing fine and I was the only one “glitching out.” One night in April, those voices convinced me the world would be better off without me. The next morning, I woke up surprised to still be alive. My roommate saw my pain. She stayed, she nudged, and she helped me call my mom. Soon after, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety, OCD, and Panic Disorder. Finally, the
“monsters” in my head had names. I had the courage to share my story and the courage to listen. Both to myself and to the people who helped me see that my life still mattered. It turns out that healing often begins when someone is willing to truly listen without judgment.

My Reincarnation
Fast forward to Easter Sunday, 2014. I found a lump. A few biopsies later, I had two aggressive Stage 2 breast cancer tumors. Again, I was faced with a choice: stop fighting or keep showing up for life. I chose to fight. Chemo was brutal. Some days I could barely get out of bed. My then husband, kids, and even my husky stayed beside me through the hardest moments. They brought me water, tea, terrible Netflix shows, and laughter when I needed it most. I started wearing ridiculous hats to my treatments. It was simple: if I could bring a little absurdity into a room filled with fear, maybe we’d all feel a little less like we were fighting alone. It taught me that it’s perfectly okay to be the person who needs the tea, the blanket, and the occasional unicorn fart-themed joke that always made me giggle.

My Life
Today, those experiences continue to shape how I live my life. After eleven years of supporting others in suicide prevention and crisis intervention, I found my way to the InterFaith Leadership Council (IFLC). My work with IFLC hasn’t just taught me about different faith traditions; it’s taught me that human connection is the ultimate universal language. After all that’s happened in my life, I’ve learned that belonging isn’t about being the same—it’s about the courage to listen without judgment. We aren’t meant to carry the heavy stuff alone. Sometimes courage is fighting. Sometimes it’s asking for help. And sometimes, the bravest
thing you can do is simply remind someone else that they matter.

And if you can do it while wearing a silly hat? Even better.