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Find Your Colors Podcast

Jeff B. White

Jeff B. White is the author of Shards of Hope & the Shards of Color Saga. Survivor, activist, and creator. Jeff uses his books to present the psychology of recovery through the lens of fantasy. He's here to give you a map into the light drawn by someone who survived the dark.

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  • 16 episodes
  • Avg 11 min
  • English
  • S2 · E2
    August 30 · 4 min

    An Unexpected Milestone for Find Your Colors

    On the eve of publication, host and author Jeff B White celebrates the upcoming release of Blush Born and shares an incredible milestone. Find Your Colors recently reached #6 in Fiction on Apple Podcasts in Slovakia. ​Launch details for Blush Born, arriving on Amazon in under twelve hours for both paperback and Kindle. A sincere thank you to the growing global community discovering the story across Europe, Southeast Asia, and beyond. Release timelines and pre-order information for the sequels, A Faded Quest and Echoes of Foreshadow. A preview of the upcoming audiobook production featuring voice actor Blake Brown performing the original lullabies and songs. ​Important Links ​Pre-order Blush Born on Kindle: https://a.co/d/0aZsdwbo Pre-order A Faded Quest: https://a.co/d/08Er6Vkm Pre-order Echoes of Foreshadow: https://a.co/d/03ZqU0UQ Subscribe to Find Your Colors on Substack: https://findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe?coupon=7867a006&utm_content=194155139 Explore the portfolio and discover more about Jethran: www.jeffbwhite.com Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S2 · E1
    August 27 · 15 min

    The Author Gates

    In this episode of Find Your Colors, Jeff B White takes a break from our standard discussions about The Shards of Color Trilogy to address the reality of the publishing industry. From the financial barriers required to even participate, to the systemic prejudices and modern hysteria destroying careers, Jeff is looking directly at the barriers keeping authors out and the expectations required to allow entry. Breakdown The Artists' Gate: The required financial cost of sharing art. The Literary Gate: The cycle of traditional publishing and querying. The AI Gate: Mass hysteria, false accusations, and the impossible demand to prove a negative. The Color Gate: Systemic bias and the silencing of diverse voices. The Silent Gate: The danger of speaking out and the choice to refuse compliance. Support the Podcast Find Your Colors is a reader-supported publication and listener-supported podcast. If the message in today's episode resonates with you, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber to help keep these conversations going. Links Discover the world I have created at my website: www.jeffbwhite.com Pre-order BLUSH BORN and the rest of the trilogy on Amazon and Kindle before the August 31st launch. No artists were harmed in the making of this publication or my books. Excluding myself. k9bpIRi3wP6vOvzMWTLy Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E29
    May 4 · 13 min

    This is My Official Author Site Launch!!

    Welcome to Find Your Colors! This is the publication and podcast where we are discussing the Shards of Color Trilogy and more specifically the first book of the trilogy titled BLUSH BORN. I am Jeff B. White and I am the writer and creator of these stories. Find Your Colors allows me to provide the full chapters of BLUSH BORN in a serialized format, along with breakdowns of the psychological concepts that are present within the narrative. I also explain how I translated my own story of struggle and survival into this dark fairy tale. Recap Previously, I shared “Chapter 17 Whispered Color” in which Jethran and Fable met Winley Knowles and the Coloristas. We saw Jethran finally find a place where he is accepted and sees that living in freedom is actually possible. We will pick back up with the narrative later this week. Today I have some exciting news to share, alongside a few thoughts about making it in the literary world and how we put ourselves out there as professionals. Growing and Showing The landscape of publishing shifted a long time ago and we're no longer in an era where a manuscript alone opens every door. Writing a great story remains the priority, but building a conversation around that story is what invites the people to stay. Through the building of a conversation around BLUSH BORN here on Substack, I have been able to secure a domain and I have built a new central hub for my work. Thank you to all of my subscribers who signed up for both monthly and yearly subscriptions. And especially, those of you who have signed up on the Prism Tier. You not only have allowed me to see what it feels like to start getting paid for my actual writing, but you've allowed the writing to pay for itself. That's massive! Substack has been a beautiful way for me to begin sharing the story behind the story, breaking down exactly what all went into crafting my series. Now my new site is providing me with the opportunity to share the full depth of what exists inside that story as I set myself on the path toward realizing my publishing goals. Having a dedicated author website remains absolutely crucial because your website acts as your true home base on the internet. It's the platform that you own entirely. While Substack is a powerful tool for content distribution, the personal website offers long-term stability, control, and searchability that third-party platforms simply cannot match. It's the perfect place for a permanent biography, a professional press kit, your book portfolio, or a “work with me” page. Those elements just feel clunky inside a standard newsletter feed. On your own website, you decide exactly how your work is presented. You can have full control over your design and overall feel. You get complete control over the brand and user experience. I have crafted a fully immersive experience that allows visitors to feel the weight of the narrative before you even start the first sentence. I've created a place where you can explore the full depth of the world that's been created in my stories. You can learn about the locations and discover the cast of characters. I'm building a section detailing the full magic systems and explaining the different cosmologies that go into the belief structures of my characters. There's even radio broadcasts that play the in-world news updates from the narrative, providing added details from the world itself to facilitate a deeper dive into the Kingdom of Evenhere. Quite possibly, my favorite feature about this new site is that I am able to share full chapters of my memoir with the world for the first time ever. These chapters will not be available anywhere else. Obviously, this is an extremely personal project for me and it was not easy to sit down and write about all the things that I have included in the memoir. It was important to me that I was allowed to have full ownership and full control over the ways in which it is shared and presented to potential readers. Having my own domain and my own site makes that ownership possible. So now instead of only telling my readers about my memoir, I finally get to show it to them. On my terms. Substack is fantastic and I’m not going anywhere any time soon. The fact remains that building a portfolio solely on rented land comes with risks that could be detrimental to your progress. Platforms can change their terms, they can increase their fees, or they can lock you out of your account which could erase thousands of subscribers or years of content. Your website ensures that you own your content, your subscriber data, and brand identity permanently. It serves as a permanent hub for your career, regardless of which social media platforms rise or fall. It also removes the dependence upon the algorithm whichever algorithm that is. We've all already experienced the Instagram algorithm crunch and we all know exactly how difficult it is to get properly seen by the people you're trying to reach on Facebook. Plus, not everyone is built for tiktok and not everyone wants to be posting videos of themselves all the time or relying on competition with the influencer crowd for clicks in order to ensure our careers get off the ground. One really big deal is that Substack has limited SEO optimization whereas content on your own website ranks much better on Google. This makes it easier for new readers to find you organically. Plus, a website allows you to structure evergreen content that brings in traffic for years. Newsletter posts, on the other hand, eventually get buried in inboxes. The website becomes a place where you can sell your books, merchandise, or services directly from your own site without sharing a commission. A dedicated website also lets you set up marketing funnels, like giving away a free story in exchange for an email address, which is much harder to execute on a newsletter platform. It's a Miley vs Hannah situation because you literally can have the best of both worlds. These platforms work perfectly together and the best approach is to treat them as complementary tools. You can use the website as your foundation and let Substack be the engine that drives the traffic and connection. Your website can house the archive and shop as the permanent place for your content and your books while serving as your main intake hub. While Substack is still there holding space as the newsletter and housing the community so you have easy access for updates, essays, and direct conversations. Personalized and Professional Value There's another extremely important reason why having dedicated author website is vital. The three key components to successfully becoming a published author are to have a great idea, a great story, and a platform. It used to be that you only had to have two of those. A great story and a great idea were fine even if you didn't have a platform. But, the days of that being true are seeming to be moving away. It's undeniable that the digital world has taken over everything and content creators are a dime a dozen. While there are still people who are able to get in the door without this, it is naive to still believe that having a professional digital footprint isn't a necessity. As the world continues to conduct more and more of its life and business in the online world it is slowly becoming more and more difficult to ensure that your work gets seen and is treated with the value that it deserves unless you place yourself in the market where the majority is existing. While having a dedicated author landing page does serve as a marketing tool and a place to directly sell your work, it also provides a point of presence in the digital world. Presence matters. From what I have come to learn, it matters a lot more today than it did only six months ago. Things have changed in the publishing world and not everyone is talking about it, but they are noticing it. Across the entire literary realm, agencies and publishing houses are closing and filing bankruptcy. Big publishing houses are having to eat the massive debt left behind by some of the smaller organizations, and that is causing a tightening of risk-taking in picking up new authors. It has always been that agents, editors, and publishers want to see that a new author they are interested in will be able to carry part of the load in getting the word out about their work. Now more than ever, that has gone from a bonus to an absolute necessity. We must show that we have the ability to attract, engage, and convert would-be readers into dedicated and active communities. If we want our work to be picked up and remembered, we have to show that we are invested in the presentation as much as the punctuation. We have to make it apparent that we can craft skilled prose and it is vital that we show that we are skilled pros. A dedicated site tells the industry and the reader that our work has merit and already has its own home. It shows the ones who need to see it that the author is ready to not only participate in the conversation, but that they have already started it. Plus, a really cool aspect of being able to acquire your own domain and website for the use of marketing and raising awareness around your work is that it comes with a business email that looks extremely professional. This obviously isn’t a necessity, as people get published every single day with just a regular Gmail account. That being said, it undeniably gives your queries and outreach that added punch that shows a level of professionalism that not all people have when they enter the conversation. For example, I was able to acquire colors@jeffbwhite.com which if you excuse me for saying this is completely badass and honestly has made me fully emotional. It's on brand. It's on theme. It's unexpected, but not in a way that is unprofessional. Personally, I believe it is a another layer of proof that I know what I'm doing and I'm acting with intention. Finally, and overall, this entire process is an act of validation you can provide to yourself. In my situation, it's testament to how far I've come in my life and how far I'm going to go. There's a scared little white boy right now back in the 1990’s Mississippi who would be so happy and impressed to see where I’ve brought us today. Everything else is… additive. But despite all of this, the fact remains that you can take the combination of all of these things together and still never get published or find your platform. In the same train of thought you could go out in the world without any one of these components and send one query letter and get picked up by an agent right then. If that happens, congratulations. But please don't tell me about it. This is all simply the nature of the career path that we have chosen. Real talk, I am so grateful to be a writer and to share my stories. I would not willingly choose to be doing anything else. 🌈You can explore the immersive portal as you step into the Kingdom of Evenhere, meet its residents, and discover why emotional intelligence and radical vulnerability aren’t weaknesses. They are the most dangerous weapons in the spectrum. 🌈 www.jeffbwhite.com The True Story Behind the Fantasy The first chapter of my memoir is available now on my website and the following chapters are coming soon. So there's no turning back. Feel free to go begin the story now! I promise it is not your typical recovery story. Shards of Hope A Tweaker Witch's Journey Let's Discuss * If you're a writer or an author have you created your site yet? * If you have, how has it helped you in raising your platform? * If you happen to be an agent, editor, or publisher what is it exactly that you're looking for when you go exploring the websites created by your potential clients? Feel free to answer these questions in the comment section below or take them with you as you go or email me about it at colors@jeffbwhite.com Subscribe Today Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication and listener supported podcast. If you appreciate what you've read here today and you would like more or you're interested in following along as I drop my fantasy chapters, then please consider joining as a free or paid subscriber today. Free subscribers matter so much. They let me know that I am sharing a story that people want to read. By subscribing you'll get access to the chapters that are published here on Substack and any bonus content, like this essay, when it becomes available. Paid subscribers also matter. They let me know that they want to know more than just the story. By becoming a paid member, you can access all of the chapters as they are published along with all of the bonus content and access to the chapter breakdowns explaining the story behind the story. Prism Tier subscriptions are available for people who want to provide the level of support that ensures I cross the finish line and achieve the goals that I have regarding my work. I'm so proud and grateful for the subscribers who have chosen to join that level of support. They will receive: * The full Shards Collection audio library * Signed hardback copies of the full collection. * A place in the acknowledgment sections of all the books in my series. * And more… The support that I've received from my subscribers has allowed me to build my website and it's allowed me to acquire the cover art for my written books. All of my subscribers are allowing me to get closer and closer each day to finally publishing and printing my work. Any support that you're able to give is absolutely an honor and I cannot even express how much I appreciate each of you. Click below to receive 25% off for your first year as a thank you from me. Oops, My Colors Are On Everything Not only is Find Your Colors on Substack and jeffbwhite.com, but also the Find Your Colors Podcast is available on Spotify, YouTube Podcasts, and now on Apple Podcasts. You can listen to the chapters and bonus content there. So click the button below or follow the links in the description to subscribe and follow so you never miss an episode. Thanks As always if you read this all the way to the end or if you listened to this all the way through, then you are absolutely my hero and I just want to take a moment to say thank you for allowing me the time out of your day and the space in your brain to share my story with you. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E28
    April 30 · 18 min

    Walking Away Free

    You might have noticed my recent silence here on the platform. I had to step away from my apartment in the Bronx and travel south to navigate a severe medical crisis involving my family. Many of you subscribe to Find Your Colors to explore the mechanics of processing trauma. You show up here to learn how to build internal vibrancy and find healing from old wounds through spiritual effort. Over the past two weeks, I was forced to put those exact practices to the ultimate test in the face of the man who manufactured my oldest wounds. The essay below is an unfiltered reflection on that journey… One Final Goodbye As I sit in my apartment in the Bronx writing this, I’m astonished that I’m actually home. It’s as if the events of the past two weeks never happened. My mind is dizzy from the whirlwind of emotions and shock. Yet here I am, stepping back into my regular life after spending two weeks in hell. Back in November, we learned that my father had glioblastoma, a very severe brain tumor. He endured the surgery and they removed it all, but the aftermath of that type of surgery, especially at his age, was detrimental. Glioblastoma is an end-of-life diagnosis. As he began to deteriorate, I received another call: his heart was failing. He needed open-heart surgery at 82 years old. The doctors informed me that he weighed 125 pounds. He was incoherent, non-responsive, and in a position where if he had gone under for surgery, he would not have come back. It was then that myself, my mother, and my sister joined together on the phone. My mother and sister were focused on getting him to heal, getting him back to normal so he could just be the way he was. It became my responsibility to inform them that that wasn’t possible. I had to be the one to break the news to my mother that Daddy wasn’t coming back. That he would never be the same. I gave them the information, of what the tumor, the brain surgery, and the stage 4 congestive heart failure all mean together. That’s when we shifted from talks of surgery and palliative care to talks of hospice. The three of us made the decision together, and then we hung up. I created a group chat with my mom and my sister where I gave them some attempt at inspiration, just trying to lift them up and hold them together. My mom said she understood what I was saying. My sister said she just didn’t have any words. I told her not having words is fine and that we’d get through this together. She said she was going to go be with my mom. I didn’t hear back from her for a while. About an hour later, I got a call from my mother. My sister had locked herself out of the house and gotten extremely stressed out. She called my aunt and started walking to the hospital, which isn’t far from where they live. She fell. She had a seizure. The EMTs came and she had another seizure. They airlifted her to the hospital in Asheville. My sister was diagnosed with lung cancer three years ago, the same week I was diagnosed with leukemia. Her cancer had metastasized and moved to her brain. A distant metastasis of a recurring lung cancer. The prognosis for this is very small. I asked my mother if she wanted me to come. She said yes. I bought a plane ticket immediately and flew to North Carolina. For the first few days my sister wasn’t there. It was just me, my mom, my dad, and an older cousin. I had planned to only stay two weeks because I have an upcoming apartment move and my own chemotherapy treatments waiting for me back in New York. I packed my bags and went down to help my sister heal and get everyone ready as we dealt with the looming death of my father. Once I arrived, I realized that despite the fact that everyone was sick, and some of them were dying, no one had any end-of-life paperwork done. No power of attorney. No living will. No DNR. None of it. I had started trying to get this work done way back in November. It took me the full two weeks before I was able to get papers signed, and only for my father. I was never able to get papers for my sister or my mother. My sister’s case is severe. Her prognosis is not good in any capacity. When I tried to talk to her about the actual biology of her brain tumor, the fact that she’d had a quarter of her lungs removed after her lobectomy, and what that means for her body, she accused me of being negative. Literally discussing the definition of the diagnosis and what is happening. Not for the sake of being morbid, but for the sake of preparation. For ensuring that everyone is taken care of and that their wishes are respected. I find it astonishing that I share DNA with people who demand total blindness in the name of comfort. That being practical and responsible and making adult decisions is somehow being negative. As an adult, I have built my whole life around finding the light. I practice witchcraft. I study paganism. I write books about healing trauma through spiritual effort. I’m all about that woo-woo s**t. Manifestation, the power of positive thought, the law of attraction, all of it. These are valuable practices. But being realistic and being prepared is not negative. Yet here I was, being told by the very people who manufactured every toxic emotion of my childhood that I needed to focus on positivity. That everything would just work out if I just believed it. As if my own personal life structure was being weaponized against me. Yes, thoughts influence what happens. We can alter our situations through positivity and light. But we all die. We can’t stop that. We can be educated about it. We can be prepared for it. We can make sure that we’re not a burden on our family after we’re gone. We can make sure that our children are prepared instead of blindsided because we kept telling them everything was okay when it wasn’t. They brought a hospital bed into my parents’ home and set it up in the living room. My father sat on that bed, his actual deathbed, and flat-out declared he was just going to ignore the diagnosis. He wasn’t going to think about it, and then it wouldn’t be real. He said he just wasn’t going to pay attention to the negative stuff. He told me there was nothing seriously wrong with him. That’s when everything snapped into focus. I had spent decades wondering how a father could just turn his back on his own son and throw him out like garbage. Never looking back. Now I finally knew. Acknowledging that he abandoned me would require looking at something ugly, so he just erased it from his mind. You can destroy people for your entire life without any shame or effect on yourself personally, as long as you simply refuse to look at the wreckage. It is the most dangerous kind of toxic positivity. It wipes away personal responsibility and leaves a trail of victims bleeding out in the background. Being back in that house was a total mindfuck. It wasn’t the house I grew up in. It was a house my parents had lived in for fifteen years that I had never seen. My cousin who was there was surprised to learn I’d never even been. I hadn’t seen my father in twenty years. And although this wasn’t my childhood home, it held all of the same stifling energy. I am endlessly grateful that I put twenty years of distance between myself and that family. It took an ocean of therapy to survive them the first time. Walking through the door was like entering a time capsule of a life I spent decades dismantling. On the first day, after about ten minutes, my cousin saw me suffocating and took me to get food just so I could breathe. We sat in the Sonic parking lot and I laughed as I stared off into the distance. I told her, “The fact that they even asked me to come down here makes me want to scream about the laws of audacity.” She simply smiled at me, because she knew it was true. Then I said, “But how could I not have come? They needed me. Of course I would be here.” I asked her if it made me pathetic. As if I’d waited decades for them to throw me a bone. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I spent thirty-four years in therapy unknotting the mess I survived as a kid. During that time, I used to wonder what it would be like to actually stand in front of my father again and say something. I never believed the universe would put me in that position. I went down there ready to play the part of a normal family. But then I was angry, because I showed up and it was the same people. Then I found myself wondering. Is every family like this? I think of that film August: Osage County, the whole family gathering as the father is dying. They fought. They fought hard. Is that just what families do? When I was a kid, I used to watch Roseanne. Blue-collar family struggling to pay bills, working dead-end jobs just trying to make ends meet. They fought like a real family. They reminded me of mine, except at the end of thirty minutes, you knew they still loved each other. That was the fantasy. Because my family was just like theirs. Loud, obnoxious, large, and poor. But there wasn’t love. Not discernibly. Not from their end. If I’m being honest, that’s always made me angry. I’m still bitter about it. I put aside my bitterness. I put aside my resentment and showed up ready to help. They wanted the idea of my help, but they hated the physical reality of me standing in their house. My presence cost me a lot. I paused my own chemotherapy in New York to travel South. I put my survival on hold to manage the decline of a man who despised me. A man I felt the exact same about. They couldn’t even acknowledge the sacrifice. It’s not that I needed anyone to say thank you, or that I wanted praise for doing the right thing. But after changing my father’s diaper. Honestly, a thank you wouldn’t have hurt as much as an “I don’t need you.” Everything revolved around his hospital bed. He was drowning in terminal delirium, his lungs filling with fluid, his brain falling in and out of coherent thought. But the muscle memory of his abuse still controlled that house. It was only the second day when he looked at me from his deathbed and demanded that I leave. He could barely remember the days of the week, but he could remember that kicking me out was the dynamic he and I shared. Every single day, even though he did not have the strength to stand, he demanded I get out of his house. And of course, like always, my mother and sister just nodded along. They bowed to a broken king who didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground. I stood in that room day after day defending my right to be there. I walked into a living room vibrating with Fox News blaring at volume level 247. My deaf mother sat right in the middle of that aggressive static, hearing absolutely none of it. The room was so loud you could not even hear yourself talk without yelling from your chest to be heard. And then, in all that swirling chaos, Greg Gutfeld already screaming at a bone-shattering volume, my deaf mother looked me in the eyes and told me that I was too loud. I knew exactly what she meant. It wasn’t my volume that was too loud. It was that my existence took up too much space and ruined the delicate little illusion she needed to survive. She tried to tell me she didn’t ask me to come. But that wasn’t true. I had stayed away from these people for twenty years. I’d never gone anywhere near that house, never even seen it, because I wasn’t invited. I never would have shown up had I not been told to come. The moment I lost my compassionate concern was when my mother, for the first time in my life, looked at me and said I was too much. This was the person who had always been my champion against that phrase. She always told me that everyone else wasn’t enough. But now she was saying the one thing that actually landed. It only landed because it came from her. I tried to tell myself she was just upset. She was dealing with so much. She’d been with my father since she was fifteen, and she’s seventy-six. That’s an entire lifetime. Her whole world was falling apart. Of course she was being mean. Of course she was taking it out on me. But then I told myself, and I told them, that my years of being the whipping boy in this family ended a long time ago. No matter what you’re going through, you don’t get to take it out on me. You don’t have the right and you don’t have the permission. It all hit a boiling point when my father looked at me from those pillows and delivered the exact same threat he used twenty years ago. He told me I needed to find a place to go. That he’d put me out on the streets and have me thrown in jail. Such a tired, worn-out statement. This from the man who got fined by the fire department for calling 911 too many times without an emergency, in his wild attempts to have me arrested for talking back or saying the word no. Two decades ago, those words were a death sentence for a terrified boy. I’ve lost count of the number of times my father put me in jail, calling in favors with his judge friends so they could lock me up through family vacation. Threats of jail used to carry weight. They used to bring fear. The man I am today just laughed. That laugh broke the spell. I stood over him and told him I would love to see him try. I told him to go find his phone, figure out how to turn it on, and see if he could remember what he was doing long enough to dial the police. I reminded him he didn’t even know how to use the remote control anymore. I told him I came there so I could help my family and witness as each member of my family dies right in front of me. To that he said, “Poor you. How do you think we feel?” I looked the man square in the eyes and said, “I think you’re upset, and you’re hurt, and you’re disappointed. Because it is upsetting, and it hurts, and it is disappointing. But just because you are those things doesn’t mean you have to be hateful. So stop being ungrateful that people actually care enough to help.” I told him I was leaving. But not because he commanded it. I was leaving because I built a life that had absolutely nothing to do with him. That I would leave when it was time to leave, and until then, I was staying, and I was helping my family get through this. That there was nothing he could do about it, because he had no power. Those words hung in the air right alongside the smell of chicken-fried steak and gravy. I stripped him of his illusion and handed him the cold reality. I had total agency. He was just drowning in his own failing biology. Before I walked out, I had my final words with my father. I told him I have no idea what comes next. But I said if he gets a chance at a next life, he needs to try to be good. I told him he failed at being a good father and he failed at being a good man. And if he’s given the opportunity to choose, he needs to choose a life where he can be a good person, so that his soul can have that experience. Then I packed up my survival and flew back to the Bronx. I left them to their stagnant obedience and the sounds of war and hatred on volume level 247. See, people think we are required to give our forgiveness. We are told that if we don’t forgive, we can’t heal. That’s a lie. Not everyone deserves our forgiveness, and we are not required to give it. We get to decide where we go, who we see, and who we allow in our lives. We get to decide who we offer forgiveness to and why. If they don’t deserve it, they don’t deserve it. Because as I just learned, even on his deathbed, he’s not sorry. Forgiving someone for something they feel absolutely zero remorse for isn’t going to make anyone feel better. Being guilted into forgiving someone simply out of shame is far more dangerous and far more damaging than denying them the forgiveness they’re not seeking. Forgiveness of the shameless, guilt-free abuser is just one more moment when the thing you survived gets to hurt. One more moment when the person who victimized you gets to be absolved. Gaslighting survivors into forgiving those who harmed them is just putting more abuse on top of us. The societal demand for unconditional forgiveness functions as a mechanism of control. It shifts the moral burden from the abuser directly onto the survivor. Forcing a victim to absolve a remorseless perpetrator prioritizes the comfort of the collective over the actual healing of the individual. I have spent years exploring how to process trauma through spiritual and practical effort. I stared directly into the eyes of a dying man who was the source of most of my trauma, and he refused to take responsibility. In that moment, I dismantled the myth that healing requires his absolution. True liberation comes from reclaiming agency. Withholding forgiveness is not bitterness. It’s a boundary. He can go to his grave with his lack of remorse. It’s not he who has to live with himself anymore. Within a few months, he’ll be nothing but dust in a jar. I’m going to have to live with myself for the rest of my life, and that would be a lot harder knowing I handed one more piece of my peace to a man who didn’t deserve it. I didn’t get closure. I gave absolutely no forgiveness. But I finally walked away free. Join the Conversation If this essay spoke to you in some way please feel free to leave a comment below and let's have a conversation. Watch the Experience I documented my experience in North Carolina as I navigated the complexities of hospice with a formerly estranged family. It is a raw and honest account of my experience from my perspective. If you're interested, check out UncleJeffIsHere on tiktok Subscribe Today! Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication and a listener supported podcast. It's with your support that I'm able to continue writing and sharing my story and my strength. Please consider joining as a free or paid subscriber. Any level of support that you want to give is greatly appreciated. Click the button below to receive 25% off of your first year’s subscription. The Find Your Colors Podcast is on Spotify as well as YouTube Podcasts, and now on Apple Podcasts where you can follow and be alerted every time there is a new episode. Thanks to my supporters and my subscribers, I am proud to offer my new author site where you can learn more about my books and sign up for the mailing list to receive updates on my publishing journey and more. As always if you read this all the way to the end or if you listened to it all the way through then you're absolutely my hero. So I just want to thank you for allowing me the time out of your day and the space in your brain to share my story with the world. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E25
    April 1 · 5 min

    I Really Don't Want To Do This

    I still remember the day you sent me away. The ache of that hour you cast me out to stray. You closed the door, built a wall of stone, And left a young boy to the darkness alone. You were never an easy man, but neither am I, A storm meeting storm in a churning sky. I am just a shattered mirror in this desolate place, Just reflecting the parts of yourself that you couldn't stand to face. You turned your back on me, and said you didn't need me, And for twenty long years, your shadow would bleed me. I hungered for you with a craving like sin, While you locked the front door and wouldn't let me in. You scrubbed out my name like a stain on the yard, A ghost in the photos, forgotten and scarred. I begged for one dinner, a final holiday regard, But they couldn't defy you, because you are so hard. Not using a condom was your greatest regret. When you told me that, it was something I would never forget. You never were good with protection, it's clear, Guarding your pride while you ruled us with fear. You spent every day tearing down all I am, Just to hold up your walls like a cold river dam. It's too late for Trojan, no doubt, But now is the time for you to just pull out. I've replayed those tapes twenty years in my mind, I always come back to the exact same question: Would it have killed you to be kind? It's the end of the road, buddy. I wish that my vision wasn't so muddy. I love you, I promise I do. I just thought you'd be gone before I said goodbye to you. You saw me off to school, as a routine it was our way, But now here I come to see you off on your final day. The man who demanded that I leave in disgrace, Now relies on me to lead him to his final place. And they look to me for answers on how to sever the ties, Because they still fear the raging storm in your eyes. You wouldn't believe how hard I have fought for you, We have to protect him, we have to care for him, it's what he would do. See? When it comes to lying to them I'm a chip off the block. But seriously dude how many more minutes are you going to put on this clock? After all this I have to care for the man I despise, Did you ever think maybe the way you treated me wasn't wise? You told me I'd step foot in that house over your dead body. Congratulations, Daddy! It's time for your beam me up, Scotty. You spent a whole lifetime just needing to be right, But now you're leaving and I'm Mr. White. I don't know how I could step into your shoes, You are such a small man, with your petty abuse. What a bitter, dark pill I am forced to swallow, To come home and nurse a cold man in his deathly hollow. I pray the clock runs out and grants quick release, Because all any of us ever wanted from you was to live our lives in peace. I have to take care of the girls now; I have to be the man. Though I barely know how, I'm not sure that I can, With half a man for an example like a compass that's broke. How do I hold up this house built on your wreckage and smoke? How does a son ever learn how to lead, When the father who made him ignored every need? I guess I'll find the exact man that you were in the past, And do what you couldn't, break this cycle at last. I'll start by stepping to the mirror and looking you in the face. I'll guide her with wisdom while I stand in your place. I'm sure I'll screw up but I'll admit is when I do. I'll try some kindness cuz that would be different from you. And then I'll give you love even if you deserve none. And I'll fight to give you peace until your time is done. Alright boy, that's what you say, Because saying I love you just wasn't your way. I want to say you love me, but I don't know if that's true. Maybe that's why I'm coming to help you. Maybe now we'll finally get a chance To fix what was broken before you're under the plants. But you didn't protect the one who you gave a vow. She has no safety, no net. I just want to ask you how, Even in death you just simply failed. You could have been a good man but that ship has sailed. She's going to suffer through so much lack For that one thing I wish I could pay you back. I wish I was different but you're someone I will not miss, But I'm on my way, I really don't want to do this. Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication and listener supported podcast. You can find us at www.findyourcolors.substack.com or by searching for the Find Your Colors Podcast on Spotify and on YouTube, or by clicking the button below. If you like what you've read here, please feel free to join as a free or paid subscriber. Any level of support you give is extremely appreciated, honored, and welcomed. Click the button below for a 25% off for your first year. Click the button below that to join as a free subscriber. Feel free to leave a comment or critique or complaint because those are things that make me stronger. If you know somebody who wants to read some angsty poetry and some emotional fantasy stories, share it with them and we can all learn and grow and evolve together. Thanks for stopping by. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E23
    March 24 · 2 min

    Thank You for Your Consideration

    You can reject me. That's totally fine. You won't be bothered. Neither will I. You're not the first one who didn't recognize the story in their hands. You won't be the last. You think I'm not used to it. You're wrong. I've been rejected my entire life. I cut my teeth on rejection. My first rejection came shortly after I spoke my first words. Something about my voice was just wasn't a good fit. You can reject me. That's totally fine. One day someone is going to see me. They're going to see that I'm a story that they can't put down. They will want to see what happens next. They will call me a page turner. They won't call me just when they're horny. They won't call me just when they’re feeling regrets. They won't call me just when they're drunk. They won't call me just when they're bored. They'll call me because they want to be a part of the story. They'll call me because they want to read more. They will want to sign with me. They will want to align with me. You can reject me. That's totally fine. You don't have to reply. I'll figure it out in time. I would be lying if I said I appreciate the same rejection that you gave to everyone else. I understand you just don't have the time. One day someone will have the time. One day someone will take the time. You can reject me. That's totally fine. One day someone will love my cover art. One day someone will want to open me and feel what's inside. One day someone will be enticed by my flaps. They’ll love what the see on the back. They're going to want to know where the story goes. They're going to see the work that I've put into my prose. They're going to love the structure of my sentences. One day someone's going to see that I'm timeless. One day they're going to think that I'm just so timely. One day someone is going to think that I am a great concept. They're going to appreciate my platform. You can reject me. That's totally fine. You don't have to be the agent of my rise. One day someone's going to pick me up. One day someone's going to read me and never want to stop. One day someone's going to want to see how the story ends. One day someone is going to talk about me to their friends. One day someone is going to represent me. Until then, I'll keep representing myself. Thank you for your consideration. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E22
    March 21 · 17 min

    The Cancer Unicorn

    Welcome to Find Your Colors, the publication and podcast where I am breaking down the narrative of the Shards of Color Trilogy through an exploration into the psychological concepts within and real life inspiration behind the first book of that trilogy titled, BLUSH BORN. I am Jeff B. White and today I'm going to be discussing something a little bit different from my normal writing. There will be no chapter, and today's breakdown already happened privately. I started chemo today. Four years ago, which blows my mind that it's been that long, I began my cancer experience. It was a terrifying moment in my life. I woke up one day with a softball-sized lump on my neck, and I actually hurt from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I could barely move, but I got myself to the hospital. In an Uber, because I live in America, so I can't afford an ambulance. After they ran some tests, they came back and told me that I had a malignant tonsillar carcinoma. They demanded that I do a biopsy right then and there on the spot. The doctors came at me with a gun-like needle device they were going to jam into the side of my neck to pull cells from the tumor. They told me to be still and quiet. I did not. One of the doctors held me against a wall as I screamed and begged for them to stop. He pressed my face and my body firmly against the wall while the other one stabbed me with this giant, silver gun thing. Of course, they didn't get the cells that they needed. So they did it a second time. The doctor pinned me harder against the wall and clamped my mouth shut while the other stabbed me in the neck again. They did not get the cells that they needed the second time. They actually attempted and tried to go in for a third attempt. I punched the doctor in the face. Afterward, a third doctor came in the room and sincerely apologized on behalf of Mount Sinai. I then left the hospital against medical advice and was told that I would not survive the weekend. Yet, I continued on and I lived with this malignant tonsillar carcinoma for thirteen months. During that thirteen months, I was also diagnosed with perinasal sarcoma. The treatment for perinasal sarcoma is the removal of your nose, leaving you with a hole in the center of your face. I wrestled with this diagnosis quite heavily. I couldn't imagine, as difficult as my life had been already, to consider living my life without a nose. I fully came to the determination that I was simply not going to seek treatment and would find a way out quicker. To my surprise, at the end of that thirteen months, I was informed that I did not have malignant tonsillar carcinoma. I also did not have a perinasal sarcoma. Both of those were a misreading of my test results. Isn't that fantastic? For thirteen months, I began to seriously and thoroughly plan my death to avoid life without a face. This is when they decided to inform me that I had the least cancer of all the cancers. The cancer that the cancer doctors don't treat as real cancer. The cancer that they sit and watch. Chronic lymphocytic leukemia. The cancer that you can live with for 30 years. Isn't that fantastic? It was at this point that I began to face my own mortality. Susan G. Komen Back in 2015, there was this commercial that would come on late at night for the Susan G. Komen Foundation. It was a commercial with a name: Kathleen's Story. Kathleen was a woman in her mid-to-late twenties. She shared about how she had just had a baby and she found out that she had breast cancer while she was pregnant. She wasn't sure if she was going to be around to watch her son grow up. When she said that because of the research of the Susan G. Komen Foundation there was a chance that she might, that's all I needed to hear. Kathleen's Story worked on me, because I signed up to give monthly donations, and I've given that $15 a month donation for years. I wanted to do my part to assist with breast cancer research. I wanted her to be able to see her son grow up. She led me to think about all of the women in my life. I thought about how grateful I was, and still am, for my own mother. I thought of how grateful I was that, despite her health concerns over the years, she was able to watch me grow up. And then, I thought about how grateful I am that I'm a man and that I would never have to deal with breast cancer myself. I wore the little pink ribbons from time to time to show support during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I proudly wore my Susan G. Komen t-shirt. I just thought I was being a good man; I thought I was being an ally. F**k Cancer Entirely A few years ago, after having received a leukemia diagnosis, I had just begun to learn the steps necessary for navigating that, when a new lump emerged beneath my right areola. This resulted in a diagnosis of Paget's disease. Statistically, this disease makes up for 1 to 4% of all cancer cases. To add to that, only 0.01% of men will be diagnosed with breast cancer. Of breast cancer patients, only 1% of them will be men. The odds of this diagnosis being given to a man is 0.0025%. I am the noise after the decimal point. I am the cancer unicorn. When my doctor made the order for me to have my first mammogram, I suddenly found myself in a crisis of my own manhood. The word breast was now being applied to my own body. I have no appreciation for that word in reference to myself. I have to admit that I still can't use the word when discussing my own body. And I can't bring myself to state that I have that specific type of cancer. I have Paget's disease. It has been an assault against my masculinity that I had never prepared myself to face. My relationship with masculinity and manhood has always been a war. Growing up in the South, I was never masculine enough. We are taught that masculinity is a strength that allows us to be pillars of male rigidity. We don't measure up to what we're told being a man is about if we show our emotions or wear the wrong thing. If we care about how we look or present ourselves, or apply self-care practices. As the years stripped away the noise, I realized that the standard definition of manhood is a hollowed-out lie. It never applied to me anyway, because I'm not some weak little man who allows my masculinity to be defined or gauged from external sources. I'm a strong queer boy who navigates my own manhood and masculinity from within my own internalized barometer. There’s a big difference there. The stoic man, terrified of his own reflection and unable to name his feelings, isn't strong. He is incomplete. A man whose identity is threatened by a hue or a gemstone is the most fragile little creature among us. In truth, the concept of masculinity is nothing more than a fragile box. It is a structure that, for so many men, shatters the second it touches anything soft, vulnerable, or pink. In my case, I found myself facing the very real fear that my masculinity would reach its critical point of breakage the moment that it was placed between two cold panels of a machine. The straight world loves to look down on gay men because they see us as overly feminine and place us in a category where they also place women. Within the gay community, we enforce this rigid hierarchy in the same ways for the same reasons. We look down on the bottom because we bought the lie that assuming the passive role sexually is an effeminate act, and they equate femininity with weakness. Meanwhile, the tops would cry and beg for it to stop if they ever had to do what we do. Men would literally die if they had to do what women do. Because men, even gay men, don't want to be seen as a woman. It’s absurd. I am not a woman, but if you refer to me as one out of your own weak masculinity, I take it as a compliment. Women possess a resilience that men are taught to fear. Women contain this raw, Earth-grounding power and strength. That truth leaves men feeling forced to define themselves as stronger simply because they aren't. I carry no fear over a little lipstick, or some concealer, or even a cute little skirt, if it accentuates all the right parts. Because that's what's cool about a skirt. How I decorate my manhood and how I dress my manhood does nothing to diminish my masculinity. It enhances it. And if your manhood is so weak that it's easily deconstructed by things like this, then it defies the definition that you claim your manhood carries. My masculinity isn't a porcelain vase. It doesn't break because I wear eyeliner or find power in the color pink. I stopped questioning my masculinity years ago. It was solid. I thought that my sense of masculinity had passed every test. Then life gave me a pop quiz. Hold Your Breath Calling to set up the appointments for these mammograms was honestly the worst part, in hindsight. I could hear the receptionist’s smile through the phone. She had her polite, ready-made rejection of a confused man calling a women’s clinic prepared. She always had to put me on hold while she went to go check because she believed that the doctor must have made a mistake. But then she came back on the line, her voice dropped an octave into a solemn tone and I could hear the dead silence behind her words. That was the exact moment the screen told her that I wasn't lost. I was the patient. I missed my first two appointments, because I just couldn't go. When I finally arrived, the clinic smelled of perfume and hand sanitizer. The walls were a sea of pink ribbons and non-threatening pastels. I felt like a trespasser in a quiet space that had been curated for female vulnerability. Every time I sat in that waiting room, the other patients seemed to find their thoughts very difficult to mask. At first, there was an unmistakable recoil. I watched their lips tighten and their brows crease. They silently demanded to know what a man was doing in their sanctuary. Then, a softening would wash over them. They realized we were standing on the same terrifying ground. Their eyes would offer a sudden embrace of deep understanding before they looked away. It was those moments of empathy that left me wanting to crawl into a hole and hide. Another unforeseen moment that came from this was when I witnessed women who had just received the most terrible news of their lives. They were sitting in the waiting room looking as if they had been completely leveled. They would stare out the window with tears rolling down their faces. But then, something Divine happened. They would take a breath, ball up their fists, and suddenly be taller right where they were sitting. I was being granted witness as they plated themselves with the armor of the Amazons. It felt like a sacred moment I wasn't supposed to see. Even still, it was a moment that I am very grateful to have been granted audience. It was the gift of being allowed to watch them as they moved into their strength, which allowed me to gain mine. Then the nurse called my name. I walked into the back and put on the paper gown. Step forward. Place your breast on the plate. Lower your shoulder. I turned to look at the nurse because all I could think was: How? I don't have one. Well, she found it. I still think it was witchcraft but, I stood there as she pressed my chest into the machine. Turn your head to the side. Hold your breath. Holding my breath was easy because I constantly had to remind myself to breathe during this time. And this was the moment a new reality set in. Surviving this ordeal immediately stopped feeling like an emasculation. It became a transcendence. I viscerally understood something fundamental about women, about pain, and about endurance. I thought of every woman I had ever known. I knew they had all stood exactly where I was standing. I thought of Kathleen. For the first time in years. I wondered if she got to see her son grow up. I realized that because of her, I had been donating to the very same research that would later save my own life. I found the lineage of suffering, of survival, and of quiet grace in the face of the impossible. In a strange, beautiful way, I was allowed to touch it for just one second. It was this realization that a man's strength is born not from stoic silence but from radical vulnerability that is the exact foundation upon which I built Jethran Frye, the hero of BLUSH BORN and the center of the Shards of Color Trilogy. In his world, the oppressive Gray Order views emotion as a nasty disease. They want perfect, silent chords. They want compliance. When Jethran’s vibrant colors begin to bleed through the gray, they diagnose him with a chronic case of Attention Necessity. They demand he dull his shine. But Jethran redefines power not just in his world, but in general. He is a male fantasy lead who cries because he is sad, screams because it hurts, and complains because it isn't fair. He doesn't use muscle or win with a sword. He refuses to stop feeling. His greatest magic manifests through his pink Blush. He proves that a man rooted in emotion isn't weak, but is a force because he is a danger to the status quo. True strength isn't about dominating a room or fitting a mold or wearing earth tones. It is about taking the moments where you are terrified, shattered, and utterly out of place, and allowing them to transform you. Let's Discuss This post explores the profound clarity that comes from stepping outside of the fragile box of traditional masculinity and the jarring reality of facing your own mortality. * Have you ever experienced a moment where witnessing someone else's quiet grace and survival finally opened your eyes to your own strength? Jethran is someone who proves that a man rooted in emotion isn't weak, and it's through the lineage of suffering and resilience that I discovered the foundation of his radical vulnerability. * Do you have a moment in your life where surviving a particular ordeal stopped feeling like a deconstruction of yourself and actually became a transcendence? As a man, the parts of myself that the world tries to use to disembody me from my own masculinity are actually the parts of myself that define my masculinity. * What parts of your own vulnerability are you hiding because the world called them flaws? Men facing this illness are rare, if you or someone you know is a man facing this disease. Please reach out. I would love to chat with you. Feel free to answer these questions in the comment section below or just take them with you as you go. My inbox is always open. Donate to Breast Cancer Research Over the past 15 years, an average of 74 cents of every dollar spent by Susan G. Komen have gone directly towards research, community-based health programs, education and advocacy programs to support its mission of saving lives and ending breast cancer. To find out more about all the things they're doing to help those who are fighting and surviving breast cancer as well to find out all the ways that you can help please click the button below. What's Next? On Monday, we will dive into a complete read-through and discussion on Chapter 13 of Blush Born, titled "Storming Colors." We will see Jethran encounter another one of the Seven Songs and learn a very valuable lesson on anger. Subscribe Today I honestly want to express my sincerest gratitude to those of you who have invested in my work. I now have 11 paid subscribers out of 30 total. Two of them are Founding Tier. Each of you honor me with your presence. I can never fully express exactly how much it means to me to have your support. Your financial contributions give me the time and the safety to keep writing, to keep podcasting, and to keep bringing these stories into the light. If you would like to subscribe, please follow the link below and consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. And so as always, if you read this all the way through or if you listened to it all the way to the end, then you are absolutely my hero. I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me the time in your day and the space in your brain to share my story and to introduce Jethran to the world. Colorfully yours, Jeff B. White Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E16
    March 8 · 19 min

    The Seven Songs: Making Myth of Emotion

    Welcome to Find Your Colors. I am Jeff B White and I am the writer and creator behind the Shards of Color Trilogy. Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication on Substack and a listener supported podcast on Spotify. Wherever you find us be sure to like, follow, and subscribe. As I prepare to publish BLUSH BORN, first book in this trilogy, I'm using this platform to build awareness of these books and to explore the story. I'm breaking down all the psychological concepts that are present within all three books and as well explaining exactly how I translated my memoir, Shards of Hope A Tweaker Witch's Journey into this dark fairy tale. But more than that, Find Your Colors is the platform through which I am allowed to experience my life's purpose, and the purpose behind all the things that I have survived in my life. That purpose is having survived those things, so that I could share the story allowing some person out there who might be going through something similar or through their own level of nonsense to feel less alone. While I am discussing very specific things from my life, the foundation upon which this work is built is that universal truths apply. Those are: The power that you're searching for comes from within you. The strength that you need is already yours. And the light that you are looking for, is right there waiting, you just have to know where to look. That's why I'm here. We are going to look inside and Find Your Colors. Recap On Monday we continued on with the reading of the book BLUSH BORN with Chapter 8 Colorless. We were introduced to the cast of characters who portray the architects of the gray and we ended with Jethran sent to the dungeon. Because I missed my regular chapter posting day, I decided today I want to do something a little different and I'm going to expand upon a previous post about the Seven Songs. The Breakdown The Rhythm of the Seven Songs On Monday, I will pick back up with Chapter 9. As for today, I previously explained how the Seven Songs were inspired by real-world individuals. Now, I want to show you how they actually exist within the world of BLUSH BORN through both present-day events and historical grounding. When I created these characters, I knew I wanted the fallen gods to be called the Seven Songs. The name ties directly into the full cosmology of the world and the spiritual beliefs of the Silvarii people who listen to the Hum of the Great Melody. This is a their world's answer to meditation and harmonic resonant frequencies. However, one thing always bothered me. There was never an organic way for them to actually be songs. People sing throughout the story, and singing becomes a massive part of the narrative later, but the gods themselves were never literal songs. From my point of view, it felt like huge a plot hole. The narrative could have functioned without them being songs, yet their titles demanded more. The Myths of the Songs Below are each of the Seven Songs, along with their myths, and the songs that were crafted from the myths. For this story I created my own emotions and elements as you'll see below. I. Crezwil (Purple: Emotion of Embrace and Element of Flame) The meaning and purpose behind this specific being is to convey the need for integration of the stories we've survived with the person we've become. Embracing the one who was wounded. There was a scar, jagged and deep, that no one dared touch. A cursed wound etched across a sacred hill. But one day, a traveler came who knelt before the wound and kissed it. From the scar bloomed a flower, fierce and wild, its petals stained with every hue the world had tried to erase. The traveler carried that bloom inside, where it grew into a fire. They wore their story on their skin. The people in the world saw them and said that they were grotesque. They saw themselves as glorious, because they were unhidden. The light that shone from their wounds was a song of survival made visible that resonated in the bones of others, reminding them of their own unhealed parts. They did not ask to be seen, but they radiated until others could not look away. But in the process of being seen, they helped others to see themselves. Because of this, they loved their beautiful story. Sung upon a once before… A wound sat on a small hill, Stretching out both near and far. People feared the wound until, A traveler saw the scar. Seeing it held no such curse, Forgotten pain is much worse. They kissed the scar gave it love. Soon a purple flower grew, Glowing with the brilliance of Miraculous vibrant hue. Plucked to keep the flower safe, Sheltered from the worldly chafe. Its warmth made the spirit soar. Its love put the pain to sleep. It opened the healing door, To truths we struggle to keep. The traveler then knew he, Loved their beautiful story. II. Muralis the Listener (Blue: Emotion of Stillness and Element of Void) The meaning behind this entity is to convey acceptance of Stillness and quiet in order to allow healing when trauma has become too loud, but to not linger in those moments of Stillness for too long or else one becomes trapped. They say the forest forgets itself every winter, swallowing names and footprints. A wanderer came, skin peeled from too many winters, lungs filled with smoke. They inhaled the blue mist that erased hunger, pain, and memory. They became no one. An echo without a voice. Behind them trailed a thin line of smoke, a secret they could not shed. One day, a child followed that thread, eyes burning with questions. The child whispered a name into the cold air. The smoke trembled. The wanderer woke. To wake was a violence and a grace; a sudden, searing agony that was also undeniable proof of being alive. They looked down and found their own hands again, trembling with survival. Raw, unclaimed, real. Sung upon a once before… Soldier burning deep within, Trapped in anguish of the war. Quiet settles on his skin, Standing on the ruined shore. Mists born of the summer storm Offers quiet in its form. Silenced screams and silent fear, Replace terror of what's lost. Voices speak but you must hear, Forget pain at any cost. The child you know comes again Whispers truths from way back then. Memories caged in his head, Forget so you remember. Pulling the connected thread. Cerulean's burning ember. Leave the bitter dark behind, Pain unraveled frees his mind. Discovering he’s alive. III. Elba Reclecta (Red: Emotion of Memory and Element of Self) For this one, the purpose is to convey the importance of our memory and of our path. Knowing where we've been and how we've gotten here so that we can be able to fully embrace our future and where we're going. The giant red lady suspended from the purple crescent blood moon. Swings over the graves of lilac dirt with the weight of time, held captive by the gravity of history. Her silent pendulum ticks the end of an era and tocks the beginning of an eon. She was a silent witness to all endings, and so the dead trusted her with their truths. She hummed a beautiful tune as she held out one hand that contained the past, in the other she held the future. Those who watched felt the weight of their own bones, the pull of a lineage reborn in rhythm and memory. The weight of the memories of every person who lived and died was a heavy song to sing, costing her the memories that were most precious to her. The memories of herself. The people living asked her why she would give her own memories just to remember those who were gone. She said, "Because when the past is forgotten, the future’s beauty dies." Sung upon a once before… Swinging from the crescent moon, Holding futures in her hand. She hums the past with her tune, Swings over the shadowed land. Over graves of lilac dirt Healing all the ancient hurt. Heavy songs across the space, Humming with the bitter tears. Watching the forgotten place, Washing away bitter fears. Given for the truth compelled Losing memories she held. If the past is left to fade, Future beauty surely dies. Giving up the self she made, Watching with unknowing eyes. Truth will make the vision clear Casting out the ancient fear. IV. Rabb the Storm Eater (Yellow: Emotion of Justice and Element of Seed) The meaning behind this entity is to learn the difference between the righteous rage in the face of injustice and the destructive anger that serves no purpose. With one we can fight against wrongdoing but with the other we only get in the way. They tell of a man born beneath a sky that never rested, where storms roared and lightning struck with reckless fury. The land trembled, and the people cowered behind walls of silence. But the man did not flee. Instead, he opened his mouth wide and swallowed the fire. Each bolt seared his flesh and cracked his bones, yet he stood firm. His teeth a grinding thunder. When the last storm was devoured, the skies calmed. His heart glowed like a captive star, and his voice forever rumbled with the echo of the thunder he had tamed. The people named him monster, a madman who invited destruction into himself. But the land remembered him as a shield. The storm-eater who bore the lightning so others could stand unbroken. Sung upon a once before Underneath a boiling sky, Storms will rattle at the door. Watching primal lightning fly, Crashing on the valley floor. Aureolin strikes the night, He inhales the jagged light. Thunder he must now control, Holding all the storm within. Taking on the heavy toll, Bones aglow beneath his skin. People scream and call him beast As he makes the sky his feast. He stands ready as a shield, Swallows the deep unspoken. Standing firm within the field, So others stay unbroken. Banishing the shadows deep Guarding those who fall asleep. V. Hun Gun the Seer (Orange: Emotion of Release and Element of Wave) For this one it was important to convey the point of releasing ourselves from what if and what could have been, to mourn the different versions of ourselves that we never became so that we can accept the version of ourselves who we are. There was once a mirror unlike any other. It was carved from twilight and edged with whispers. It refused to show faces as they were. Instead, it revealed the selves hidden beneath layers of fear and forgetfulness, the selves buried beneath shattered dreams. The mirror did not invent; it only excavated. Those who dared gaze into it found not reflection, but possibility. Some saw brilliance, others ruin. Those who lingered too long lost their grip on the world, unraveling into strangers. But those with courage stepped through the fractured glass. They shed the weight of what they were told to be and claimed the truth the mirror offered. They became someone the world had never known, new shapes born from the shards of old lies. Sung upon a once before Carved from twilight in the sky, Mirrors open up the door. Hidden visions start to fly, Shadows dancing on the floor. Mirrors wake the unlived dream, Unborn futures start to gleam. Stepping to the fractured frame, Mourning what was unexplored. Weeping for a different name, Witnessing the paths ignored. Grieving versions left behind Healing the divided mind. Some will linger in the gaze, Silencing the present voice. Fading in the mirrored maze, Lost within the branching choice. Wisdom brings the true self near Mourning now with every tear. VI. Midgelle the Sun (Green: Emotion of Forgiveness and Element of Wind) Personally, this was the most important lesson of all and the most difficult. That we have to forgive ourselves for what's been done to us. And that forgiveness is not required for those who harmed us, but it is required for ourselves. The world was once consumed by darkness. High upon a mountain, there was woman whose skin glowed with an internal viridescence. The people, seeking light and warmth, came to her and asked her to give them her skin. She gave it to them willingly, piece by piece. Where the skin was taken, it grew back, and the light became even brighter. The people, seeing her exposed, asked how she could endure the pain. She revealed that she let her light go so that she could keep it, sharing herself so that their time in darkness would be less. Yet, she realized she had given more of herself than she had to give. She began to hold onto herself more than she had before. She forgave herself for what was taken from her. As her skin grew back in the places it had been taken, it showed the map of her healing. From it, the light grew brighter than any light had ever been, until she became the very light to shine for the whole world. Now she wears her skin, while the people bathe in the light of her story. Sung upon a once before… Darkness held the starless night, High upon the mountain peak People begged her for the light, Viridescence on her cheek. Piece by piece she gave away, The beauty of her own skin Giving so the light would stay, Healing from the pain within Gave it so that she could keep Growing brighter through the day. Waking from the shadows deep. Holding back the glowing part, Letting the bright beauty show. Healing up the giving heart, So its light they all may know. When for light the people call She shines down upon them all. Yes, there are only six songs here. I didn't forget. However, sharing the seventh song would give away too much from the story. I can't just give it all away. When we've reached that point in the story the background and explanations for the final song will be provided. So in order to access those parts of the story, you'll either have to join as a paid subscriber or wait until the book is published and buy a copy. What I can tell you is that it's definitely worth whichever choice you make. Seeing What Was Right in Front of Me Recently, I made a massive discovery within my own writing. I found syllabic verse scattered throughout the text. I realized different paragraphs naturally followed the structure of a haiku, and I had unknowingly formed sonnets right in the middle of standard narrative. I have been told by beta readers, editors, and agents that my writing carries a unique poetic quality. I never really understood that feedback before. I simply wrote things the way they sounded best in my head. When I sat down to create the Seven Songs, I knew Jethran needed to experience them through a lullaby, a fairy tale, or a vision. I ended up using a combination of all three. The visions he endures are built directly from the myths of these seven entities. I wanted this world to feel lived in. I wanted the history to make complete sense. I found the easiest way to achieve that was to sit down with every single component and flesh it out fully before dropping it into the story. By creating each aspect of the story separately and then weaving them together, I established a foundation that functions as a real component of life. This process allowed me to create lore that feels ancient and inevitable. The opposite approach involves pushing characters through a scene and inventing lore on the spot just to solve a problem. Readers can always feel when something is manufactured simply to get through a moment. Before I wrote anything else, I sat down with each color and assigned it a specific emotion. Then, I wrote seven individual myths. I don't use the actual myths in the story but I translate the myths into something else such as a dream or a vision. I took those myths and rewrote them to mimic the experience. I made the narrative fractured. I left the symbolism intentionally vague while keeping the emotional impact highly explicit. That exact combination makes the lore feel purely mythological. While reviewing my work, I kept noticing these moments of accidental poetry within the lyrical prose. The vision scenes and the lullabies are inherently surreal. I decided to lean fully into that rhythm. For example, the lullaby Regale sings to Jethran in Chapter 1, naturally came out as fourteen sentences containing exactly seven, eight, or nine syllables each. Basically, I had written a sonnet, that was slightly off balance. After playing with specific syllable structures and line counts, I decided to turn the myths for all Seven Songs into individual songs that contain three verses of six to seven lines, each line having seven syllables. The Pleasure of Creating I love these myths. I was able to take the emotional lessons and steps I had to manage in my path to recovery that are explained in my memoir, and forge them into living characters on the page. It was a fun undertaking and I feel as if I've done it. To craft those lessons and life points into something that told the same story and gave the same outcome, but sounded like it came long before I was born was absolutely a challenge. As I said in my previous post about the Seven Songs, doing this specific portion of the work turned out to show me much more about myself and my own personal growth than the memoir ever did. This required me to dissect all of these different aspects of my journey and provide them put back together in a way that was coherent and showed the psychology behind these moments of growth. Ultimately, this was the most rewarding thing I've ever done. Let's Discuss It's important to me that these characters are coherent and more so than just to myself. * Do the emotional purposes and the lessons of the songs resonate with you? * Is this a story that you would read? Feel free to answer the questions in the comment section or take them with you. What's Next? Finally on Monday, I will be sharing the text of chapter 9 with the following breakdown and will be discussing how loss helps to form us. Join the Conversation There are now 30 subscribers who are following Find Your Colors, and 1/3 of those subscribers are paid subscribers. I cannot tell you how much that means to me. And because find your colors is a reader supported publication, I'd like to invite you to subscribe and follow and consider being a paid or free subscriber. As well we can be found on Spotify simply by searching the Find Your Colors Podcast. And when you do please take a moment to follow the show there and say hi in the comment section and get the conversation going there. See ya later! As always if have read this all the way to the end or if you listen to it all the way through, then you are absolutely my hero and I want to thank you for allowing me the time out of your day and the space in your brain to share my story and to introduce Jethran to the world. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E14
    February 28 · 8 min

    A Flamethrower on the Roof: An Essay on the Radical Act of Supporting Women's Safety

    Welcome to this extra edition of Find Your Colors. I am Jeff B. White and I am the author of The Shards of Color Trilogy. This space is about finding your inner colors and shining your light unapologetically. There is no set of colors more beautiful and no light brighter than that of the flames we ignite when we set the old systems ablaze and burn them away. Let's Discuss I am so interested to hear from my readers on this topic. To the women, if you don’t mind sharing, what are some ways that the men who do care can become stronger allies in your struggle for equitable treatment? To the men, your opinion on this matters, too. So if you do not mind speaking up... Actually, no I’m joking. Our opinions on this do not matter. Just be quiet for once, Kevin. Listen to the women and let them tell us what needs to be done. Then do it. What's Next? Next week we will be back to the regularly scheduled program where I will be providing a further breakdown of the next chapter of BLUSH BORN. I will be sharing the text of Chapter 9 Loss of Color. In the breakdown, we will be discussing how often moments in which we experience the most profound loss can be the same moments that define who we become, and in turn, can be the most empowering. Join the Moment Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication and a listener supported podcast. This is a moment and a movement for those who have been called too different, who have been told that they are too loud, and who have been made to feel as if they are too much so they are afraid of taking up space that is too big. If what you have found here speaks to you in some way, please feel free to join the conversation on Substack and consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Also, look for us on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and YouTube Podcasts where I invite you to follow the show and to provide a rating. You can also leave comments there on your favorite episodes to get the conversation going. As well, you can share this with your friends if you think you know of someone who might benefit from the work I'm doing here with Find Your Colors. It is literally free and it takes less than a minute to do any and/or all of those things listed above. Doing these things shows that you support what I am doing and that you care, and it helps me to be able to achieve my goal of building something that is substantial because it matters. Thanks, Again Thank you again to the 28 people have subscribed to this substack. It's been less than a month since I joined and I'm already well ahead of expectations. I did not know that this experience was going to be so meaningful. Bye for Now So as always, if you read this all the way to the end or if you listened all the way through, you are absolutely my hero and so I thank you for allowing me the time out of your day and the space in your brain to share my story and my point of view while together we build the new world on the foundation of the ashes that remain after we burn the old one down. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E0
    February 17 · 2 min

    Spotify Trailer

    I am Jeff B. White and this is the story of Blush Born, A Faded Quest, and Echoes of Foreshadow. I wrote a gritty, honest memoir about that life and that survival called Shards of Hope: A Tweaker Witch's Journey. But sometimes, reality is too jagged to hold. Sometimes you have to melt the shards down and forge them into something else. So I took the addiction, and I turned it into a song of power. I took the trauma, and I turned it into a Monochrome Kingdom. I took the survival, and I turned it into a fairy tale. I translated my life into a dark fantasy allegory called The Shards of Color Trilogy. Find Your Colors is the podcast where we peel back the curtain. I'm going to show you the true story behind the fantasy. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E8
    February 13 · 14 min

    The Color of Pain

    Links from episode Pre-Order Blush Born Today! www.jeffbwhite.com Content Warning: Addiction, Death, Mental Health and Recovery The Color of Pain This breakdown explores how Chapter 3 of Blush Born serves as the bridge between the visceral trauma of my memoir, Shards of Hope, and the magical architecture of the fantasy found in The Shards of Color Saga. Let's Discuss In the gray world, labels are used to maintain order and compliance. When Jethran leaves that world, he is left with a crisis of identity. Have you ever had a moment where you realized you were not the labels or diagnoses the world gave you? How did you begin to answer the question of who you are once those false names were stripped away? What's Next? Later today, I will post the text of Chapter 3 – The Color of Pain for you to read or listen to so you can experience the fully realized fantasy of this story. Next week - On Monday, I will post the breakdown of Chapter 4 Coloring with Kittens which gives Jethran a break from the trauma whole allowing him to experience another breakthrough in his power. On Wednesday, I will post the full text of Chapter 4 On Friday, I will post an in-depth look into the Gray Order and how it maintains control over the populace. Birthday Deal In celebration of my 44th birthday coming up, I'm offering a 44% off for your first year subscription for monthly and yearly subscriptions. So that makes monthly subscriptions be around $3.90 and yearly subscriptions are $39. This deal lasts between now and February 18th. Don't Miss New Content Find Your Colors is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Currently everything that I'm putting here on substack is free. When we reach Chapter 10 the paid content will begin. So if you like what you're hearing and find the story to be something that you relate to, please click that subscribe button so that you can get all the new content when it comes out. You can join as a free subscriber or coming soon there will be extra content for paid subscribers. If you know someone that you think might benefit from being a part of this journey with me, please feel free to share Find Your Colors on your socials. Find Your Colors is now available on Spotify for free! I'm just so glad to be back on podcasting again. If you have time, click the link below and go ahead and just give the show a quick follow because that immediately puts me in the stratosphere of being found on Spotify. Without follows it reaches no one. And if you can take a moment to rate the podcast because that gets me into the algorithm. And as always you can share the podcast with your friends. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E6
    February 12 · 15 min

    The Seven Songs: A Legacy Written with Color

    Content Warning: Harm Reduction, Mental Health, and the reality of Alzheimer’s disease. The Seven Songs of Emotional Intelligence Before I move into the next chapters, I want to introduce the characters who serve as the spine of this story. For Jethran, the story could not happen without them. Likewise, for me, the story would not be possible without the people upon whom these characters are based. Finding the Pulse For some of these lessons, Jethran's Journey takes 20 years to complete. While some of them he is able to apply to his life immediately. Regardless of when he does it, by embracing these songs, he stops being the flaw and becomes a connection between the ancient past and vibrant future. Thank You I want to say thank you to the new subscribers have who have joined in the last few days. It's only been four days and I have eight subscribers and I think that's really cool. Some of you I know, and I'm so grateful for your support. Some of you are actually the inspirations for the characters that I've written about, such as Midgelle who is mentioned above as well as Winley Knowles and even Fable, who I will be going in depth on later. Some of you I've only just met. I'm sincerely enjoying reading all of the things you guys are writing and I'm loving this community. As always, you can listen to Find Your Colors by Jeff B White on Spotify or find me on substack at findyourcolors.substack.com Find Your Colors is a reader-supported publication. If the humanity behind Jethran’s journey speaks to your own story of survival, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. I'm currently offering 44% off for your first year subscription on yearly and monthly subscriptions between now and February 18th. A monthly subscription is around $3.90 and a yearly subscription is only $39 Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E5
    February 11 · 14 min

    Color, Interrupted

    Content Warning: Childhood trauma. SA and trafficking. Medical abuse. I wrote this chapter for the boy who was inspected in the shadows and finally rose to find the light. The vibrancy in my blood was a fire they could not put out. It might have changed shades, but it is still my light. What's Up Next Tomorrow I will post the full text of chapter two for you to listen to and read. I will also be posting a deeper look into the Gray and why the people of Evenhere continue to accept the world they live in. A Birthday Gift While I'm working to build this community, I'm offering 44% off for new subscribers from now until February 18th. So monthly subscriptions are $3.08 and yearly subscriptions are $30.80 If Jethran’s journey through the gray resonates with your own survival, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Find Your Colors is now a podcast available on Spotify. Just look for the Find Your Colors Podcast on Spotify and listen to new episodes there for free. Find Your Colors is a reader-supported publication. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E4
    February 10 · 3 min

    A Light in the Grotto

    This is a tribute to a dear friend of mine named Tammy Green Mitchell who is my first paid subscriber and the inspiration behind one of the characters in the book Blush Born. Tammy Green Mitchell is the author of Living Without Skin Everything I Did Not Know About Fierce Vulnerability, an amazing book about her life that can be found on Amazon. You can find Tammy here on Substack, where she is doing some amazing work helping people to find their proper place in the world. Find Your Colors Podcast Because I truly want to reach as many people as I can with the story that I'm sharing, I have chosen to go ahead and turn this substack into a podcast which is now on Spotify. I previously had a moderately successful podcast on a different topic and I've always missed it and wanted to get back to it. Since I'm already making audio for each post anyway it basically is a podcast. So now even more people can meet and fall in love with Fable and Jethran just like I have. A Birthday Gift from Me to You Between now and February 18th, in celebration of my birthday, I'm offering a 44% off discount for your first 12 months subscription. Which means that a monthly subscription is $3.08 and a yearly subscription is $30.80 Substack automatically excludes Prism Tier memberships from this discount otherwise they would be there, too. Find Your Colors is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E2
    February 9 · 12 min

    Flawed Color from Mississippi to Evenhere

    Content Warning Childhood trauma. SA and trafficking. Medical abuse. This is where I do a breakdown sharing the blueprints of how I created chapters 1 and 2 of Blush Born translating it from my real life experience into a dark fairy tale. This is my first real post and my first time sharing anything about this story in a non-writer's room. So I would really like your feedback. Just let me know in the comments how you vibed with this. And thank you so much for your support. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

  • S1 · E1
    February 7 · 7 min

    The Gray Ends Here

    How I Got Here My life has been a gauntlet of overwhelming odds. To survive, I had to shatter so many times, leaving behind nothing but shards of myself. To thrive, I had to find the way to put myself back together and rebuild one shard at a time. Who I am now barely resembles who I was, but is so much more beautiful. Using different concepts of trauma healing and recovery work mixed with a decade of spiritual study, I found my way. I don't claim to be fully healed and I don't know that I will ever be. What I am claiming is that I'm healed enough to talk about it and to share what got me here. As I continue the process of healing, I want to help others along the way. When I decided that I wanted to share my story, it required me to create two completely different worlds to put it down into words. I have spent the last few years deconstructing my own mind. I wrote a gritty and honest memoir to diagnose the damage and I wrote a dark and whimsical fantasy epic to engineer the cure. All together this equaled four books, with more on the way. Shards of Hope is the autopsy of a survival instinct. It is the granular reality of harm reduction in New York City and the mechanics of staying alive when your brain is trying to kill you. Shards of Color is the reconstruction. It is a trilogy about a world where the Flaw is the source of magic and emotion is physics. It is where we learn that the only way to defeat the darkness surrounding us is to be the brightest source of color we can be. ​For years, I kept them separate because I thought the fantasy was just an escape from the reality. I thought Shards of Hope was the ugly truth and Shards of Color was the pretty lie. I thought that they both were separate stories. ​I was wrong. They are both the truth. They are all parts of the same series. What to Expect ​I am launching Find Your Colors because I realized that the fantasy isn’t an escape. It is a blueprint. ​This is not a space for the “Love and Light” crowd. If you are looking for spiritual bypassing or toxic positivity then you are in the wrong place, but don't leave yet because what I am offering is more than that. This is a Grotto of Trust, meant as a sanctuary for the resilient. That trust has to work both ways. You have to trust me that I'm embarking on this to synthesize community and growth. And I have to trust you because I'm going to be sharing some of the worst things that I've ever survived and the ways in which I have done that. It is for the people who were told they were “too much” or “too wrong” or “too broken.” It is for the outcasts, the hurt, and the healing. For those who follow the witches’ way and those still searching for which way. ​As I prepare to launch this series later this year, I want to build a community around it. We will be dissecting the psychological themes of the Shards of Color Saga once a week. I will be posting each chapter in order, and we will be diving into how they have been translated from my own personal experience, and how they can be related to yours. We will examine each book in the series Blush Born, A Faded Quest, and Echoes of Foreshadow. We will look at the cast of 26 characters and how they translate into real life. Such as Muralis, an ancient being who provides a magic mist to help silence pain to allow focus for dealing with it. Through this, we will be exploring the concept of Harm Reduction. We will look at the Rainbow King who teaches us to fully integrate ourselves with the courage to feel the full spectrum of human emotion. For this we will be exploring the truth behind the concept that every single thing that we need to progress, to grow, to heal, is directly inside of us once we tap into the highest version of ourselves. We will explore Jethran Frye and his companion Fable. Diving into the powerful queer romance that blooms. And later we'll get to the sequels that end up covering a multi-generational story that spans the cosmos. What You Get Here's a list of everything that you're going to be seeing and receiving from this space. I've included the full experience for each tier. So find the best option that works for you. Whatever you choose I'm grateful for you allowing me time out of your day and space in your brain. 1. Free Plan * Weekly essays bridging the magic of BlushBorn with the reality of recovery. * Essays discussing first 10 chapters of the Shards of Color Saga and Shards of Hope. * Audio narrations of the first 10 essays, read by the author. * News on the publishing journey. 2. Monthly Plan ($7/Monthly or $70/Yearly) * Early access to the Shards of Color Saga released chapter-by-chapter, week-by-week. * Audio narrations of every chapter and/or essay discussed each week, read by the author. * Full access to the comments section and community discussions. * Exclusive prompts and questions to help facilitate a deeper dive at the end of every essay. 3. The Prism Tier ($250/Yearly) For the Collectors. You get the entire physical and digital library. That is over $430 worth of signed books and audio delivered to your door at a near $200 discount from what you would pay otherwise. ​Benefits: * ​Signed Hardback editions of all four books (Shards of Hope, BlushBorn, A Faded Quest, Echoes of Foreshadow) shipped directly to you. * ​Personally inscribed by the author. * Immediate digital access to all eBooks (PDF/ePub) and Audiobooks. * ​Quarterly Zoom calls, your name on the Wall, and full community access. * Your name included in the acknowledgment sections of all four books. Now let's get some things straight… ​I am not a guru. I am not a doctor. I'm not giving you medical advice nor am I diagnosing or treating any illnesses or ailments. However, I have been studying psychology for 34 years. From the perspective of the person on the couch. I am a mirror. I'm here to help you look inside without pretext or agenda. I am here to show you that you are not broken. You are wounded, and in those things there is a world of difference. ​The monochrome world is dying and the boxes that they put us in can no longer contain us. It is time to color outside the lines and stain everything beautifully. So I hope you'll join me on this crazy thing I'm about to do. Colorfully yours, ​Jeff B. White Author of Shards of Hope & Shards of Color Saga Thanks for reading Find Your Colors by Jeff B. White! If you like what you see and you want more, Subscribe for free to receive new posts. Upgrade your membership for really cool gifts as a thank you for supporting my work. Get full access to Find Your Colors at findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe

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