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04 Apr, 2026

I've been away for a little while.

I promise there's a good reason why. I've been putting all my extra time into building a copy/content writing brand.

Also, a personal website. I've joined the indie web movement — more on that later. For now, check out juneveda.com & come back often to watch me build in real time.

It's been a rollercoaster ride, and I haven't had much time to even think about what to write to you, let alone sit down and do it.

I'm learning so much — and at the same time unlearning so much — about creating value, valuing yourself (your skills and unique positioning; i.e., your individuality), and what people truly need from a writer.

Writing never ever ever came onto my radar as a career. I'm no bestselling author. I didn't go to school for this. I've got no English degree. Shoot, I barely find time to read (unless I sneak a book into the bathroom — right now this is my toilet book. how meta).

The point is, growing up, I never thought I could write something so good that someone might pay for it. Plus, I had other dreams. First it was to become a mathematician — seriously, no joke. To be honest, I still don't know what a mathematician does and I will not be googling it.

Then it was a lawyer — mostly because my mother would joke about how much I loved to argue. Then, a neuroscientist — for real. I kept this dream alive for quite a long time too, only adjusting it little by little with each new child I brought into the world. okay, maybe an internist. mmm, maybe a PA. nurse practitioner?

It wasn't until I began to separate (emotionally) from my ex-husband that I leaned into ideas of entrepreneurship. I started making things with my hands like soaps and teas and clay. Body butters and scrubs. I opened up a Shopify store and the rest was history.

But even then, I was a business owner. I was selling physical products. The value — I thought — was in the actual thing I was shipping out to customers, not in the brand and definitely not in me.

Boy was I wrong.

I didn't know it yet, though. I just kept shipping boxes and doing pop ups. Kept making things with my hands. Kept putting the value anywhere but in myself, because that made more sense to me.

Tangible objects don't disappoint people. Tangible objects don't hurt when they get rejected.

That frame of thinking changed for me just before I began building Copy by June.

I had just had my baby (she's a big girl now):

To say I was exhausted would have been a major understatement. I wrote the longest newsletter I'd ever written and sent it to all three of my lists at once. It was a pivot announcement.

I was shutting things down, starting others, asking my community for help paying my car note. I had a GoFundMe live. I recorded a voiceover and attached it to Substack because this was coming from my heart and I needed my people to hear that.

It wasn't polished at all. It was a little embarrassing, even.

A few days later, a woman found me on Facebook. She sent voice message after voice message. Maybe more than a dozen. She was somewhere on the other side of the planet, if I remember correctly. She talked about how my words had moved her, how she recognized something in them and had been longing for exactly what I was describing.

She could feel the energy. In my words.

I hadn't sold her anything. Truly, I was barely keeping it together. I was just telling the truth about where I was in that moment of my life. Incredibly, miraculously, that was enough to touch someone.

I didn't know what to do with that then. And to be 100% honest, I'm still figuring out what to do with it now.

What's most interesting about all of this is that it's uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable with being seen. Intimacy is a challenge for me sometimes, and what's more intimate than bleeding out on the page & someone reading it?

What I had to come to terms with was that someone witnessing it, resonating with it, and responding to it made me feel so uncomfy. Why? This is the opposite of rejection. I should feel held, if anything. Understood.

Looking back, I understand why I felt the way I did. It's so simple, really.

I had never put enough stock into my own value.

I had no issue pricing a container of body butter. Tons of people would be willing to buy that at the right price point. And if they don't, I just change the formula.

But my words? My perspective? ME? If I fail, how devastating that would be. How devastating to learn that I — the "product" — might be worthless to somebody.

Also. could I really be good at this? Something that comes so naturally to me? Why does it feel a little wrong? And why is the thought of succeeding just as terrifying as the thought of failing?

What is wrong with me??

I haven't been hired yet. Not for real. But I've written pieces for someone, for free, just to have something to show. They loved it.

They loved it.

But do I even know what I'm doing? Could I actually charge for this? What would I even charge?

With the body butter, it was so straightforward. Cost of goods, time, market rate. There was a number that made sense. There were formulas to follow.

There's no formula for this. I'm literally just making shit up, wondering if the next bit of work will be received the same way.

I know, intuitively, even spiritually, that I am the value. I've read the books. I've done the inner work (but nowhere near enough). I can tell you about worthiness and energetics and the stories we inherit about what we deserve.

And then I open a blank page or a new email to a lead and freeze.

And I've realized — that is the real gap for me.

Between knowing and actually living like you know it. Between the truth I can articulate and the truth I actually embody. I'm somewhere in that weird space right now.

And technically, still making things with my hands, in a way. Just different things.

what are you still holding up in front of you so no one has to look directly at you?

hit reply. i'll answer.

🦋

— june

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