From Struggle, To Suicidal, And On To The Super Bowl

About six months before she would dance in front of one of the largest audiences in the world, taking to the football field during the Super Bowl LVI Halftime Show while some of the biggest names in hip hop and R&B performed, Angela Harrison called the National Suicide Hotline.

Alone in a friend’s Los Angeles apartment- facing divorce, a paused nonprofit due to COVID-19, and barely able to get out of bed to bartend the shifts she needed to make rent- none of her friends were answering their phones, and she felt that the world would be better off without her.

“I was in a depression, like a full-on depression. Suicidal,” Harrison said. “I knew nobody here, I had to sit with my marriage [being] ended, and along with that comes feelings of worthiness… am I lovable?”

The call was the culmination of a lifetime of fighting to fit into spaces not meant for her; faking smiles and masking a scarcity mindset with a bright, bubbly personality.

“I tried so desperately to fit in with my friends, to fit in at a church, to fit in with a husband; trying to fit in places where I don't belong. And I always I got used to the feeling of not fitting in and forcing myself into friendship circles, forcing myself into certain lifestyles,” Harrison said.

The classically-trained dancer is no stranger to struggle. While she was learning her craft- late in life compared to many of her peers- she was taking public transit to and from an Orlando-area homeless shelter to her high school and a part-time job at the mall. In some ways, Harrison says that time she spent at the shelter was the most stability she experienced growing up.

“I will never forget that time,” Harrison said. “Meanwhile, I'm on the cheerleading team. I'm taking the city bus from downtown to Dr. Phillips every day, doing the dance magnet, managed to get the best grades I've ever gotten ever in like my high school history, because I think it was motivation. I just was like, I never want to be here again. You know?”

The shelter was a big change after moving around from hotel to hotel, or family member to family member. It meant steady meals, birthday and Christmas presents, and exposure to the realities of just how many people struggle to get by.

“I met so many women at the homeless shelter. I met a lawyer who happened to be schizophrenic, but she was a lawyer. I met a woman who was a nurse and she had two young boys. There was a girl who was there by herself. She went to Jones High School. She was 17,” Harrison recalled. “I met so many people and I think that fueled me that year, because I was just like, I never, ever, ever want to be in this situation again.”

The fuel fired her passion for dance- a study often reserved for the privileged due to the costs and demands- which she was able to hone through a magnet program at her high school. It was the first time she had ever worn dance shoes or tights, and she had a lot to learn.

“If it were today's standards, I would not have gotten into that program,” Harrison joked of the pep squad routine she used to audition. “That program has grown so much. I'm talking kids going to Juilliard from Dr. Phillips… it has gotten really prestigious and really big.”

The four-year crash course started her freshman year, exposing her to classical training for ballet, modern dance, jazz, hip hop, and even cultural dances. The schedule and work was challenging, especially for a teen without stable housing, and only possible with the help of friends and teachers.

“My passion for dance, I really leaned on that. I leaned on my friends. I had friends whose parents would help to get me to cheerleading practice or to a dance show,” Harrison said. “For me, it has not been easy. But dance was always there for me, and it came at the perfect time in my life.”

“I think during that time in my life, dance saved me and that was my out. That was what I focused on. I had a very tumultuous personal life growing up. It was not easy at all. My outlet was to throw myself into this thing that I loved so much. It allowed me to get my mind off something, it allowed me if I was having an emotional day, everything went into my craft and being better at something, it gave me something to fight for. And I was so busy I couldn't really get into trouble, because I had a lot to lose and dance was important to me, and the opportunities that came along with it were very important to me.”

The hard work led to a scholarship for a private University in Jacksonville where Harrison would study psychology with a dance minor. Though she preferred the latter, she says growing up in scarcity led her to go with the ‘safe’ option—the degree she thought would help her make more money.

“At that point, I'm tired of living a life that I'm broke and struggling,” Harrison said. “I was really fighting myself. I was fighting hard, because I loved dance so much, but I grew up in poverty and I didn't want that to be my future.”

With her degree, she was able to get back to her passion quickly; becoming a dance teacher in the Orlando-area. Soon after, a dream role opened up; she applied to help run the program at Doctor Phillips High School where she had gotten her start.

“I had a great interview. I knew the principal, it was the same principal who was there when I was there. And I just knew I had it in the bag,” Harrison said.

It wasn’t.

Harrison didn’t pass the test required to teach in the district where she graduated.

But when something is for you, it’s yours… regardless of an initial denial.

“I remember, I was reading the Bible and I get this voice and it said, ‘The job is yours.’ That's all I heard. Literally moments later, I get a phone call from the new principal that was there who happened to be in my interview originally,” Harrison said.

Turns out the teacher who got the job instead may have embellished her resume, and leaders called Harrison back to take the test again.

The job was hers.

“I was teaching alongside my mentor,” Harrison said. “I was teaching the dance elective classes, and she was teaching the dance magnet classes… I got a lot of training, I got a lot of learning the behind the scenes on running a major program. She runs one of the biggest programs in the U.S. It's a big deal.”

But it didn’t come without hustle. The teaching job was only part time; she also worked in a dance company teaching classes, and the burnout was quick.

“I wasn't making enough money, could not barely even pay my rent,” Harrison said.

I can tell you, as someone else who grew up poor, we’re always running. Running from our past. Chasing money. Feeling like we’ll never catch up.

Harrison decided to chase the dollar instead of her dream.

“I switched to sales,” Harrison said, planning only to do so for a year. “I needed to make money, because I was so broke…. I didn't have any food in the house, like my past life was coming back. It's something that I worked so hard to distance myself from, you know, and to be in a better place. I went to college... Why am I not making money?”

She told herself it would just be a year. That she could walk away at any time. She would still teach classes here and there. Trying to convince herself the dream was still within reach, that she just needed to dig out of a hole. It was temporary. Right?

“Slowly each year, I did less and less with dance. Wasn’t taking classes, wasn’t teaching much… I started gaining weight… I didn’t move like I used to. My confidence just started falling and I kind of stopped teaching altogether, stopped dancing altogether,” Harrison said. “I was just money driven. And I did get to the point where I was making pretty good money with sales, but I was so unhappy and not living my life... and meanwhile, my dream is gone.”

You can run toward money, but you can’t run from yourself. Though her finances were finally in a good place, without dance, Harrison wasn’t.

“I think I was in a fog and I think I wasn't awake during that time. It had been a good solid eight, nine years of just trying to be something that I wasn't, trying to be this sales mogul… things that just weren't natural to me,” Harrison said. “I just felt like I was trying to fit in. I didn't belong there. I was trying to fit in with people that weren't my people… I just was not living my life. It was so far from my hopes and dreams, and things that I had planned out for myself. So far from that.”

After almost a decade of not regularly dancing, Harrison had a lot of conditioning to do. She took it one class at a time, teaching part time while still working sales.

“After a long week of working hard and trying to meet quota, and trying to make money and, this is something that I don't have to try. I'm good at this. I'm really good,” Harrison said. “If I wasn’t confident about anything else in my life, I know I'm a good educator, hands down. And I love kids. I love the youth. And I just felt like that's what I needed.”

She continued working in sales for two more years; getting married and saving up money before she eventually knew it was time to walk away. She planned to get back into teaching full time at a middle school, and she launched a nonprofit in Orlando to help other underserved young girls gain the same experience she had.

“It was just free dance classes, you know, for girls in the hood,” Harrison said.

It was a dream that she didn’t even claim at first. Angela says the idea for the nonprofit came as an intrusive thought in 2016; specifically, to teach free dances in Orlando’s Paramore neighborhood. She scoffed at the idea.

“I was like, I’m going to L.A. I wanted to move so bad. I was supposed to have moved to L.A. after college,” Harrison said. “I got scared, didn’t do it. I let people talk me out of it.”

She ignored the idea until the voice got so loud she couldn’t.

“2018, I stayed up with a friend. It was New Year's Eve. We didn't go to sleep at all. All we did was write down things that we wanted to have happen in our lives-- no holds barred, anything. If we could do anything, what would our life look like? That year, I started my nonprofit.”

The difference she made is immeasurable. Girls who were homeless, like she had been in high school, were given the opportunity to dance, and the resources they needed to do it. It made a difference for Harrison, too.

“[I learned] I cannot approach these kids the way that I had to learn. Even though I was in similar situations, my path was just a little different. I was entering into something,” Harrison said. “I'm trying to bring these kids in, and expose them to something, which means that I have to meet them where they are.”

As her true passion came back into her life, less authentic parts became more exposed; the most of which, her marriage. Her relationship was getting tense as the world changed with COVID-19, and teaching became more difficult; both in the school where she was a teacher and in her nonprofit.

The pull to pursue something bigger just never went away.

“I felt like the biggest fraud when I was teaching in public school, and I'd be like, well, if you want to try out for the basketball team, just do it. What do you have to lose?” Harrison recalled. “I’m pushing them to do all these things that they want to do, not just dance… but I have not ever tried to go out, totally. I tried, but not really. I never actually did it. And I felt like a fraud.”

She realized her resentment toward students who wouldn’t apply themselves- wouldn’t chase their dreams- was actually a feeling she had toward herself.

“I had to deal with that emotional weight. I was sick every day, crying every day after work, gaining weight, migraines, physically sick. I had a lot of issues,” Harrison said. “My husband doesn’t want to be married anymore… it was a lot. And I just felt like I was being pushed to make a decision.”

After a full year of teaching during the pandemic, Harrison planned to truly take a summer break. She was going to go to L.A. to dance, just for the summer of 2021… putting a pause on her nonprofit, her marriage, her life.

“Within that first week that I was here, my then-husband and I decided, we're calling it quits,” Harrison said. “Go ahead and file for divorce. Let's get this done. Because at this point, I just felt helpless. I felt like my life was crumbling.”

The lifetime hustler—who had been running from poverty, chasing a dream, was at rock bottom.

“I was very lonely. I knew I had support, but at the same time, I was also losing friends that I thought were my friends and losing the support system I thought I had in Orlando,” Harrison said. “You find out who's really in your corner and who's not when you go through major changes like that.”

She was there for a few weeks, bartending to get by and staying in a friend’s apartment, when she made that call to the suicide hotline.

“I had never been suicidal, no matter how hard things got growing up,” Harrison said. “I never knew what feeling suicidal was until I had to deal with feelings that I always had, even before my marriage, of just not being worthy, of not being able to get the things that I truly wanted in my heart, of not being lovable… Regardless, if you're with someone or not, you have to face those things. You have to deal with those things.”

The call unearthed a history of shame and a feeling of not fitting in that dated back to her childhood.

“I just didn’t know, but for the majority of my life, I have been unhappy,” Harrison realized. “But because that was my life, it felt normal. I didn’t know.”

I remember the first time I met Ang, at a Mexican restaurant with a long table full of friends, crunching on chips and salsa and drinking margaritas for a mutual friend’s birthday party in Orlando. It might’ve been 2016. Looking back on it, I can say for certain that no one around her knew she was unhappy. I found her to be one of the brightest lights in the room, and I share this to urge you to check on your people. Check on those you think are the strongest around you. You never know what they’re battling beneath the surface.

But just as it had during every down time in her life, dance found a way back in.

“I was so depressed, any small little thing would send me in tears, I was very fragile,” Harrison says of the summer of 2021. “I was bartending two or three days a week, and that covered all of the basics that I needed, but during the weekday, I was in bed, could barely move. It was it was a good day if I could just get out of my bed and make my bed.”

Like so many people in L.A., she had active profiles on casting websites, and one day she saw a post that piqued her interest: A music video for Too Short.

As in, Blow The Whistle… that Too Short.

No shade, but I didn’t know he was still making music until this video came out.

“I kept ignoring it,” Harrison said. “But it was looking for dancers, looking for a plus size dancers like me, pretty much described me… I didn't think I was going to get it, but the next day, I got contacted.”

Her first gig in L.A. was to be in TOO SHORT’S MUSIC VIDEO.

She's right here in the red dress!

No Gen-Z reader will understand why this is such a big deal, but if want to test my theory, walk into any establishment with a Gen-X or Millennial crowd and yell out ‘What’s my favorite word?!’ and you’ll get the idea.

“It’s the funniest video ever… and for that to be my first gig in L.A… after getting over the hump of being suicidal, and even before I came out here, being told here's not going to be opportunities for you there,” Harrison recalled. “For the Too Short music video to be my first opportunity ever, I felt like it was God's way of showing, No, you're on the right path, babe. I got you. I got you. You're on the right path. Keep doing what you're doing. There's plenty of opportunity for you here.”

And in a city where everyone wants to be famous, everyone wants to entertain—it’s all about who you know. Angela made friends with some of the women on the set of the video, exchanging Instagrams and phone numbers, not knowing what it could lead to.

COVID restrictions were easing up, and L.A. was set to host the next Super Bowl. She started seeing fliers offering the opportunity to bartend during the game; a gig that promised great money.

For the first time, a woman with a lifelong scarcity mindset, didn’t chase the dollar. She wanted the dream.

“My first thought was that I don’t want to bartend. I want to dance at the Super Bowl,” Harrison said. “I was like, if I’m going to be at the Super Bowl, I want to dance. I do not want to bartend.”

She knew how crazy it was. She didn’t have an agent. She’d had exactly one professional gig in the entertainment industry. I, for one, love the audacity. And I also love that all the lessons she learned along the way— the way being homeless for a time- the ultimate equalizer- taught her the humility to treat everyone with the same energy she’d want to receive- ended up paying off in the form of a dream she didn’t know she had until she saw those fliers looking for Super Bowl bartenders.

“I got a phone call from someone I met at the Too Short music video, on set,” Harrison said. “She was also in the music video with me, she wasn't like a big wig for the set or anything… and she was like, ‘Hey, I remember you saying you were a dancer. Would you be interested in dancing, performing at the Super Bowl?’”

Uhm, obviously!

I am not a dancer and *I* want to dance at the Super Bowl!

This was before the acts were announced, but shortly after getting that call and landing the gig, we all learned that our millennial dreams were coming true in the form of Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, and Mary J. Blige would be performing what I would argue is the best halftime show since Prince. Harrison was among the select few who knew that that 50 Cent would make a special guest appearance.

The job came with an NDA and a fair amount of controversy over performer pay, which in some ways was a catalyst for what we’re seeing now in Hollywood with the ongoing strikes; the entertainment industry has started to rise up and we’re all starting to feel it in the options available to us on streaming and network shows.

“Watching these talented artists, and not even just the artists, you know, like Dr. Dre, Mary J., not just them, but you have the people who make the show- the crew, the people who build the sets. You have lighting, you have audio. So much goes into this performance,” Harrison said of the Super Bowl. “The dancers, we had a band there, we had people in lowriders… all the people that come together, the people who make the costumes, the people who decide on what's going to be worn, intricate parts of putting together a show that just a normal person watching halftime would never think of. You know, we think of the artists, but there are people behind the scenes who make the artists what you get to see and what you love so much about them.”

Harrison sees the value in the behind-the-scenes crews as she works to secure more jobs, and she’s not limiting herself to dance.

“I got into doing a lot of background work. I can act. I can carry a note, too, and I don't want to stop myself. I'm out here for a reason. I already did the hard part, which was just moving across the and starting fresh. I want to do any and everything,” Harrison said. “I love the glitz and glam of it all. And I don't want to cap myself. I don't want to limit myself.”

She’s landed some commercials and background work, including the revamp of the Fresh Prince, and she’s taking acting classes.

She’s also learning about Hollywood secrets, and spilling some of them for us:

“I'm on set for Apple, I'm on set for Paramount, I'm on set for a Netflix series, movies, you know, things that I still can’t talk about because it hasn't come out yet,” Harrison said. “I was on Dr. Phil, debating on CRT, critical race theory, the most random topic. People don't know this, but the people you see in these talk shows, they're paid to be there!”

And even as the writer’s strike is slowing the amount of work available, Harrison is in a much better headspace than she was when she arrived out west.

“During this time, I'm focusing on other things I like to do,” Harrison said. “I'm picking up with travel, I am expounding on other gifts that I have, and then I'm just training, because I want to be ready when the industry opens back up. I'm ready for auditions, I'm ready to get an agent. I'm just strengthening myself, now that I have been able to focus on myself personally and have been able to heal.”

The background work- meaning the work she’s doing on herself- is truly a work in progress. And it hasn’t been easy digging out of the suicidal depression she found herself in not long ago. She’s forcing herself to take the same advice she’s given her students.

“Even as a dance teacher, that is actually my teaching philosophy: You have to address what's on the inside, because dance is very vulnerable,” Harrison said. “And if you haven't met yourself yet, how can you portray a character? How can you really make others feel what you're doing? If there are parts of yourself you're not willing to see, or there are parts of yourself you have closed off.”

It’s a constant hustle—Ang joked that she needs seven streams of income in one of the most expensive cities in the country—but even with a chaotic livelihood, she finally feels like she’s living her most authentic life.

“I feel like ever since I've been here, I've just been facing my wildest dreams and my wildest fears,” Harrison said. “Just facing myself, confronting myself and trying and fighting for myself and fighting for my dreams and I could not think of a better way to live my life. I feel like I'm actually living my life and making decisions that I've always wanted to make, and it feels really good.”

And those feelings of shame- the fears of rejection- the inner voice that led her to make that desperate call to the suicide hotline- they’re all slowly getting drowned out by a much louder purpose with every audition and booked job… and even the jobs she doesn’t get.

“I'm not going to take that rejection as disapproval, because I know there's space for me here. I feel like for me, I have been I've never been more celebrated for just being myself as I am living here and pursuing my dream here,” Harrison said. “There's something on the other side of the fear. There's something on the other side of all the doubts and the things that were kind of ingrained in us by other people, not even from ourselves. You owe it to yourself to try.”

September is Suicide Prevention Month, a time to raise awareness of this highly stigmatized topic. I thank Angela Harrison for being so brave in sharing her story, as I know it will help others. If you’re experiencing thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Hotline at 988.

https://988lifeline.org/

A Home Run Homecoming For A Player-Turned-Coach

They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

It’s a double entendre for Francesca Enea, who was presented with the most important diamond she’d ever wear atop the diamond that’s shaped her life and is now shaping her family’s future.

While it’s too far to say that softball is the glue holding them together, her marriage to former broadcaster Christian Bruey doesn’t exist without the sport, and it goes without saying that her new job as Assistant Coach for University of Florida Softball didn’t happen without her dedication to the diamond.

But what’s really striking about this couple’s story is how the dedication to each other, and courage to know exactly who they are and what they want out of life, despite others’ expectations, cleared the path for her to take that job.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’ve known this couple for about a decade, working alongside Bruey in the same Orlando newsroom for most of that time. But before launching this blog, I never actually knew the story of how this sports power couple met. Of course, it has a tie to softball.

“I was the radio guy, and I was a senior doing a play by play for the Gators softball team. And then this freshman showed up and caught my eye,” Bruey remembers. “I traveled with the team, so I was on the plane, I was, you know, around the team wherever they went. And we started talking through a couple of the road trips and one thing led to another and we had a date and that became a thing.”

The Gators found young love in Gainesville, but Enea admits that before the proposal (and maybe for a time after), softball was her top priority. A star player for the team from 2007 to 2010, she helped the Gators to three consecutive Women’s College World Series appearances, taking second place in 2009 and solidifying her legacy as one of the country’s top power hitters; finishing her collegiate career as the SEC’s all-time home run leader, a three-time NFCA All-American… you get the picture. The girl can round those bases and hit with the best of them.

“In order to be the best at anything you do, you have to kind of make it your number one. And he was always cool being number two on my priority list,” Enea said. “But then I graduated, we got engaged, and as far as a career, there wasn't anything that I was dedicated and determined to do, but I was determined to be a great wife and great have a great partnership with him. And he loved being a sports broadcaster so much that I wanted to support him in what he loved and just being able to be flexible with that.”

For so many young couples, one person’s career tends to take priority. I know in my own marriage, it’s been a series of trade-offs over the last 11 years, with my husband and I jockeying back and forth for who would take the lead at what time. For the Gator grads, Bruey had already moved a few times as a sportscaster, chasing the dream of doing play by play from Maryland to Daytona Beach and eventually in Orlando. The stars- or diamonds- aligned; after years of long distance, Enea had just signed a professional softball contract in Orlando as well.

Despite playing her passion, Enea felt like her softball career was coming to a close.

“I was playing pro softball, but that was truly only taking place during the summers. So then during the fall and in the spring, I did hitting lessons in Orlando, just trying to cultivate my own little softball community, doing camps, and trying to figure out what it was that I wanted to do for my life because I wasn't going to keep playing forever,” Enea said. She had just been voted out of an opportunity to play in the Olympics and the next chance wouldn’t come until 2020, which she felt was too late in her life.

“Orlando was just a really big starting point, I would say, of our lives together, and growing together and learning who we wanted to be as adults.”

Enea jokingly pointed to softball as the reason she had no work experience, spending her entire youth and college career focused on the game. But softball made a way for her again; she took a sports marketing and account management position with Easton Baseball-Softball, learning sales and business skills for six years with the company. She also became a staple in the broadcast booth, calling games for more than a decade for several conferences, keeping her close to the game and creating a juggling act with her now-husband Bruey. Since sports are played 7 days a week, the only consistency was an inconsistent schedule for the couple.

“As our family started to grow, I wanted to stay home a little bit more and do something that was a little bit more rooted,” Enea said. “What was really important to me at the time was my family. I kind of took a step out of softball and started working more in corporate America… doing a 9 to 5 job.”

In sports, success is measured in wins and losses. In life, it’s a bit more fluid; the couple found success in the form of financial stability, a network of friends and raising two young children in a beautiful home in Orlando. Sometimes jobs are just jobs, and the two of them certainly value life over livelihood. Still, success doesn’t always mean you love what you do.

“As far as feeling challenged and feeling passionate about it, absolutely not,” Enea said of her corporate gig. “It just turned into one of those jobs that you just do.”

I probably don’t need to tell you that someone as driven as an All-American athlete isn’t satisfied to just punch a clock, regardless of the lifestyle it provides. As Bruey’s career was reaching new heights, being promoted to a weekday morning news anchor position at the same station where he had been a sports anchor, Enea felt accomplished in her family but unfulfilled with her work.

It would soon become apparent that her husband was feeling the same pull, despite achieving anchor status.

“I think I chased the dream of wanting to, you know, be on SportsCenter like every young broadcaster wants. You see that that's not panning out, and so, the opportunity is there to do the news,” Bruey said. “I started doing the morning show, and that's what I wanted to do. I still had a passion for journalism and telling stories and broadcasting… but then I think I quickly realized that that it's also still very tough,” he said of the hours.

I can attest to the grueling hours firsthand; going to bed at 8:00p or so, and getting up around 3:00a, it can quickly lose its luster. Despite that, I think I speak for everyone close to Bruey that when he made the announcement he was leaving the morning show less than a year after being promoted to the position, one he fought for and a role many people wanted, the word shocked doesn’t do it justice.

“When you have that lack of sleep, a lot of times, unfortunately, you know, the molehill becomes a mountain because you are dealing with stress, the sleep-related stress. And I wanted to be perfect. I wanted the show to be perfect. And when it wasn't perfect, that would piss me off. And so that led me eventually to making the decision to leave it,” Bruey explained. He accepted a position outside of news, and outside of what I think anyone expected; recycling.

“You see people go to public relations, but [I had to ask myself], do I really want to go do PR for a city or county? That didn’t appeal to me at all,” Bruey said. “I think that it took this opportunity where sports was sort of involved for me to really want to, you know, make the jump.”

What do sports have to do with recycling? A lot, I’ve learned. Bruey took a position with the publicly-traded, Orlando-based PureCycle, helping to lead the company’s PureZero™ Program, which seeks partnerships with sports stadiums and other venues to mass recycle certain plastics. The role, which he was offered months after meeting some of PureCycle’s leaders during a news story in 2021, aligns him with many of the same teams he covered as a sportscaster, including the Orlando Magic.

So, what’s it like going from a highly-watched on-air gig, where everyone immediately knows what you do for work, to having to explain what you do for a living? Bruey admits at first, it was a tough transition.

“Do I miss this?” he’d ask himself after walking away from the anchor desk in 2022. “That definitely happened in the first few months. It was like, what did I do?”

There are certain jobs that just get so intertwined with your identity and self-worth, and journalism is one of them. Being the one to tell the story; being the one people turn to; we’d all be lying if we said our egos weren’t somewhat tied up in the studio lights. I know a lot of people who have left the business in recent years, and most of them struggle with that part more than missing the work itself. It’s the going to the grocery store and being asked, hey, what happened to you? Or not being invited to events you once hosted… in some ways, as broadcasters, your byline is your ticket to enter spaces where others aren’t allowed. That front row view to history, the VIP access; it’s a hard thing to cut ties with.

Bruey, though, took the change the way an athlete would when faced with a new opponent.

“Being competitive has always been what I've considered one of my best attributes… I want to win and, you know, I want to be the best that whatever it is that I do, whether that's broadcasting or compiling a social media calendar for a recycling company,” Bruey said. “You just want to succeed in whatever you do.”

He still gets to scratch the play-by-play itch from time to time- most recently calling the Florida State University and Louisiana State University game at Camping World Stadium in Orlando. It’s the same type of opportunity that Enea says kept her going during what she considered a down time in her career.

“Being able to broadcast for Florida Softball games was still that passion project for me,” Enea said. “Those were the things that were helping me get through the mundane 9-to-5 corporate job that I had.”

I would botch the quote if I tried to provide it, but there is a saying about the power of cultivating what’s in front of you during times of waiting for the next big thing. The beauty in the inbetween. The power in patience. Enea couldn’t have known it then, but the time spent calling games and keeping in such close contact with her old program would pay off in a major way.

“Two days before I got this opportunity presented to me, I told [Christian] my dream job would be coaching at Florida Softball with my Head Coach [Tim Walton],” Enea said. “I was like, well, that's never going to happen, though, like that. But that would be the dream.”

Though playing has always been part of her life, Enea had never coached. It was a softball-sized gap in her resume. So, even when approached with the opportunity she quite literally manifested, she second-guessed whether she was qualified.

“I haven't coached. I retired in 2013, and all I did to stay in the game was broadcasting,” Enea said. “There are people who dedicate their entire life to get to an opportunity that I have.”

I’m going to assume here that the majority of those reading this blog may not know Francesca personally, but as someone who does—this self-doubt is not what she leads with. She is an outwardly confident, commanding woman who is sure of herself in any situation. As a new mom, she was one of the most blunt, keep-it-real confidantes I had in those early months. So for HER to have imposter syndrome… is there hope for any of us?

“I am a very confident person, but I have this one part of my brain, and we call it my lizard brain, that doubts every part of who I am,” Enea joked. “I only show it to a few people. It could be at anything that I'm doing, I get a little insecure about it, because I want to do so well and I want to be the best at it.”

Can you believe she even considered turning down her dream job because of that stupid lizard brain?

“Part of me was like, this is a no brainer. We have to do it. Then this other part of me was a little hesitant just because of where we were at in our life in Orlando,” Enea said. “We were very happy, we were settled. We had a plan, and this definitely was not part of the plan.”

But this isn’t a position you turn down. Until recently, the role didn’t even exist; the NCAA just granted some smaller programs, like softball, a fourth coaching position. Historically, Florida had just a head coach and two assistant coaches. This change allowed Fran’s former head coach, Tim Walton, the freedom to take a chance on her, despite her lack of true experience on the other side of the sport.

“If there was one reason for why we would leave Orlando, it's for this,” Enea said.

It helped, too, that Bruey was no longer tied to a TV contract, free to move in more ways than one for the first time in more than ten years.

“This opportunity is too good to pass up on, you know, a chance to come back here to Gainesville,” Bruey said. “To have a chance to be a part of a sports program like the University of Florida, and a softball program where they’ve won a couple of national championships and want to win more, I think that's pretty fun.”

Her love of the game is obvious, but now it’s work. The new assistant coach is feeling the pressure, but trying to channel the same energy she’d use when the bases were loaded and it was her turn to swing.

“If I am up to bat and the game is on the line, I have to shut that noise out if in order for me to succeed. That's the same process that I do in life,” Enea said. “Shut the noise out, fake it ‘til you make it, and if you’re confident enough in what you're doing, people are going to buy it and listen to you.”

When we spoke, there hadn’t even been a full week of practice in the books, but Enea was already plotting for how to expand her reach; from player development, to recruiting, to navigating Florida’s laws that allow collegiate athletes to enter into contracts for the use of their Name, Image, or Likeness. More than anything, she’s excited to mentor; with only ten years separating her from her last game as a player, she hopes to connect to the young women in ways the rest of the coaching staff simply can’t.

“Right now, I would say everyone's very nervous. They're trying to show off to the coaches. I think they're trying to figure out everything right now. But you know, they have told me that they're really happy to have some some energy on the field,” Enea said of her coaching style. “Instead of feeling so tight, they can feel like a little bit more loose.”

I think there are a lot of lessons to be taken from Fran and Christian. First, never let other people’s expectations set the trajectory of your life. Christian leaving news after getting to a weekday anchor role went against what anyone in our newsroom, or our industry, expected, but he knew it wasn’t right for him or his family. Second, never say never. Francesca joked that if someone told her she’d be back in Gainesville, coaching the same team where she made her mark in the record books, she would have laughed in their face (respectfully).

Her advice to the young players could apply to anyone, in any role, seeking any type of promotion:

“You're not going to win or lose a position in one day,” Enea said. “You're going to have bad days. You're going have bad days on the field. You're have bad days in your brain. It all just comes down to how you respond and setting your own goals for yourself.”

As they settle into their new/old city, the couple is setting their own goals, starting with a rather simple one.

“I think we just want to be happy, and I think we've realized that what makes us the most happy is being able to be there for each other,” Bruey said. He doesn’t just mean in the philosophical sense, but physically being there for their kids’ activities, including T-ball practice, which is just getting started.

And like any good athlete who studies game tape to see where they might improve, Bruey knows his family’s success is more than just manifestation. “Definitely bet on yourself, but I think there's also a need to make an informed decision.”

Their playbook is full of calculated risks that have led them to where they are; both making major career changes that, in many ways, only worked out in the exact sequence in which they took place.

“We rely on each other as teammates. We love each other, but we're also best friends. And so, if I'm ever having doubts or insecure or I'm just unsure, I want to I need to talk to him like I need to know what he's thinking,” Enea said.

And though it’s clear her family has taken the top spot on her priority list; she no longer has to choose.

“Softball, I always say it was my first love. And you never forget your first love. It's just something that I can never not have in my life.”

Splitting from Simplified and Moving to Cherrywood Lane

There’s just something about Target.

It draws you in with its bright red bullseye and before you know it, what was supposed to be a quick in-and-out for laundry detergent is a $156.23 checkout with who-knows-what in your cart.

I’ve long been a Target stan, but it wasn’t until I became a mom that I joined a silent sisterhood of women who see it as more than a store; Target is often a refuge in those early months of motherhood when you’re cooped up with a blob of an infant and no clue how to pass the time during their wake windows. Target is climate controlled, has a Starbucks waiting for you and aisle after aisle of colorful items to catch your little one’s eye and snatch your credit card. It’s the sense of familiarity and aspiration to curate the perfect wardrobe- self care routine- or home. So, it’s fitting that a stroll through Target, something we’ve no doubt all done a time or two, is the origin story for what lead to one of the most recognizable designs on its stationery aisle within the course of just a few years.

Before she would go on to create the gorgeous watercolor designs and distinctive patterns that helped grow Simplified’s following to more than half a million between Facebook and Instagram (compared to just 315,000 or so combined in 2017, according to published reports)- and push its revenue far outside the lines of its typical planning pages, Jessa Bray was that new mom wandering through Target, in the oil boom town of West, Texas… isolated and restless.

“When I had my son, everything kind of just stopped. Everyone told me that it was going to be crazy and chaos filled, and it was in its own way, but I was so bored,” Bray said. “I remember sitting there and being like, I don't know if something's wrong with me, but I'm very unsatisfied with just being here.”

“I loved him. I loved playing with him and taking care of him, but I wanted to do something, and feel like I was contributing,” Bray said. “I'd walk in stores like Target, and Marshalls, and Hobby Lobby and look around at the things that like I really wanted to use in my home to make it feel like a home, because we were a young family and that's the dream, and we couldn't afford any of it. We were just in a part of our life where like that was impossible. So, I went home and I was like, well, I'll make it.”

Jessa was the girl with good handwriting growing up. Though she had no formal art training, she made it a point to rewrite her notes in school to be pristine, and so she found immediate connection with word art through calligraphy and lettering. What started as an effort to make their house feel like home, led to an Etsy shop and a full-fledged wholesale line, Flax and Wool Designs.

“One sale turned to fifty, fifty turned to paying bills,” Bray said. “But the dream was always Target. I wanted to see myself in Target.”

This is the part of Jessa’s story where you may think it’s actually mine. She turned to social media, honed in on her investigative reporting skills, and searched through geotagged posts at Target’s headquarters in Minneapolis until she tracked down the Senior Trend Constructor for the retail giant. And then, aiming right at the big red bullseye, she took her shot.

“I messaged her,” Bray recalled. “This is so random, but would you look over my line sheet and just tell me if I'm crazy, or if this is kind of good?”

The first major review of her designs was better than good. It landed Jessa an invite to the twin cities to teach a workshop for Target’s design team.

“I thought I died. I'm pretty sure that is when I peaked,” Bray joked. “She hooked me up with so many meetings that day. I met incredible people… they presented it that, we’re going to let you meet the people, we’ll see what happens organically ,and kind of go from there. I was so grateful, even for that.”

The trip to the mothership didn’t lead to any of her wholesale products being picked up, but there was still a lot of significant work coming Jessa’s way; including the massive ask of lettering the floor of the original Paper Goat Post location in Orlando's Ivanhoe Village, and the very public writing of the names of all 49 victims of the Pulse Nightclub shooting along the windows of The Guesthouse in Orlando, after the Bray family moved back to Central Florida.

“It was just so emotional. It was really connected to so many people that were grieving, and for the city that was grieving, and the families, it was awful,” Bray remembered. “That was such a small thing I could have done, and it kind of showed me that, lettering is just not lettering. Art is not just art. The impact that it can hold is pretty big and wide.”

By then, you could buy wallpaper designed by Jessa (in fact, you still can, here), and a signature style was being solidified. The impact of her lettering and designs started to catch the eyes of some big names, and just as she slid into the DMs of that Target bossbabe, she one day opened her own inbox to find a message from a name she recognized; the creative director at Simplified, a stationery and lifestyle brand best known for its planners that sell out within days every.single.year.

“Do you do patterns, or are you freelancing pattern-type things? I love your art,” Bray recalled. “And I kind of posed it as, why don’t I paint something, and you can tell me if you want to pay for it.”

For all you non-freelancers… that’s not typically how it works.

“This was when I had that feeling of, I don’t feel like I deserve to be in the room. Big, big, tall, imposter syndrome.”

The gorgeous watercolors with telltale florals of delicate pastels turned out to be perfect for the polished, preppy fanbase of Simplified planners. A beautiful minty blue and foiled pineapple design was selected from the freelance gig.

“They fell in love with it,” Bray said of her first design. “It was their first watercolor design ever for the company, and they paid me for it, and we went on our way.”

But the story of Jessa Bray and Simplified was just getting started. A few months after that first freelance design, the brand posted an opening for an Art Director. Instead of a bullseye, Jessa set her sights on the pineapple, and wrote a literal love letter asking for a chance.

“I’m not one of those, but I’m going to try. What’s the harm in trying? It’s kind of my attitude about a lot of things,” Bray said. “My resume had nothing on it except my own business, and I didn’t know if I had been doing it well, you know my work because you’ve already bought it… and they hired me, and it was really crazy.”

“At the time, it absolutely was my dream job. I couldn’t think of another position I wanted more,” Bray said.

And it would be for the next five or so years. It became obvious that the diehard customers were loving her designs, a playful, imperfect addition to a very traditional southern brand; as Jessa herself described them, a perfect mix of color and class. And as about a dozen of her designs sold out, making the company a conservative guess of millions, her confidence grew and the imposter syndrome shrank.

“You just experience all those thoughts. The whole time I was putting out work, it was just kind of like, I hope this makes sense… I hope they like it. It’s like spaghetti on a wall,” Bray said. “And then probably at about year three, I started to know, oh, this is good. This one’s going to sell out. The confidence really kicked in around year three, and I can hold my own.”

“That’s when the shift started to happen,” Bray said. “I’m glad to be here, thanks for having me, but, I belong here, and this could be my room, too.”

It wasn’t her room, though. Even though her artwork was being produced and enjoyed by the masses, since it was made for someone else’s brand, Jessa doesn’t technically own it. If Simplified wanted to rework a pattern to become home décor, or a wall covering, Jessa would have little say over it. That, combined with the pressure to create more products with heavy direction, led to internal (and maybe outward) tension for the art director.

“At first, I craved it… to finally be in a company where I could have someone with experience in selling things tell me, refine this… it was very much a learning experience for me, and I’m so grateful for it because I didn’t go to school for art or design,” Bray said. “I think as I got more confident as an artist, I started to resist a little more.”

“I felt that internal strain of, this doesn’t feel like me, or this didn’t feel like how I would do it, or the best that I would have it, or the colors I wanted it in. And that’s really hard to let go of, because you put so much time into things like this, they’re like your children… it crated a very real attachment to the art,” Bray said. “That started to get really difficult.”

After heavy contemplation, conversations with her family, and prayer, Jessa resigned from Simplified in June of 2023, leaving fans and followers in shock and with many questions. For her, there were none.

“I think there's a lot of girls that think I'm crazy still for leaving. I know that I had a lot of messages, in my inbox, like, I can't believe this,” Bray said. “And I'm so grateful that people even feel that kind of connection with my work, but the feelings that I was having, were overwhelming in that it kind of wasn't even a choice. I have to go.”

“It went from not feeling like I could be in the room- to I deserved to be in the room- to I want my own room. I want to say who can come in and join me in that room,” Bray said. “I would also say that the discomfort of working on a team and working on a machine, when you’re constantly releasing things and more products are being picked up and more art is being produced, it’s very difficult to be okay with that.”

Jessa believes the feelings she experienced are why companies don’t often hire independent artists.

“I think it’s just too conflicted with who they’re created to be and to have someone else calling the shots on creativity, and that being an innate part of your being, it’s like oil and water at some point.”

The split between the brand and its art director was amicable, but Jessa admits she believes Simplified’s owner, Emily Ley, was surprised by her decision. It also came in the middle of a production cycle, with products being ordered for the next season due to lead times on customs and shipping. Jessa says steps were taken to ensure no gaps in quality or design, and her final planners will come out next season.

I’ve seen this time and time again as friends move on to new chapters in their professional careers; they take it upon themselves in the final weeks to put systems in place to protect the company or brand, even if it’s not necessarily their responsibility. To steal a line from T Swift herself, Jessa says she wanted to keep her side of the street clean upon her exit.

“We've kind of moved on, both of us,” Bray said of Ley. “And I think that it's great.”

But, now what?

“I really had only worked in this like one niche… and I know I'm good. I know that I'm good at this, but I need more I need more experience now, and more knowledge outside of just paper,” Bray explained.

What better way to learn more things than by doing… Everything. All.At.Once.

Enter Cherrywood Lane Design House, an explosion of rich color and flavor, akin to its namesake.

From the CL website, Jessa describes her specialties as graphic design, surface patterns and illustration, hand lettering and typography, branding… basically, she can take your idea and make it a brand- or take your brand and make it even better- and create an online presence that will stand out in the crowd.

“Not boring, very full of personality, and just kind of reflecting all of the work that they've already put in,” Bray said. “Those are the people that I'm working with to build brands with and brand identities with, and that has been super incredible and very rewarding.”

She’s now building out full websites for clients in addition to lettering and logo work, and potentially most exciting, licensing, through the help of her new agent, who brings her ideas that she can latch onto or throw back.

“I feel like I’m in a movie. It is incredible. It is the coolest thing to be on this side of creative work and having this range of trends to create for and manufacturers to create for, and stores. It really has been the coolest experience and I’m super grateful,” Bray said. “Just being able to say, no, I'm not going to do that, something's more important and I can choose that. That kind of freedom is everything.”

But the newfound freedom comes as her most famous work to date continues to live on under someone else’s brand. On the Cherrywood Lane website, much of her portfolio of pattern work links back to Simplified or one of its retailers. She knows that, at any time, those could pop up in new products and continue to make someone else money into perpetuity.

“I think I'd be lying if I said that wasn't hard. I think anybody in my position would be lying if they said it wasn't hard,” Bray said. “Once that feeling got too overwhelming is really when I started to know, okay, if this isn't sitting right, you have a choice. You can stay here and if you're uncomfortable that's not going to be fair to you, and it's not going to be fair to them because there's no way to put your best work out experiencing feelings like that, I'm convinced.”

Much like the TV news business, Jessa described noncompete clauses may keep new designs from entering certain spaces for awhile. But that doesn’t mean she’s not producing, and though she can’t yet reveal all the details, as we say in news, here’s a little tease: what’s coming is BIG.

“That’s something I struggled with when leaving, too, was that the last time I see my stuff in a big store? The answer is no,” Bray said. “And more stores than I’ve ever been in. It’s very cool, and very surreal. Still very much a pinch-me-moment of, oh good, it worked. The jumping worked.”

That leap of faith was, indeed, faith-based. I can’t write about Jessa without writing about her faith. In fact, back in those West, Texas Target aisles, inspired by home décor she couldn’t afford, the first designs she made for her own home and wholesale line were scripture-based, using the repetition in a way she can describe far better than I ever could:

“When I started lettering, I started lettering scriptures that gave me peace and hope and comfort. And I didn’t believe them,” Bray recalled, noting it was a tough time for her marriage and as new parents. “I had a really hard time believing the words in the Bible to be true, and the words that I had been raised on my whole life. To be in that place and feeling the way that I felt and dealing with what we were dealing with, I decided, if my heart's not ready, I'll just memorize it.”

“There's this verse in the Bible that says, ‘Lord, I believe, help my unbelief,’ and I remember feeling that exactly,” Bray said. “I know somehow this is probably true, but I don't feel it right now. I'm not experiencing it. So, I would letter the verses over and over until I believed them.”

Her trajectory is now beyond belief. Not only can she buy her designs in her favorite store, but more are coming, and a Cherrywood Lane Home line for Target doesn’t seem too far-fetched (it’s not in the works just yet- at least that I can confirm- but we’ve all seen the power of manifestation during this blog post alone!)—but navigating your own business requires some serious self-reflection, especially for a creative mind like Jessa’s.

“You have to know your limits; you’ve got to know how to manage your time. I think that the biggest mistakes that I made in entrepreneurship early on and the biggest mistakes that I made at Simplified early on were writing off some toxic traits of mine like procrastination and just assuming that I'll be able to do it without writing it down in a list like a normal human,” Bray joked. “Those things add up, and if you cannot balance your time, if you cannot know your capacity and your boundaries, you will overcommit every time. You will under-deliver, most times.”

But perhaps more importantly than knowing your limits, Jessa has a piece of advice as bold as any of her patterns- Know Your Worth.

“Know what you're worth. Know that there is a transition that happens from being grateful to be in the room, to you deserve to be in the room. Know how to identify that transition because it's an important one,” Bray said. “Don’t be a crappy human. Treat people the way you want to be treated. And if you are given the chance to take a chance, just do it. Because the worst that could happen is they say no. And that is like so elementary, but like, why not?”

From Beyond The A-Block: I feel incredibly lucky to call Jessa a friend, and to have an original design in my home. In 2021, when we were both pregnant and she was in the throes of work for Simplified, Jessa was an integral part of our story by taking her talents to our nursery, giving us a surprise mural which we used as a gender reveal. We both had baby boys toward the end of the year and I am dreading the day that my guy wants to paint his room something new, but with Jessa just a call or text away, I have no doubt she will be able to execute whatever his mind dreams up.

And if you made it this far... Jessa may kill me, but you have to see this video she left us while she was doing the work in our home! I laugh every time. Love you, JB!