This is Sprout.

I’m more intimidated than I anticipated. Sitting down to write words for others to read, a perfectionist part of me holds intensity between my shoulder blades. She’s stunned still, frozen by the idea of starting something messy and brand new. It’s as if each idea starts with a few sentences, and then stops cold. My ideas run dry, the words fade out, my mind becomes blank. 

So, I’ll start in a place that feels most natural and real. Hi. I’m Raelynn, the owner of Juniper + Ray Therapy, and this is Sprout. Sprout is a page for my writing and my playful, low-stakes exploration. Much like the mission of Juniper + Ray, Sprout calls me to be playful, reflective, and intentional to explore new ways of being and thinking. I hope for it to feel authentic, informative, and provoking. A collection of thoughts that challenges internal restrictions and ideas of what I “should” be - just like I invite many of my clients to do. I hope as I find my way, you’ll join me in engaging in new ways of thinking, digesting new information, and considering new components of your life maybe once unexamined. 

Let’s begin at the foundation - what’s my purpose? The act of writing, of dedicating, of processing runs deeply within my bones - an expression that, with time, is second nature to me. 

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I’ve been thinking about this very notion - the relationship between the process (be that creating, writing, exploring, or engaging with) versus the end result of the process. Whether you’re going on walks to ensure that you hit 10,000 steps per day, you’re packing your kid’s lunch to make sure they have enough food to eat through school, or you’re typing 60 words a minute to ensure you meet a quota at work, it’s likely that in one way or another you are chasing after a result. 

And don’t get me wrong, sometimes getting the end result isn’t optional. It’s true, your kid has to eat lunch. You have to pay your bills. It’s good for your body to move. But I’m just wondering if we’ve all grown a bit TOO focused on production that we’ve lost sight of the joy, pleasure, and presence that resides within the process. 

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SLOWING

I come after a few generations of women who sew. My grandmother sewed clothes for all 8 of her children and my mother frequently hemmed my pant legs throughout middle school. Recently, I’ve decided to step into their shoes for a moment as I attempt to pick up this meticulous craft. To be honest, I’m so frustrated. I have countless pin pricks in my finger tips to the point that they feel raw, I’ve become more angry at an inanimate object (my sewing machine) than I thought possible, and I’ve had my mom repeat the same instructions countless times. For many hours, the process has been painful, irritating, and frankly discouraging. 

And yet, I had this moment the other night where there was a gap in the rush to finish my current project. I was humming to music playing in my apartment with my corgi sitting by my feet, pinning another hem with less resistance and hurry. I found myself enjoying the process of ironing a 1/4 in seam around each pant leg as my thoughts were allowed to meander through my day as they pleased. For me, this is not unlike the restful processes of cleaning or cooking. Rather than following strict rules and rushing through each step to complete them as quickly as possible, I create an environment that allows me to be present in each moment - be that in the irritation of not having the skill down yet or the pleasure of moving forward steadily. There’s something incredibly restful and grounding in not searching for the perfect product or a specific end result.

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LEARNING

My mother was a 5th/6th grade math teacher. She taught at the age level where we were right on the cusp of using calculators. While the addition and subtraction of fractions and plotting points on a graph could be completed on a calculator, she waited until the final weeks of 6th grade to teach us how to use these functions. Though at the time it felt ridiculous, I maybe have a better understanding now. By showing our work on paper, my mom was better able to understand each student’s thought process and correct where within the process they made an error. Then, with a solid foundation of this knowledge, she could show us how to complete the process more quickly with an ability to check the calculator’s end result using our own critical thinking. Thinking about these early learning processes leads me to consider - how does focusing on the product change our engagement with curiosity and learning? We become so focused on how can we complete this process quicker to get the solution we are seeking that we’ve stopped caring about if we can complete the process ourselves and the curiosity that leads to a genuine interest in learning.

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CONNECTING

HOW DOES THIS CONNECT TO THERAPY?

Being in relationship is, at its core, a process. It’s not just about milestones, solutions, or outcomes—it’s about the ongoing experience of two (or more) people learning how to meet each other.

In my clinical work, I notice how often we chase the product of connection: wanting a fight to end, wanting our partner to finally “get it,” wanting ourselves to be fixed. But real connection usually comes through engaging the process—the back-and-forth of dialogue, emotions, missteps, and moments of repair. What’s even more important - therapy is most successful when a new PROCESS of relationship is learned. 

Relationships move us toward certain outcomes (resolution, change, growth), but they also invite us into something ongoing, alive, and ever-evolving. When we focus only on the product, we miss the slow, natural, sometimes messy process that actually transforms us.