Jeanuary 31: Pride and Perseverance

I found TDBM and this fandom about 5 months ago. I instantly fell for Jean. Her story parallels my life in some heartbreakingly similar ways, her resilience and resolve have touched my soul and I'm grateful for a character that I can really relate to. I have been so kindly and graciously welcomed into this community, I have met some wonderful people 💛 dreamofragtime who first humoured me while I obsessively fangirled and blathered on about the show, I have read some of the best fanfic (seriously - the best!) and been given the chance to explore my own creativity. What a gift, to help get through the isolation of this demoralizing (insert expletive here) pandemic.

A HUGE thanks to seven-dragons for #jeanuary! My heck, I haven't had this much fun in a long time!


Christopher's words stung a little, "you always make such a thing about carrying on, regardless." An accusation of sorts that left her momentarily stunned. His candour somehow diminished the strength of her resilience, and the emotional conviction they both showed was certainly out of character. While both were highly in tune with their feelings, neither willingly justified the inner workings of their psyche to anyone.

Alone at the bar, she ordered herself a sherry, and when she reached for her purse Cec waved her off. Jean smiled and nodded her thanks, knowing the drink had been put on Lucien's tab. Lucien, the man whose very presence in her life challenged the strength of her resolve. She watched him across the room talking with Munro, she could see through his veil of indifference that Lucien was irritated. Their eyes met and his features softened into a smile, it was fleeting, and apathy returned quickly as Munro reclaimed his attention. She sighed heavily and turned back to her drink, Christopher's words circling her thoughts, "carry on regardless."

Christopher's resentment was understandable, and she accepted it, carried it, bore it along with Jack's. After all, she was the only one there to validate their experiences. Before she used to look back at that time in her life with judgment, chastising herself for her detached, guarded behaviour, but now, she rarely thought about it, and usually only after a difficult conversation with one of her boys. Christopher's words resonated and carried with them a reminder of forgiveness and acceptance. To carry on, regardless, had been instinctual, an adopted way of life, her family's survival the ultimate goal, at the expense of almost everything else.

Now on the cusp of parenthood, she wondered if, perhaps, Christopher would gain some insight into the sacrifices she made in order to carry on. Regardless.

She took a sip of her sherry.

Once upon a time, she refused to let her circumstances define her, and she found a way to carry on and move forward. Now over a decade later, she gratefully enjoyed a fulfilling life. She was involved in her community and her church. She had friends and a beautiful make-shift family, she had a job and her plants and the gardens, the theatre, and other creative outlets. She had her boys, despite their tenuous relationships, and soon a grandbaby. She smiled slowly, proud of her perseverance.

Twenty years ago, she would never have dreamed of being in the Colonists Club, drinking at this bar, on another man's tab, and yet here she was. Lucien's voice drifted towards her from across the room. The man had come into her life like a shot out of a canon, bringing with him unpredictability and uncertainty, and challenged the rigid sense of stability that she had been nurturing for years.

Sensing his presence, she turned as his warm hands settled over her shoulders. Jean had been completely thrown off balance by Lucien, and she was finding it harder and harder to just carry on. Her smile deepened as he came into view over her shoulder. If her resolve and her resilience had taught her anything about herself she knew she could adapt and change, she could weather a storm, and as difficult as it might be, she was capable of simply going with the flow, regardless.