Why I Started The Jenn Files
The real version of my story — and why I'm finally writing it down.
I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Not the writing part — I’ve always written. But the putting-it-out-there part. The part where you stop curating and start being honest.
Here’s the short version of me: I’ve worked presidential level advance, communications, and operations. The White House. DHS. HHS. I’ve been in the room, on the road, and behind the curtain for things most people only see on cable news. I ran comms campaigns across five continents for companies you’ve definitely heard of.
Then I built a pet care company from nothing to seven figures — while my body was trying to quit on me in ways I couldn’t talk about yet. When it finally forced the conversation, I exited.
Now I coach business owners. I write. I started saying things on TikTok and online. Turns out people were listening. And I’m done pretending any of it was a straight line.
That’s why The Jenn Files exists.
I’m not here to sell you a course in the first paragraph. There are plenty of people doing that, and some of them are great at it.
I’m here because the stuff I actually know — the stuff that changed how I think about business, money, and resilience — doesn’t fit in a headline. It doesn’t fit in a 60-second video. And it definitely doesn’t fit in the version of my story that looks good on LinkedIn.
The real version includes building something while everything around me was falling apart. It includes navigating systems that don’t care whether you make it or not. It includes learning — the hard way — what it actually takes to go from nothing to something when there’s no safety net and nobody’s coming to save you.
The real version includes being two weeks into a hospital stay after emergency life-saving surgery, IVs in both arms, propped up on pillows on my stomach so I could get my laptop open and make sure payroll got run. My doctor and team walked in the next morning and said, “I heard you were busy working last night.” I told her the truth — it’s not my team’s fault I’m in the hospital. They still need to get paid.
That’s the version I’m going to write about here.
I built a seven-figure company on one principle: ‘elevate the care’ and the business grows. That’s true whether you’re talking about clients, customers, or the furry ones. That principle drives everything I write about.
Some of it will be about business. Real business — not motivational quotes over sunset photos. How to actually build operations that don’t fall apart when you’re not in the room. How to see what’s hiding in your numbers before it becomes a crisis. How to stop being your own assistant and start being the CEO.
Some of it will be about money. Not theory. What I have learned building wealth, losing it, and understanding what financial freedom actually looks like when your back is against the wall.
And some of it will be about the stuff nobody wants to say out loud. The parts of entrepreneurship, government, and life that get sanitized for public consumption. I’m not interested in the sanitized version anymore.
Born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa — immensely proud of strong Midwest values. Dyslexic and didn’t know it until college. Licensed pilot. Fourteen surgeries, a fight for my life, and still here. Built from nothing. Rebuilt from less.
People who know me will tell you I’m the person you want in the foxhole. I will always find a way to figure it out, fight my way back, and keep moving. Grit should be my middle name — and honestly, at this point, it kind of is.
I don’t have all the answers. But I have a perspective that was earned, not manufactured. And I think it’s worth sharing.
So that’s what this is. The Jenn Files. No filter. No fluff. Just what I’ve learned from building, breaking, and rebuilding — at every level.
If that sounds like something you want to read, subscribe. If not, no hard feelings. I’ll still be here.
Welcome to the file.
— Jenn
If this resonated, subscribe to The Jenn Files. I write about business, money, resilience, and grit — cutting through the noise so you can build something that can’t be broken.