By: Dianté Marigny
Joni Jaeger Reed is the kind of woman whose presence turns heads. She’s a stylish, radiant woman born and raised in Harlingen, Texas. I met Joni two years ago, and I noticed she has a way of lighting up a room—bright clothes, brighter smile, the kind of personality that lingers long after she leaves. But lately, Joni feels invisible. Alone. Broken.
She walks the beaches of South Padre Island, a place she’s loved since childhood, looking for something—peace, clarity, or maybe just herself. What she often finds instead are broken seashells, scattered across the sand, pieces most people step right over. But Joni sees something different. She sees potential. She sees herself.
“I pick them up,” she told me during our conversation, “and I make them beautiful again.”
That’s what she’s been doing lately—creating stunning, soulful art using the broken shells she collects. She presses them into wooden crosses, arranges them into intricate frames, and turns each forgotten piece into something whole. “This artwork keeps me sane,” she said. “When I look at my shell creations, I think—it means unbroken. That I’m not broken at all.”
But she doesn’t say it like she fully believes it. Because behind Joni’s luminous exterior is a woman carrying a heavy weight of grief and pain.
In July 2022, she lost her father. A year later, in July 2023, Joni lost her grandmother—her safe place, her guiding light. And from that point on, she says, everything began to unravel.
Her 15-year marriage, once a source of comfort, now feels fragile—like they’re holding onto each other by a thin, fraying thread. “It seems broken, too,” she said quietly, her voice trailing off. The grief didn’t just take her loved ones; it’s seeped into her home, her relationship, her every day.
Her health has taken a hit—she’s lost 70 pounds, not by choice, but because the sadness has taken her appetite. “I can’t even eat,” she said quietly. “I didn’t try. I just kept losing.”
What people see on the outside doesn’t match what she feels on the inside. “Everyone always compliments me,” she said, “but I don’t feel that way about myself.” The disconnect is dizzying. “Sometimes I don’t even know whether I’m coming or going,” she admitted. “My grandmother was my purpose. And now that she’s gone, I just… I don’t know anymore.”
She described herself as like a boxer, bloodied and bruised, but still standing. “I keep getting up,” she said. “And I keep getting up. And I keep getting up.” But the blows keep coming.
There have been dark moments—very dark ones. “Sometimes I feel like walking into the ocean and never coming back,” she confessed. “I need a break. I need someone to fix me. To make me beautiful again.”
But even as she says that, she keeps creating. Keeps collecting the broken shells. Keeps reminding herself that being shattered by life doesn’t mean you’re worthless. Doesn’t mean you don’t belong.
“Just because you’re broken doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful,” she told me. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be part of something. Doesn’t mean you can’t be whole again.”
It’s what she’s learning through her art: that healing doesn’t always mean fixing. Sometimes, it just means seeing the value in what others might toss aside. And if no one else will do it, Joni will pick up the pieces herself.
She always has.
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