Welcome to the Social Sisterhood!
Where the women gather who don’t fit and no longer want to. The wild ones who want the choice – over their time, their work, their rhythm, their life!
This is where you’ll find all the learnings I learned the unromantic way, how you can use technology to your advantage and make your female cycle your superpower. Plus the occasional funny story from somewhere off a highway.
Let’s build your wild life, sis! 🌼
Whoops…Turns out you can build a life that fits you.
Hey, I’m Jasmin Elliott.
And I broke out of every system to build my own.
Same vision since I was 19. The route? Flexible.
Okay, full disclosure: I never had a plan.
I had a vision – stubborn, ridiculous, carrying it since I was nineteen. The route? Adjusted along the way. Every single time.
I was four, staring at the horizon from the balcony in the Bavarian village I grew up in, when my mum first thought to herself she’d lost me to the world. She was right. Neither of us expected how many things I’d have to break on the way out, though.
First in my family to attend university, on a student loan. Handing out newspapers at fourteen, factory floor at sixteen, kitchenhand throughout high school to make ends meet, counted potatoes later so rent would add up. No entrepreneurial blood, no connections, no trust fund. Just an internal voice insisting there has to be something else.
Halfway through uni, I went looking. New York first (bedbugs, mice and cockroaches as roommates – peak twenty-one, ten out of ten, would do again). Then Buenos Aires, where I cried on the plane back because nobody had told me life could feel that wide.
After uni, I applied everywhere on the planet. Berlin took me. I left so fast, I almost forgot to pack.
Built a career in copywriting and content marketing strategy over ten plus years, working with international brands from Jägermeister to VW. I was good. And I was also being eaten alive.
Then 2020 hit. My “safe” job as marketing manager in the festival industry collapsed in a week. And so I jumped: fully self-employed, mid-pandemic, with zero net.
And you wouldn’t believe it: It worked. Embarrassingly well. I wrote my first 17k invoice and stared at the number like it was a typo.
So I kept going like crazy. Until I overdid it: Two laptops, two meetings at once, the camper I’d just built parked outside. Free, technically. Chained, actually.
So I broke that too. Again.
Fast forward 2.5 years, through many detours and learnings, I work three days a week. Sometimes not for months. Drove my self-converted camper van through Morocco and up to the North Cape. Crashed my way through learning to ride a motorcycle in Georgia (passed on the second try — pure rage at toxic masculinity is, turns out, an excellent driving instructor). Right now, somewhere across Australia on my first motorcycle, solo, because waiting for somebody to come with me is a waste of time. And when my family needed me, I went back for months and took care of them while the business… kept running. Two hearts, beating at once. Roots and wings, not roots or wings.
That’s what I call Rooted Freedom.
Here’s what I’ve learned, the hard and unromantic way: you don’t need an entrepreneurial family, a six-figure savings account, or anybody’s permission to build a life that fits you.
You need a vision you’re not willing to negotiate on and a route you’re willing to rewrite as often as it takes. That’s it. That’s the whole secret. Everybody who told me otherwise was either scared themselves or selling something.
I was the woman nobody listened to for a very long time. I had to become my own role model because there wasn’t one in the room.
So now I’m the one in the room. For the women coming up behind me, around me, alongside me. The ones who feel that same stubborn voice that I felt at nineteen. The ones who know something has to give but aren’t sure what or how. The ones who don’t want to live in a backpack forever, but also don’t want to keep performing a life that’s slowly killing them. The ones who want the choice — to work afternoons instead of mornings, to be home when their kid is home, to live six months in one place and six months on the road, or to do something nobody’s yet invented a word for.
That’s who I’m here for. That’s what I built the Social Sisterhood for.
If something in this story made your spine sit up a little straighter, start here.
Everything I wish someone had handed me at 19.
Your turn.
