Welcome to the noise before the change.
Jull
Hey,
I’m Jull – the voice behind ash’n’soil. Based in Europe, writing from a place of fire and fatigue.
This isn’t just a blog.
It’s a digital uprising. A protest in pixels. A space carved out of frustration and fierce love—for justice, for the planet, for everyone who's been told to stay quiet.
✹ Here’s what you’ll find here:
Unfiltered thoughts. Feminism beyond branding. Takedowns of patriarchal bullshit. Loud solidarity with animals and marginalized people.
Climate rage that doesn’t ask for permission.
Poetry when words aren’t enough.
Resistance when silence feels like betrayal.
There’s no "neutral" here.
Not when fascism gains ground.
Not when corporations bleed the earth dry.
Not when people are suffering for someone else’s profit.
So if you’re tired of pretending everything's fine—
If your heart beats faster when you read the word solidarity—
If you believe that art can be radical and resistance can be quiet or loud—
Welcome.
This is your place, too.
No ads. No algorithms. Just words, real ones.
If you want to stay in touch, sign up for the newsletter.
If not—come back when the world feels too quiet.
Love + rage,
Jull
We’re starting in 2025, but it began with the dawn of human history.
A little intro—why did I start this blog?
Like with many people who devote themselves to these themes and feel the urge to create something in response, a lot has happened.
In childhood, in youth—and most of all, deep in the heart.
This blog is the result of years of reflection, frustration, and the unshakable feeling that silence is no longer an option.
So, what happened?
Short answer: Life.
Long answer:
My life was assumed by the life of my mothers, hers by her mothers, and so on and on and on. But why didn't stopped anyone years ago?
Because 'It was always like that - we know it - why should we change it.' Okay. Fuck it up by now.
Start it
I was born into a patchwork family. The last one for my father, the first one for my mother.
The first constant in my life—then and now—has been moving.
As a child, I lived in different places, each one taking a small piece of my heart.
People left their marks on me like cigarette burns—sometimes in good ways, sometimes in bad.
What stayed with me through it all was a deep longing… just to be.
I was never the one with lots of friends—more like the one with wild ideas.
The odd one.
It took me a long time to understand that this wasn’t something negative,
but rather a reflection of my nature and personality.
I’ve started and left behind many different paths and trainings,
always driven by the deep need to find out who or what I am.
My mum and I never had an easy relationship,
but even she—like me—is here on this planet for the first time,
living this life, learning as she goes.
But—she gave me one incredibly important compass in life.
One that probably plays a big part in why I’m writing these words right now:
Don’t make yourself dependent.
On anyone. Not on any man.
Create it yourself—or have enough to pay others to help you.
I don’t have enough.
So, I create it myself.
The beginning of beeing difficult
Like most of us, I was always searching for a sense of safety.
Safety in my mother’s arms, in trying to please people—like going to church on Sundays just to be the sweet little girl.
Even as a child, I used my children’s Bible like some kind of tool for prophecy.
But my favorite book at the time? Ghosts and Haunted Castles.
Yeah… I know. Weird.
At the same time, I had to cover up all my stuffed animals before going to sleep—because otherwise, it just wouldn’t be fair.
Even back then, I had this strong inner sense of what was fair… and what was just complete bullshit.
When, at some point in my childhood, a new person entered my mom’s life,
I knew immediately that he would be the beginning of a downfall—for all of us.
Spoiler: I was right.
Something inside me broke.
I was no longer the sweet, obedient child.
I became “difficult.”
I started speaking my mind, sharing how I felt—even if no one listened.
But I stayed difficult.
And this kind of story repeated itself in my life what felt like a thousand times:
People-pleasing → breakdown → difficult → repeat.
Until one day, I felt this untamed rage inside me—
and a calling I could no longer ignore.
The family thing
When I finally managed to break out of that childhood cycle of bullying and toxic people,
I found a small sense of inner freedom.
Like the reason Ken never slept next to Barbie,
and why Barbie always had tons of best friends in my childhood bedroom.
I felt this strong pull toward women—
those lips, those eyes, that energy.
Okay, I’m drifting off.
Anyway, I discovered—once again—that I was “a bit more difficult” for this society.
And also for my family,
which hit something deep inside me.
That was the next big turning point:
my family couldn’t live with me.
So I needed a new one—
people who could feel my heart.
I went on a journey.
Inside myself, and out in the world.
I found scattered pieces of my heart in people—
including one special kind of family.
There was someone… a kind of mom for my heart.
She doesn’t walk this world with us anymore,
but I carry her—literally close to my heart—
every day since she left.
I found people who pushed me to grow.
People who reminded me that breaking was not an option.
That standing still and looking back was never meant for me.
I had connections, tears, laughter, shattered heart fragments—
but inside it all, I had me.
And when no one believed in me,
I gave myself the inner kick I needed to keep going.
Family.
It changes you.
It can catch you.
It can make you grow.
And sometimes in the most painful, soul-tearing ways imaginable.
With that growth, I also found my way back to my sisters.
A kind of sister wound finally began to heal.
They are wonderful. Brilliant.
I love them.
And by that I don’t just mean my sisters by blood—
but also the ones I’ve chosen to carry with me, fully and deeply.
Changing my inner path
So many things in my life have changed again and again.
But it was only through the things that stayed
that I slowly began to understand what really matters to me.
Against all rational thought—and despite my mother’s frustrated outbursts—
I knew I wanted to bring more into this world
than just the illusion of a perfect person.
I wanted to help. To make an impact.
And I did—and still do—
whenever I feel it’s needed.
Punks with dogs on a country road?
That means water and dog food.
Two orphaned kittens?
That means time—every hour bottle-feeding them.
A stranger’s child falling off a scooter?
That means stopping, being present, offering comfort.
Someone confused by the bottle deposit system?
That means staying calm, explaining it kindly,
wishing them a good day—and truly meaning it.
When I moved into my first house in my early twenties,
it was full of animals.
We basically had a cat rescue.
Though in reality, it was all animals—
including a pigeon living in the bathroom.
Messy, huh?
But it felt right.
At least for that moment in my life.
I was never the one who wanted to be seen for those things.
That part was always filled in by others.
Even today, I don’t want to be seen by the masses.
I want to be felt.
To be continued. -xoxo
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