Sisterhood: Why We Need More of It

Sisterhood: Why We Need More of It

Sisterhood has been on my mind a lot lately, especially as I’m sculpting my latest series dedicated to women. And I’ve been pondering what it means and why it’s so important. 

So, here’s a story.

Some years ago, I worked alongside a woman who, for all intents and purposes, should have been my ally. We were both excelling in our respective roles, navigating a male-dominated industry, and balancing life’s chaos. It should’ve been the perfect setup for mutual respect and collaboration. Instead, we clashed.

I felt ignored and undervalued, sensing that my knowledge and experience threatened her. I didn’t handle it well. Instead of reaching out or seeking understanding, I let resentment take hold. I’m guilty of what I call “sister bashing.” I didn’t lift her up; I let my frustration boil and may have vented to others when I should have managed the situation better.

Looking back, I see how that dynamic undermined both of us. Feeling disrespected, I responded in kind. But what did I gain from it? A fleeting sense of superiority? A false belief that I was protecting my worth? In the end, it left me feeling smaller, not stronger.

Why Sisterhood Matters

In working America, the dynamic between women can be fraught with unspoken tensions. We’re told to fight harder, climb faster, and prove ourselves in ways men never do. Yet, instead of forming alliances, we sometimes turn that fight inward and against each other. But sisterhood, especially in the workplace, is a necessity. Women in male-dominated fields face unique challenges—proving ourselves, securing a seat at the table, and navigating biases. 

Instead of supporting one another, we might find ourselves caught up in competition or letting ego diminish one another. This mindset, where we view each other as threats instead of allies, can be toxic. Feeling the constant need to prove ourselves smarter or more capable than our peers isn’t just misguided; it’s harmful. We face enough self-doubt without needing to criticize each other.

Here’s the truth: we’re stronger together. The more we support each other, the higher we all rise. Sisterhood in the workplace means cheering each other on, advocating for one another, and realizing that someone else’s knowledge or success doesn’t diminish our own.

Sisterhood in Friendship

This isn’t just about work; sisterhood is equally vital in our personal lives. Think about the women who’ve shown up for you—a friend who listened without judgment, a neighbor who stepped in during tough times, or even a stranger who offered a kind word when you needed it most.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I discovered a sisterhood I hadn’t fully realized existed. It came in many forms—daily check-ins to ensure I was okay, rides to appointments, taking turns to sit with me after surgery so I never felt alone, and even taking care of my yard when I couldn’t! These acts of kindness meant the world to me, and I’ll never forget the love shown.

Sisterhood in action.

There were also those from afar—friends and past colleagues—who reached out. Some shared their own stories of survival, offering solidarity that only comes from shared experience. Others sent words of encouragement, checked in, or let me know I was in their thoughts.

These experiences reshaped my understanding of friendship. They showed me the power of sisterhood, reminding me that no matter how independent we think we are, we’re stronger together. My friendships have both rekindled and deepened, rooted in a trust and vulnerability I hadn’t fully appreciated before.

Choosing Sisterhood

I won’t pretend I’ve always gotten it right. I’m not the best at regular check in’s and would like to do better. And there have been times when ego or hurt feelings made me want to lash out– and times when I have. But through experience and life lessons, I know that taking the high road feels so much better.

Cancer, in particular, reshaped my perspective, teaching me that life’s too short to let pride or competition overshadow meaningful connections, and opening my eyes as to what’s most important. Now, I try to approach relationships with more grace and generosity.

Sisterhood isn’t just about survival; it’s about thriving—together. It’s about creating a world where women celebrate and support each other without hesitation or fear. A world where we lift each other up instead of tearing each other down.

I’m still learning and growing in this journey of life, and sisterhood. I’ve stumbled, and I’ll probably stumble again. But I’m committed to it because I’ve seen the power of women supporting women. When we show up for each other, we all rise.

When Anxiety Strikes: Turning Fear into Strength

When Anxiety Strikes: Turning Fear into Strength

The morning of December 31 greeted me with a jolt of anxiety, a suffocating presence that woke me with a racing heart. My chest felt heavy, my mind filling with "worries," and I could sense the day spiraling into a mental battle before it had even begun. It wasn’t paralyzing, but it was enough to change my plans for the morning.

You see, I was going to a New Year’s party that evening. Sure, it was with dear friends, but there would also be people I didn’t know, which could equate to small talk, of which I’d rather stick my finger in a light socket. I’m awkward and not good at it.

I would define myself as an introverted extrovert. Meaning, I’m most happy at home. I don’t socialize a lot and often dread going out.  But once I get out, things change and I usually do ok, so long as I’m with friends. Still, having anxiety 12-plus hours before the event felt overwhelming and unjustified—why was I already so keyed up over something that should be fun?

While the hours leading up to the party were full of reasons to back out, I pulled up my big girl pants and went and I’m so glad I did. It was so fun to get together with friends, make new ones, and I enjoyed every minute of it. You see, it wasn’t ME that was dreading anything; it was that often debilitating thing called anxiety.

I consider myself a very blessed person for numerous reasons, one being that I never experienced anxiety until my 40s, when my hormones began to change. Yes, perimenopause. And once I knew what was happening, I couldn’t imagine dealing with this my entire life. It’s horrible, and I have deep empathy for anyone who suffers from anxiety.

For me, it often began in the early hours of the morning. I’d wake up around 4 or 4:30 with a sickening feeling of impending doom. The only way to describe it was like an invisible weight pressing down on me. I’d immediately get out of bed and start pacing. With a cup of coffee in hand, I’d walk laps around my house, convinced that something bad was coming. Of what? I had no idea, but the feeling was relentless. This pacing would go on until it was time to get ready for work. Exercise would have been ideal, but the stress often made it necessary for me to stay near a bathroom. Pushing weights or bending into yoga poses would not be wise, if you know what I mean. Within a few hours, the sensation would subside and I could function, but those early morning hours were agonizing.

It took me time to seek help, and when I finally saw a doctor, I started with a thirty-something OB-GYN. Convinced that hormones were the root cause, I thought hormone therapy might offset my perimenopausal changes. Instead, she chuckled, said I was seeing the wrong doctor, and referred me to a mental health professional. I was shocked and frustrated. After all, wasn’t the root cause hormonal? Shouldn’t estrogen therapy fix the problem? I felt dismissed and old, as if my concerns weren’t fully heard or understood. But it wasn’t just about finding a solution—it was about feeling validated in my struggle, and at that moment, I didn’t.

Fast forward a few more years—full-on menopause, a pandemic, and plenty of life changes—and I’m now a “highly experienced anxiety professional.” I’ve dealt with several forms: panic attacks (impending doom), social anxiety, and generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) triggered by life—things like in-office team meetings, rising bills, political turmoil, women’s freedoms, etc. Now toss in a dash of OCD, a handful of PTSD, stir it all together, and you get a glimpse of my reality. But I know I’m not alone.

Anxiety disorders are twice as likely to affect women, with the weight of societal expectations, hormonal changes, and trauma compounding the challenge. The numbers are growing, reflecting the mounting pressures women face in a world that often demands resilience without offering adequate support.

For women, major causes of anxiety often include:

Stress. As workers, partners, caregivers, and friends, we often find ourselves juggling responsibilities that leave little room for self-care. 

The fear of losing control. Whether dealing with health issues, being in an unhealthy  relationship, or battling financial struggles—can feel paralyzing. 

Hormones. From puberty to post-menopause (aka forever), the hormonal changes can amplify feelings of unease, often leaving us questioning our own emotional stability. 

Trauma that can manifest as PTSD. Often triggered by life events, toxic relationships, even sounds and smells can cause anxiety that feels impossible to escape. 

So, how do we combat this relentless angst? Here are my coping mechanisms:

1. Exercise: Whether sweating on the bike, lifting weights, or hiking trails, this is my #1 go-to for managing anxiety. When I skip regular exercise, I feel it creeping back.

2. Recognizing triggers: Try to plan for them when possible, to minimize their impact.

3. Living a healthy lifestyle: A balanced diet, consistent sleep schedule, and mindfulness make a huge difference.

4. Surrounding myself with positivity: Healthy friendships and supportive, loving people help me stay grounded.

5. Advocating for myself: I’m learning to set boundaries and prioritize my needs.

6. Medication: While I can no longer take hormone therapy due to my breast cancer type, I am on anxiety meds and they DO help.

As I reflect on my life’s journey, I can see how every bend and scar has shaped me into who I am today. Anxiety, like the storms that leave marks on trees, can feel overwhelming, but it also teaches resilience. It forces us to adapt, grow, and find strength we didn’t know we had. Whether through creating art, building community, or simply taking time for self-care, we find ways to thrive. And that is the essence of being human—being rooted, resilient, and willing to grow.

So, if you’re struggling, know this: you’re not alone. Like the trees I sculpt, you have the strength to weather any storm. Bend, don’t break—and remember to honor your journey.

Reference: https://www.fda.gov/consumers/womens-health-topics/women-and-anxiety

How I Learned That No Is a Complete Sentence

How I Learned That No Is a Complete Sentence

Do you ever hear that tiny voice in your head whispering, “Just say no…” only to ignore it and say yes instead? I’ve done it more times than I care to admit. It’s as if the word “no” is stuck somewhere in my throat, replaced by a reflexive “yes,” even when every fiber of my being is screaming otherwise.

The first time I remember crossing my own boundaries was in fifth grade. A girl in my class asked to borrow my favorite pen—the 3-in-one pen with blue, green, and red ink tabs that made every homework assignment look like an art project. I didn’t want to lend it to her, but I also didn’t want her to think I was stingy. So, I handed it over with a smile and spent the rest of the day sad and broken. When she didn’t give it back, I never even asked for it. Why? Because I didn’t want to seem “pushy.” Even at 10 years old, I’d already internalized the belief that it was better to make someone else happy than risk upsetting them by standing up for myself.

Unfortunately, this pattern followed me into adulthood, where the stakes became much higher. Sure, I’ve learned a lot since fifth grade, but even now, there are moments when I overextend myself—agreeing to things I don’t have time for or saying “yes” just to avoid conflict. And as I’m sure a lot of you know, it can be exhausting.

Why is it so hard for women to set boundaries? We’re taught, consciously or unconsciously, to be people pleasers. From a young age, we hear phrases like, “Share,” “be kind,” or “Don’t hurt their feelings.” We learn that being liked often means being accommodating, agreeable, and self-sacrificing. Add to that the societal expectation that women should be caretakers and nurturers, and it’s no wonder we struggle to say no. And don’t forget about “keeping up with the Joneses” complex. Super Mom down the street can juggle it all, so why can’t I? Or, the boss expects it so I must comply.

But here’s the thing: saying yes when we really want to say no comes with a cost. Every time we ignore our boundaries, we chip away at our energy, our self-respect, and even our health. We overcommit and end up stretched so thin that there’s nothing left for ourselves. We carry resentment for the things we’ve agreed to but didn’t want to do. And perhaps worst of all, we teach people that it’s okay to expect too much from us because we’ve shown them that we’ll always comply.

This is both at home and in the workforce, and I learned this the hard way (as I do with nearly everything in life). Shortly after starting my last corporate stint, a co-worker approached me in the hall and informed me that, “This company will push you as far as you let them.” Oh my, was she ever right.

At first, the long hours didn’t bother me—I felt respected and energized by the creative people I worked with. But after our business was acquired and the management team replaced, everything changed. Suddenly, more responsibilities piled onto my plate, and with most of my OG teammates gone, there were just a couple of us left to juggle it all. I kept smiling and assuring everyone, “No problem!” while secretly wondering how I’d survive. The stress took a toll on my health, but I ignored the warning signs, believing that getting the job done and proving my worth was all that mattered. 

When I was eventually laid off to free up budget for sponsorships, the harsh truth hit me: constantly feeling the need to prove myself/not disappoint had been the wrong choice. What I really needed was to take care of me. It was time to put myself first, because no one else was going to do it for me. And then came the cancer diagnosis—so yeah, it had to become all about me.

Setting boundaries isn’t about being selfish; it’s about self-preservation. It’s about recognizing that your time, energy, and well-being are just as valuable as anyone else’s. When you set boundaries, you’re not only protecting yourself but also teaching others how to treat you. You’re saying, “I respect myself enough to say no, and I expect you to respect that too.”

Of course, it’s not always easy. Boundaries can make people uncomfortable, especially if they’re used to you saying yes all the time. You might face pushback, guilt trips, or even anger. But that awkwardness is temporary, and it’s a small price to pay for the long-term benefits of living a life that aligns with your values and needs.

Now, when I’m faced with a decision, I ask myself this question: Am I saying yes because I want to, or because I feel like I have to? If it’s the latter, I remind myself that it’s okay to say no. I’ve learned that “no” is a complete sentence—I don’t need to explain or justify it (although I still often do). And the more I practice, the easier it gets.

So, to every woman reading this: let’s stop apologizing for setting boundaries. Let’s stop putting everyone else’s needs above our own. Let’s learn to say no without guilt and yes without resentment. Because when we respect our own limits, we’re not only taking care of ourselves—we’re setting an example for the women (and children) around us. And that’s a gift worth giving.

Do you ever wish you could take your head off—or is it just me?

Do you ever wish you could take your head off—or is it just me?

I was exhausted the other night. After several nights of not enough sleep, I went to bed early, hoping for deep, restful zzz’s. I called the four-leggers, Clyde and Stella, into the bedroom, and we all crashed hard.

The next thing I know, I’m shooting out of bed at 6 a.m., yanked out of REM sleep by a dream where I really needed to pee, but all the public restrooms were gross. (We’ve all been there, right?) I made it to the bathroom just in time, but when I stumbled into the kitchen, I felt anything but refreshed—foggy, dizzy (thanks, cancer meds), and more drained than when I went to sleep.

Desperate for answers, I checked my sleep app. It said I’d spent nine hours in bed and had FOUR HOURS and THIRTY-SIX MINUTES of REM sleep. Seriously? No wonder I woke up feeling like I’d run a marathon in my dreams.

As I sat with my large cup of coffee, I started thinking about how relentless my brain is. How many tabs do you think are open in your mind right now? Five? Ten? For me, it’s one endless string of chatter—unfinished to-do lists, worries, “what-ifs,” and random ideas I file away in the mental warehouse for later. Some days, it’s like there’s a whole team of editors in my brain replaying awkward seventh-grade moments or that not so appropriate thing I said at a party that one time.

It’s exhausting. And there are days when I wish I could just pop my head off, set it on a shelf, and walk around without all the noise inside it. Wouldn’t that be peaceful? Just leave behind the swirling thoughts and worries for a little while and wander through the day in blissful silence.

I swear men already have this superpower. Not to generalize, but they seem to have a knack for compartmentalizing—putting their thoughts into neat little boxes, sealing the lids, and leaving them untouched for hours, maybe days. Or, let’s be honest, weeks. Meanwhile, women’s brains refuse to take a break, constantly buzzing with everything we should be doing or haven’t done yet.

For women, finding peace takes effort. It means stepping back from the chaos, allowing ourselves to tune out the noise, and giving ourselves permission to just be. It’s not selfish; it’s essential. To keep giving, we need to be whole—and sometimes that means stopping long enough to remember how to care for ourselves.

For me, that peace shows up in small, sacred moments. Most days, it’s the hum of good music as my hands shape clay, and my mind finally quiets. Other days, it’s going for a hike,, and letting the mountains and vast scenery remind me that the world is bigger than my worries.

It’s not easy to reclaim this time, and guilt often tries to sneak in. But I’m learning that when we give ourselves space to rest and heal, we emerge stronger, refreshed, and more grounded. The world can wait—it always does. And when we’re ready, we return with the strength and calm we need to face whatever comes next.

So maybe I can’t physically pop my head off (although wouldn’t that be nice?), but I can find ways to quiet the noise. And if you’re reading this, I hope you give yourself that same gift. Take a deep breath. Close the tabs in your mind. Take care of you. The world will still be there when you’re ready—but you’ll be stronger for it.

Beyond Strength: What It Really Means When a Woman Bends but Doesn’t Break

Beyond Strength: What It Really Means When a Woman Bends but Doesn’t Break

One of the greatest strengths of being a woman, I believe, is our ability to feel deeply. I learned this first hand as I fought my battle with breast cancer. It’s a life event where you have to allow yourself to feel. If you stifle the emotions one would likely suffocate from the weight and worry of it all. It was part of the process to accept this life changing event and to build the strength to get through it. And as women, we don’t shy away from our emotions; instead, we embrace them as a source of resilience and energy that carries us through life. Our joy, our love, our sorrow, and even our anger—they’re all part of what makes us who we are. But this openness comes with struggles, too. Feeling deeply is a double-edged sword, a strength that also leaves us exposed to the weight of our own vulnerabilities.

We are woven with empathy and compassion, yet this openness often brings us face-to-face with sorrow. We love with intensity, and when loss hits, it strikes with a force. And in those moments, others may see our tears and mistake them for weakness. But in that pain, we find resilience because we are resilient. We rise, not because it’s easy, but because our hearts—no matter how wounded—are still able to give, to feel, to grow once more. We may bend, but we do not break. Even when we feel we’re broken, we find a way to heal.

And yet, society often misunderstands the strength in our emotions. If we’re expressive and allow ourselves to feel, we’re labeled as “too emotional”, or seen as “an annoyance”, or even “unstable.” Our natural responses to life—be it sadness, joy, anger, or fear—can be dismissed as “hormones” or reduced to “emotional baggage.” How many times have we been told to “calm down” or had our feelings downplayed as irrational, or simply dismissed? There’s this perception that having feelings somehow weakens our credibility or makes us “a hassle” to deal with. And that judgment is a weight that we quietly carry.

But our emotions are not a weakness, and they’re certainly not baggage. They’re a testament to the depths we are willing to go, the courage to face our vulnerabilities head-on, and the willingness to engage with life wholeheartedly. Feeling deeply isn’t about losing control, or being weak; it’s about allowing ourselves to fully experience life’s spectrum, and in doing so, we grow stronger. We transform pain into strength, sadness into compassion, joy into hope—and we carry on.

This understanding helped inspire my current series of sculptures depicting women as trees– rooted, complex and exposed. Trees stand tall and resilient, but they carry their scars, branches bent or broken from past storms. Like trees, we grow in every direction, grounded by our experiences. We carry the scars of what we’ve been through, and those marks are proof of our strength.

These sculptures are a tribute to every woman who has faced the world with her heart wide open. Yes, we feel deeply, and yes, it can hurt. But through those feelings, we find resilience. We bend, but we do not break. And that is the beauty—and the power—of being a woman.

"Rushing Less, Living More: My Path to Patience Through Cancer and Pottery"

Rushing Less, Living More: My Path to Patience Through Cancer and Pottery

Patience.
Noun: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

It’s funny how much weight that word carries. “Patience.” Something I’ve never naturally possessed. I’ve always been someone who, once I decide I want something—a new purchase, a trip, an experience—I want it immediately. The whole idea of “waiting” seems unnecessary, almost a roadblock. And why wait when you can just make things happen, right?

That mindset didn’t always mesh well with my marriage. We couldn’t agree on much—let alone make decisions quickly. Everything felt like a drawn-out negotiation. Something simple like buying towels? An ordeal. Picking out paint colors? Forget it. It’s no surprise that we rarely got anything done. But that’s a whole other Oprah story, as they say.

After my divorce, I finally experienced the relief of making decisions on my own terms. It felt liberating. The first project I tackled was finishing my basement, a task that had been on hold for way too long. And let me tell you—it was so easy. I picked out the flooring in minutes, didn’t have to consult anyone on paint colors, and I even bought a couch online without ever sitting on it. (Okay, in hindsight, not the most logical move, but it turned out to be a great couch!). The whole thing was done in record time. Bing, bang, boom. Finished. And I loved it. The best part? I did it all myself.

That experience reinforced my belief in action and decisiveness. It felt good to move fast and make things happen. But as I’ve come to learn, not everything in life moves that quickly—and sometimes, things that take time are worth the wait. Well, I’m still learning this.

I first really had to learn patience after my cancer diagnosis. They say the hardest part of cancer isn’t always the treatment—it’s the beginning. The endless tests, the waiting, the uncertainty. Those days were some of the longest of my life. Aimlessly wondering. Moving from one room to another and just standing there, unable to function while I waited… for more tests, more results, trying to prepare for something that’s impossible to fully prepare for. I had no control and no way to speed things up. It was torture. But the reality was, I had no choice. I had to wait. I had to let things unfold in their own time, and that was a lesson I wasn’t ready for.

Even after the diagnosis, patience kept rearing its head. Healing takes time, no matter how badly you want to fast-forward through it. I remember hearing doctors say, “Three weeks to heal.” Then another three weeks. And then—three more weeks. Everything was in stages, stretched out farther than I’d imagined. My body had its own timeline and there was no way to rush it. Radiation didn’t help, either.

But it’s not just cancer that taught me this lesson—it’s been pottery too. Working with clay has been my therapeutic outlet, and it’s one area of my life where impatience is not an option. Clay has its own pace, and if you try to rush it, you’ll end up frustrated. The clay teaches you that there are moments when you just have to slow down and let things happen naturally. If it’s too wet, it won’t hold its shape. If it’s too dry, it’ll crack. You have to find the right balance, and that requires time and practice. There’s no shortcut. Believe me, I’ve tried more times than I care to admit.

I’m learning that patience isn’t just about waiting—it’s about respecting the process. Whether it’s healing from an illness, navigating a personal journey, or shaping a lump of clay, you can’t always force things to go faster. Sometimes the very act of slowing down, of giving things time to develop, leads to the best outcome.

Ironically, the things that require patience are often the things that end up being the most meaningful. The basement project, the cancer journey, my ceramics—all of them have taught me that patience isn’t about passively sitting around. It’s about being actively engaged in the waiting, in the process of becoming. It’s a balance between effort and surrender, knowing when to push forward and when to simply let time do its work.

So now, when I’m in my studio working with clay, I’m reminded of how much my perspective has shifted. Where I once thrived on getting things done fast, I’m learning to appreciate the slow, deliberate pace of some parts of life. I’m learning that not everything is meant to be rushed. And honestly, the results are often better when you take the time to let things unfold in their own way.

Patience may not have been something I was born with, but it’s something I’m learning— every single day.

From Corporate Creative to Just Creative: How Layoffs and Cancer Redirected My Life’s Purpose

From Corporate Creative to Just Creative: How Layoffs and Cancer Redirected My Life’s Purpose

The reality of things and a deeper dive 

In the three weeks between losing my job on February 6, 2023, and finding out I had breast cancer on March 3, 2023, I was making plans. 

After I overcame the shock of losing my job, and since I was given some severance, I thought, “Why not travel? Take a month off, regroup, and then get back into the job hunt.” That was the plan. A short break then back to corporate life. After all, I support myself, have a mortgage, two pets to spoil, and a not-so-cheap ceramics hobby—I had to keep my corporate career moving.

Then came the breast cancer diagnosis. So much for traveling. So much for that "refresh."

Before all this, my career path was pretty clear-cut. I started out as a graphic designer and worked my way to leading creative teams. I enjoyed mentoring, loved the peeps I’ve worked with, and I think my teams have appreciated me as their leader. I was good at what I did. I worked my ass off and all I’ve asked for in return from an employer was two things: trust and respect. That wasn’t always so easy to come by. 

After my diagnosis, I had some interactions with HR about my benefits. In fact, the day I learned I had cancer I contacted them in a complete panicked state, thinking, "Surely, they’ll have my back." After all, I wasn’t let go because of performance issues. I mean, for the 4 years I worked there we were considered family. Employees who became ill or had life events were greatly supported. So, of course, there’d be some level of support for me, right? Call me naive.

Let’s just say that was the beginning of my desire for a corporate hiatus, exit, adios amigos. Turns out, once you’re off the payroll, you’re just a number—if that.

That realization, plus a few other factors helped solidify my decision to pursue something entirely different. For starters, the corporate stress had taken a toll on me both physically and mentally. It was always the same thing: nothing was ever good enough, fast enough, creative enough. You’re expected to be the expert, but aren’t trusted as such. Everyone is out for themselves and the turnovers in leadership made for inconsistent job expectations, lack of understanding, and poor communication. This wasn’t just my experience, it is one many are faced with.

Corporate America has changed so much. The days of working for one company until retirement are long gone. Now, the two-year stint has become the norm, with “everyone” constantly chasing the next opportunity for a slight pay bump. Expectations are sky-high, compensation is stagnant, and loyalty is practically non-existent–on either side.

I remember laying on my couch, exhausted from radiation treatments, thinking, What if I had to work through this as so many do? I couldn’t do it. I’d have daily meltdowns. Would my body even heal?

Cancer shifted my priorities. It forced me to look at life differently. What used to seem urgent no longer holds the same weight. I started questioning what I really wanted from life, from my career, and how I wanted to spend my time. And my heart became softer. The money was nice but was it bringing me any happiness? This is my second chance—I didn’t want to pour all my time and energy into making someone else successful anymore—I wanted to invest in myself.

And now here I am—it’s been one year and 8 months (and 3 days, but who’s counting) since I got the boot from corporate life. And now, on my terms, I’m promoting myself, generating new creative ideas, making sculptures, vases, lots of octopuses, cool videos to promote them, and it’s working! It’s hard work, and sometimes it feels overwhelming but it’s also incredibly fulfilling. 

Still, there are big questions looming: Can I really make this work? What will my finances look like in a year? Will I still be happy, or stressed out? Will my passion sustain me, or will my bank account be on the decline? And if it does, what then? Do I go back to life as it was before with my tail between my legs? 

The uncertainty is real, but I don’t dwell. I stay positive, speak positive, I AM positive. And when I start to doubt, I exercise to clear my mind and sometimes I scroll through LinkedIn for a reminder of what could be and it lights a fire under me. For reals.

But one thing is for sure: I’m committed. I’m motivated. I’m in the driver's seat. And for the first time, it feels right. 

Breast Cancer: My Journey, My Wake-Up Call

Breast Cancer: My Journey, My Wake-Up Call

It’s October, which means it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month—so here’s your reminder: GET YOUR MAMMOGRAM! And while you’re at it, check yourself regularly. Seriously.

Now that we’ve covered that, I thought I’d share a bit of my story. It might be therapeutic for me, and hopefully, it’ll encourage someone else to take their health a little more seriously, too.

I always assumed the most difficult thing in life I’d have to conquer was my addiction to alcohol. Well, I was wrong.

I’m considered one of the “lucky ones” (is that even a thing?) because my cancer was caught relatively early—thanks to a mammogram. And no, I wasn’t that person who got them regularly. I was 54 when I was diagnosed, and I’d had maybe two or three mammograms in my life. My thought was, “Who’s got time. I’m healthy, I’ve got no family history, I’m not going to get breast cancer, what’s the worry?” Well, spoiler alert: it turns out, cancer doesn’t follow the script. 

My official diagnosis? Invasive Lobular Carcinoma, ER/PR+, Her2-. What does that even mean? I had no clue at first. But for anyone wondering, invasive lobular carcinoma means the cancer starts in the milk-producing glands (lobules) of the breast then breaks into the tissue and begins its death toll. ER/PR+ means the cancer cells have estrogen and progesterone receptors. Basically feeding off of estrogen and progesterone in the body.

The first tumor was found during a routine mammogram—I hadn’t felt any lumps, nor did my doctor. Things moved fast after that, appointments, appointments, and more appointments. I had more appointments in one week than I typically have in a full year – or two. They found a second tumor through an MRI, both were biopsied, and both cancer. I have no family history of breast cancer, so it hit me like a ton of bricks.

The first few weeks were terrifying. I didn’t tell my family right away - only my sister. I wanted to get all the facts, gather my courage, and keep it together before delivering that bomb… “Hi! I’ve got some news. So, I got laid off a few weeks ago and now I have breast cancer. How you doin?”

Eventually, I had surgery to remove the tumors. They took out three lymph nodes too, which thankfully tested negative for cancer. Radiation followed: 15 rounds, five days a week for three weeks. I also had an open wound issue from surgery that dragged on for six months and required two more procedures. I’ll spare you the details, but I’m finally healed.

Today, I’m considered cancer-free, but the treatments aren’t over. ER/PR positive cancers come with a 5-10 -year hormone therapy plan to block estrogen and lower the risk of recurrence. I have the 5-year plan. It’s no picnic—two different meds already wreaked havoc on my quality of life, so I stopped taking them. My body feels mostly back to normal now, but I meet with my oncologist soon to discuss starting a new drug, which, surprise, comes with more lovely side effects. More decisions. They make meds that are supposed to help you live longer but if they make you miserable is it worth it? 

Anyway. 

So what makes surviving breast cancer more difficult than overcoming alcoholism? When it comes to the booze, I’m in control. It’s my choice whether I drink or not, and it’s up to my own willpower to avoid it. Whereas cancer… I have no control. Yes, there are things I can do to help prevent its return– eating nutritious, natural foods, exercising regularly, staying physically and mentally strong, these things will definitely help. But really, if it wants to come back, it’s gonna come back. 

But you know what? Cancer won’t and hasn’t beat me. It has changed my life forever. Every day is a blessing, I am more present and full of gratitude. And as evil as cancer is, it forced me to slow down. It forced me to think and be with my own thoughts. It forced me to feel all of the emotions. And now, I feel like I’m in a better space, and that’s pretty cool. 

So, here’s my parting advice: Don’t put off your mammogram. Check yourself regularly. Cancer doesn’t wait for the right time, so you shouldn’t either. Trust me.

What Is a Normal Life Anyway?

What Is a Normal Life Anyway?

“I’d just like to live a normal life.”

How many times have I asked myself this? Is it just me, or are there more of us out there wondering the same thing? What does "normal" even mean? Because if we’re talking about the traditional definition—a married couple, two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence—that was never really part of my plan. I didn’t grow up with that strong paternal instinct–- I actually wanted to live a fast-paced corporate life as a creative executive at an ad agency. Oh my…

So I guess it comes down to comparison, doesn’t it? We see these snapshots of other people’s lives—on TV and social media, at our work, even in our own families—and we start to measure ourselves against them. "Am I missing something?" we ask. "Is this what it’s supposed to be like?" “Why aren’t I like that?” “What am I doing wrong?” 

For most of my adult life I’ve been measuring myself against this vague, societal idea of what a "normal" life should be, and, frankly, it’s exhausting. I look at others and wonder how they seem to have it all figured out, while my life feels more like a series of twists and turns. A destructive ‘marriage’, layoffs here, a health scare there… and one day I realize this path I’m on has had some dead ends. Not saying I’m not at fault for some of the wrong turns on this journey– because I’ll own it - I’ve made several poor choices over my years.

But, have I ever imagined my life going a certain way? Not really –I’ve always been a bit of a free spirit, —until the burning sage guided me straight into a whirlwind of challenges I never saw coming. For real! I saged my house for peace, prosperity, and to reject evil just two weeks before the total upheaval of my life. And any idea of "normal" was sucked right up the chimney. So now I’m finding my way again.

But here’s the thing: I don’t think many people are living that perfectly curated, "normal" life anyway. The more I talk with people, the more I realize that everyone has their own version of chaos, their own behind-the-scenes struggles, their own ‘crazy’. And we all seem to be asking the same question: "Am I doing life right?"

Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong question all along. Instead of seeking some sort of "normalcy," maybe it’s time to redefine what that even means for me. What if my version of normal is simply figuring out what makes me feel fulfilled and at peace, without comparing my life, my anything, to anyone else? 

Because when I strip away the comparisons, I realize that what I want isn’t to fit into a mold but to live a life that feels authentic to me. It might not look "normal" by traditional standards, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s more than okay. Maybe it’s just life—my life.

The Art of Juggling: Balancing Creativity and Business as a Solo Artist

The Art of Juggling: Balancing Creativity and Business as a Solo Artist

As a self-employed artist, I wear every hat—from CEO to Sales and marketing, to finance, and janitor. This gig isn't just about creating ceramics; it's about running a business and handling every moving part, all on my own.

If I had my way, I'd spend every day in my studio, lost in the clay and my music. But reality doesn't work that way. My tendency to immerse myself in creating means that I sometimes neglect the business side of things until things pile up. Before I know it, I’m spending entire days photographing, writing descriptions, setting prices (see blog), and managing inventory. Oh, and don’t forget the time spent packing orders, answering emails, and handling shipping logistics.

So yeah, time management and discipline is essential. I’ve learned that to keep the wheels turning, I need to carve out time for a little bit of everything each day. It requires constant balance, prioritization, and, sometimes, a bit of chaos. But the freedom to call my own shots? That’s worth every juggling act. I’m no longer being paid to help achieve someone else’s financial success under their rules and bylaws. I’m no longer worrying if I’m good enough, fast enough, smart enough, impressive enough. I’m no longer needing to be that person or speak that lingo. I can breathe again.

The freedom that comes with being my own boss is liberating. There are no office politics, no zoom meetings that could have been emails, and no one telling me how to spend my day or leading through fear. I set my own schedule and make decisions that align with my vision, morals, and ethics. But with that freedom comes the weight of responsibility. Every task falls on my shoulders, from managing finances to packaging orders, promoting my work, and, of course, creating the art itself. Oh yeah, and there’s the paycheck and insurance things. 

But despite the workload and unknowns, there's a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that everything I accomplish is a direct result of my own effort that comes from within. I hope that is reflected in my work.

What Am I Worth? Putting a Price on My Art and Myself

What Am I Worth? Putting a Price on My Art and Myself

How do you put a value on something as personal as your art? Pricing my work has been one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced since stepping into the world of self-employment. Where do you even begin? Defining an hourly rate feels impossible, and what’s considered “fair” can feel like a moving target. I’ve been an artist all my life, but translating that into a number still feels daunting.

And to be honest: determining the value of my work is about more than just numbers, it’s tied to my sense of self-worth - something I’ve wrestled with for years. In many ways, the struggle to price my art mirrors my personal journey of healing—from the physical and emotional toll of a 15-year relationship with a narcissist. It might sound dramatic, but that experience profoundly shaped my ability to see my own value. After years of being made to feel small, I couldn’t even recognize my worth, let alone put a price on something I created.

Healing from that relationship has been a long, difficult process. Rebuilding myself, piece by piece, hasn’t been easy and learning to value myself, not just as an artist but as a person, has been a major part of that journey. The experience of surviving breast cancer only added to that transformation. It forced me to focus inward, to prioritize myself for the first time in years. And while it has left lasting effects, it has also made me stronger—mentally and now physically.

So, when I price my art, it’s about more than just the market or the time I’ve spent on a piece. It’s about honoring the journey I’ve been on—the passion, the growth, and the healing that has shaped me. My art is a reflection of that, and placing a value on it means recognizing my own worth. It’s not just about what I create; it’s about the person I’ve become in the process.

Self-Promotion in the dopamine culture

When it comes to selling my ceramics, I currently use Etsy as my platform of choice. It offers buyers a sense of security with its guarantees, which makes people feel safer shopping there than on some lesser-known e-commerce sites. Etsy also claims to help bring in customers, but I’ve found that self-promotion has been the most effective strategy. As an artist, promoting myself has become just as important as creating the work itself.

Thankfully, I have a background in graphic design and marketing, which gives me a slight edge in crafting eye-catching content. But even with those skills, there’s one major challenge—our collective attention span is shrinking. In fact, the average watch time spent on a content clip on my Instagram account is just 3.4 seconds before they scroll on to the next. I can’t even get 5 seconds! That’s the reality of the world we live in, where dopamine culture reigns supreme.

Remember the days before smart phones, when life moved at a slower pace? Back then, people took their time to enjoy things—reading a paperback book, eating a meal without checking their phone, speaking verses texting, or even having uninterrupted conversations. But as technology has evolved, so has our relationship with time. Everything is a quick hit—tweets, texts, emojis, and bite-sized videos. We’re constantly bombarded with fast content, and now our brains crave that instant rush of novelty. Squirrel!!

This is the world we’re trying to market in now. People love to see the process behind my ceramics, but how do you capture a project that takes 8-16 hours to complete in a video that holds their attention for less than five seconds? It’s a real puzzle. I spend more time than I’d like editing, trimming, and speeding up footage to create bite-sized versions of my work. The goal? To grab people’s attention before they move on to the next thing in their never-ending scroll.

It's frustrating, for sure. But mastering the art of quick-hit videos this fast culture has become part of the job. Self-promotion, in our world of dopamine hits and quick scrolls, is almost as intricate as the sculptures themselves.

Did you make it to the end? If you did, I thank you!

Why a New Chapter? A Brief Backstory

How do you define the chapters of your life? For me, they fall into big, pivotal moments:

CH 1: Childhood — Just trying to grow up and fit in.
CH 2: My Drinking Years — Yep, a solid decade of heavy drinking (wrap college in there too), ending in rehab.
CH 3: Career, Marriage — Corporate life and a 15-year relationship with a narcissist.
CH 4: Life After Cancer — A new beginning.

Chapter 4 began on February 6, 2023, when I was laid off during an 8% company-wide reduction in force (RIF) due to "economic uncertainty"—or maybe it was because of that pro golf sponsorship announced a month later. You decide. It was my second layoff in four years, and it made me question why I give my all to companies that barely notice. In today’s world of constant layoffs, does job security even exist? It hit me hard: and didn’t take long to realized once you're off payroll, it feels like you no longer exist.

Three weeks after the layoff, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. That was a double whammy. The last year was a tough battle, and I had a lot of time to think and allow myself to feel. And while it was easy to spiral (too much thinking can do that), my ceramics became my therapist as I fought through all the things I was facing, and finding my way through all the unknowns.

Cancer has changed me. It shattered the illusion of invincibility I once had and made me realize the true value of friendship, kindness, happiness, and prioritizing my physical and mental health. It’s brought me back to the present and reminded me to be grateful for every day.

These life events have completely reshaped my priorities. Career and money no longer matter the way they used to. My art—ceramics—has become more than a creative outlet; it’s my meditation, my healing process, my passion, and it’s where I belong.

With this clarity, I’ve decided to make my hobby my career, and in July 2024, I officially launched my ceramics business under the studio name of Yo! be nice. I’m now a full-time artist. And for the first time, I feel like I’m truly in charge of my life.

A New Chapter in My Life's Story

Blog, blog, blog, you need to blog! That’s what everyone says if you want to optimize your website and improve its success. “Just blog!” But seriously, about what? I’ve started so many blogs, each filled with a spark of ambition… and I finished none of them. Well, except that one time I accidentally posted something without realizing it. Oops. Another lesson learned.

So here I am again, staring at this blank page, thinking I need to get all "artsy fartsy," maybe talk about my sculptures and how the environment totally drives my creativity. I could say that I hug trees, dance with the wind, and dive into the seas for inspiration. Except, yeah—that’s not me.

Honestly, my creativity doesn’t come from long meditations in the forest. It comes from within. I follow my hands, I follow my heart, and inspiration finds me—often in unexpected places. That’s the real truth. It’s a blessing, one I’m incredibly grateful for, but also one that’s just… me. Nothing too grand. Just my reality.

So what have I decided to blog about? Well, it turns out I’m in the midst of a pretty big life shift. I’ve hit the “new chapter” button on my life story and it feels like I ought to share it. Maybe putting it out there will not only help me process, but maybe—just maybe—it’ll resonate with someone else.

You see, I walked away from a 6-figure corporate career to seek something more meaningful. Peace. Happiness. Health. A life that feels full instead of one that feels scripted (what brought me to this point, I will cover in later posts). And yeah, it’s terrifying and liberating all at once. So, I thought, why not talk about it? Why not let this blog be the space where I unpack it all, and together we will find out what happens next!

And here I am. Blogging about me. Just the thing an introvert wants to do—share their life with the world. But, hey, I’m giving it a shot. This could be fun, right?