The Moment I Knew I Wasn’t Going Back

There was a moment — not dramatic, not loud — when I realised something in my life wasn’t right.

It didn’t arrive with a clear label. I still don’t know whether what I experienced was burnout, breakdown, exhaustion… or a combination of all three. What I do know is that it hit hard. At the same time as my family was going through an incredibly difficult and upsetting period, everything else seemed to unravel too. It felt as though every thread I was holding snapped at once.

The spiral was fast. Relentless. And terrifying.

For a while, it genuinely felt as though I would never find my way back out.

But I did.

It wasn’t neat or linear. For every two steps forward, I seemed to be knocked back one. Progress came slowly, awkwardly, and often when I least expected it. And then, somewhere along the way, clarity and hope began to break through.

What came with that clarity was a realisation I couldn’t ignore any longer: there were parts of my life that no longer served me at all.

For a long time — possibly decades — I had lost sight of something fundamental. I had stopped bringing joy to myself. I took jobs that were just that… jobs. I socialised out of obligation even when it filled me with dread. I poured energy into helping others while never offering the same care to myself.

I thought purpose was tied to money, to material things, to keeping everyone else comfortable. I was wrong.

Purpose, for me, was about joy. And I had misplaced it.

When I finally allowed myself to acknowledge that, I made a quiet but decisive promise: never again would I force myself to live in ways that drained me of joy. I’m not talking about paying bills or scraping ice off the car windscreen — those are just facts of life. I’m talking about the fundamentals. Work. Relationships. Lifestyle. The things that shape who we are.

Around that time, I began creating again — instinctively, without rules, without comparison. I wasn’t following trends or asking what might perform well online. I had one simple requirement: anything I made had to make me feel giddy inside.

Once I gave myself that permission, the creative doors burst open.

I started losing track of time — not through stress or worry, but through pure enjoyment. Days passed without the heaviness I’d grown used to. I didn’t want to step away from what I was making, because it felt like reconnecting with myself.

For the first time in a long while, I was genuinely proud of what I was creating.

I’ve always carried a fear that what I do won’t be good enough — that it will be criticised, judged, dismissed. That fear has shaped my self-esteem more than I realised, and it kept me from stepping fully into who I am for years. Life didn’t help. Being in the wrong jobs, the wrong environments, surrounded by people who were quicker to knock others down than lift them up — it all reinforced that voice of doubt.

You see it everywhere, especially online. Women grinding other women down. And it makes me deeply sad.

What changed everything was deciding that I would be the only critic of my work. If I don’t love it, it doesn’t leave my hands. And if someone else doesn’t like what I do? That’s okay. I do.

If something I create brings even one person a small moment of joy or inspiration, that’s a gift — not a requirement. I’m not trying to impress the world. I’m simply sharing what feels true to me.

That mindset is the foundation of Emberwell.

There is no judgement here. Whether I’m connecting through my designs, teaching, social media, or craft fairs, Emberwell is a space that embraces, welcomes, and protects. I don’t give my energy to negativity — not because it doesn’t exist, but because it doesn’t serve me. I’d rather invest my time in people who lift others up, who support, encourage, and laugh together.

Emberwell isn’t just a shop or a design studio. It’s a community. And more than anything, it’s a healthy one.

My hope is simple: that when someone discovers Emberwell, they feel acceptance for who they are. In every way, shape, and form. I try to treat people the way I would want to be treated myself. I hope my designs carry the same message I’ve learned to live by — be happy with who you are, flaws and all. It’s what makes you, you.

Looking back now, I understand that happiness didn’t come from striving to be like influencers on a screen, or the Joneses next door, or climbing ladders that were never built for me. It came from reconnecting with myself. From accepting who I am. From extending that acceptance to others.

And if there’s one quiet promise I hold — to myself first, and then to anyone who finds their way here — it’s this:

Trust your instincts, and learn to say goodbye. That small snowflake of dread, doubt, or fear will eventually become an avalanche. Set yourself free when you first feel it, because too many people get buried beneath it — and some never find their way out.

Emberwell exists because I chose not to ignore that snowflake.

And I hope, in some small way, it helps others listen to theirs too.

Emberwell is where my work lives now.