Rising Through the Ashes of Change
The first week after losing my job was a blur. A storm of emotions I didn’t expect to feel so deeply. Fear wrapped itself around me, whispering about bills, stability, and the kind of security I thought I had. Anger bubbled, too, how could a place I gave so much of myself to see so little of my worth? And beneath it all, grief. Not just for the paycheck, but for the illusion of safety, the routine, the idea that I needed someone else to validate my value.
I let myself feel it. The waves of denial, the tears of frustration, the quiet moments of bargaining with myself. Maybe I should look for another job, maybe it’ll be different somewhere else. But deep down, my soul already knew the truth. This ending wasn’t punishment. It was liberation.
Because in the silence that followed, something softer emerged. A whisper reminding me of the shop I had been slowly building, piece by piece. A vision I had poured love into while juggling shifts and schedules. That little sanctuary was waiting for me, patiently, like an open doorway into the life I truly wanted.
Art has always been my medicine. And now, without the noise of a place that drained me, I could hear the call more clearly. To create. To heal. To weave energy into form through color, texture, and imagination. My art doesn’t just hang on paper or live on a sticker sheet. It breathes. It speaks. It carries a pulse that other kindred souls, men, women, or fae in between, can feel.
This is the realm I belong to. A space where creativity and healing intertwine, where each piece I bring into the world carries magic, intention, and love.
I won’t pretend I have it all figured out. There are still moments of fear. But I am learning to see this shift not as a loss, but as a sacred invitation. A chance to manifest what is already circling in the unseen, freedom, expansion, abundance, and a community of like-minded souls who believe in the power of art and spirit.
The future isn’t written by the hands that let me go. It’s being written now, in brushstrokes and ideas, in rituals of creation and courage. And I know, without doubt, that what’s coming is brighter than what I left behind.
Because I am no longer asking for permission to be seen.
I am choosing it.