My Early Twenties Were Full of Grieving

How the pandemic changed my dreams and how I am more resilient than ever.

Five years ago…

I was at Chip & Joanna Gaines' Spring at the Silos event as a retailer, pursuing my biggest dreams, selling my art and stationery line.

I had started a print, stationery, and home decor business out of my college dorm room. Years of lugging supplies in my old red VW, pop-up markets, and packing orders with my roommates had come to fruition.

I got married the weekend after college graduation, and then 2 months later in a magical crowd-funded campaign, was able to secure a beautiful brick-and-mortar storefront. We had a grand opening, and quickly after I received an email that I had been accepted as a Spring at the Silos vendor!

I was only 21! I felt I had made it to the big leagues.

It quickly turned into a horror movie.

After sweating and laboring over my perfect booth design, my heart full of anticipation for the next day, we were called into a room to meet. I remember thinking perhaps I’d get to meet Joanna Gaines! I had no clue about the blow we were about to all collectively take.

As all the vendors gathered together, the air in the room was suddenly tense. An event manager broke the silence by bursting into tears, apologetically revealing that some virus (I can’t actually remember if we even knew the name yet) was moving through the state and they could no longer host the event. At the time, the illness was mysterious and vague and had just started to appear in headlines — so this felt completely sudden and terrifying. No one expected this.

The state of Texas suddenly shut down Magnolia’s street fair permit. After setting up for 8 hours, all vendors were told to tear down and go home as quickly as possible to be safe.

I remember my ears started ringing and I felt my body go numb. I was thinking about how much it cost to be there as a vendor — the thousands of dollars of inventory, fees, and travel costs. It felt like the floor fell out from under me. Was it over now? Was this the end of my small business? Could it survive the loss?

People were essentially fleeing the scene in a panic and I vividly remember weeping in the parking lot because I just lost so much money I put into the market.

I was 21, not even old enough to apply for a business credit card — no investors, no savings, it was a bootstrap effort and my biggest dream. This loss could kill it.

Other people were crying. Rain clouds gathered. People were throwing everything into their vehicles as fast as possible. No more soft pop music from the speakers, no more chatter and conversation.

The vivid whiplash of the market experience — the joy & community setup to just hours later, a silent, panicked, widespread evacuation — was unfortunately just the beginning of a crushing weight I would carry.

We drove home where my brand new store (less than 5 months old) was then shut down for a painful 6 months. I stopped paying myself so I could pay employees and keep doing this dream.

In the middle of it - I lost my cousin, who was 20. He died in his sleep. My mom got a call that he had died while she was standing in front of me, in my store, on the day we finally had a re-opening. The very day we re-opened our doors after six months, when I woke up overwhelmed with anticipation because maybe just maybe we could reopen and save this dream. That was the day he died.

I hadn't seen him in a while because of quarantine. It bothers me I still can't remember the last time we were together.

We had to push back the funeral date multiple times due to immune-compromised family members and wore masks and sat all apart from each other. It was devastating. I remember my paper mask filling with tears.

When someone who has lived a full life dies, you can recount great things about them — their legacy, achievements, impact, and family. When someone is 20, there is not much to say. It just hurts like a dagger.

My store couldn't survive the extended closure and I was unable to get rent relief, so l had to close down my dream almost as soon as I got it up and running. I sold everything could. I had to call every employee that I so deeply loved and tell them how sorry I was. I had to throw any ounce, confetti piece, relic of the store I couldn't sell into a dumpster behind a Panera Bread myself.

To decide to close my store was the hardest thing I’ve had to do for myself. I was mortified and embarrassed. I truly thought my storefront would forever change the landscape of my city. I imagined myself running it into my forties. It was my dream come true. There were a lot of older, negative voices who made me feel like I couldn’t do it — did I just prove them right? I had so much to prove, and yet I had failed.

Glimpses of "Twenty Seven" in its hay day.

It was a really hard way to start adulthood and it's been really hard to shape a vision of hope for the future when it felt like more loss would be inevitable. I grieved violently. A palette of smeared hues. Every day I was unsure what color of grief would bubble up.

I had also just barely gotten married to Connor and this was a challenging way to start a life together. He'd come home from work, find me hiding in an empty bathtub crying hysterically, and pick me up and hold me.

(We eventually moved out of that house because it felt like the sad was stuck in it).

I think even harder than going through all of that was the other side of it. I think it all re-wired my nervous system. I went through phases of emotional Olympics. I started having physical pain. I started having nightmares. I, truthfully, still really struggle with the beliefs this time period of loss wove into me. I often get really frustrated with myself for not being over it.

I was massively ashamed and felt like I failed so young that there wasn't a future for me.

My safe space since childhood - creativity - felt like a burial ground. I couldn’t make things without thinking about the store.

My chest/eyes still burn when I go into a store that has a semblance of what mine was like.

When my cousin died, it felt like I lost a part of my childhood I'd never get back.

And then what the heck would I do next? When your lifelong dream and ambition was to have a store and it was gone in a year and a half...how do you rebuild from there?

I want to make space for how devastating that was. I can't possibly explain the unseen effects or the oceans of tears I lost. I lost weight I got some chronic nerve pain that's still kicking and I felt like my bones were being lit on fire I was so sad. No one saw all that. Except Connor.

(Connor, Connor, Connor. It matters who you do life with. He picked me up and pulled me through. Gosh. Be wise who you choose.)

l also don't want to leave you hanging in the devastation without telling you the other side of it. Maybe you are in a tremendous storm right now and could use a glimpse into the other side of it.

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Five years after COVID and wow it's been hard! I am different. I got tougher. But that's good. I maintained my love for color and whimsy. I'm more me.

l ended up somehow guest-speaking at an Entrepreneurship class for middle schoolers in 2021. And then I just never wanted to leave because I loved it so much.

I've found myself directing that Entrepreneurship program and every day I get to build things that are good for kids.

Things that used to matter to me a lot now pale in comparison to this. I am working on making magical childhoods 90% of my day every day. And figuring out how to teach them all the things about small business I wish I would have known. It's redemptive.

A few years back a group of high school students, most a bit unfamiliar with my background losing my store, pitched me to make a coffee shop and retail store on campus. I asked what they wanted to name it and they said, "Restore."

I think I cried that night. Because they had no idea they were going to quite literally Restore something in me when we built it together. And we did! I got to make another store - this time with a precious community.

There have been so many little resurrections. ("Vice Verses" by Switchfoot, if you will)

So many pieces of loss that I thought were gone forever, but they've come back - even in better ways.

I don't think I would have believed that about life 4 or 3 years ago. I probably would have been irritated by that if someone said it to me. But it is true.

Things got better.

Hope is not popular. When I post about hope, the sharpest swords appear in my dm's. So mean. And I get it, because when I was in pain that seemed irreparable, anyone flaunting hope seemed like an idiot.

But...I lived through it. Pain I thought would sink me to the bottom of the sea.

Yet flowers grew back in the scorched garden. The sun shone again after the storm. Things were not the same, and that hurts still. An empty chair at every family gathering will never feel right. But the hurt does not take my breath away anymore. I found purpose and even peace (strangely enough, the most peaceful I've been is in New York City).

God didn't forget about me. God kept promises made. Faith became a hard-fought-for thing in my house. And it won. I chose to believe that there was good to be had despite it all. Honestly, working with kids made that a little easier to find.

Here are some small things that helped get me through the worst of it:

1. I leaned into music. I had songs hold me. I went back to the music I liked when I was a kid and spent time with it until I felt better. The stuff I'd listen to in my dad's backseat.

2. I journaled. This often brings up the worst of the feelings - but better on paper than in my nervous system making me sick (Body Keeps The Score!)

3. I had friends hold me. I had friends that would listen to all of it. I had friends show up and clean out the store with me. I have friends that listen to my raw, new dreams when I'm scared to do anything similar to what hurt me. They listen. They encourage. I'm really grateful for every single person who went through any aspect of that hellfire with me - and there are many.

4. I found wildly healthy distractions. Who knew I liked to cook? I like to walk and wander. I like to make color palettes! During the lockdown, I was Connor's backup sniper on a video game lol. When you are in the constant grieving part, try to introduce breaks for yourself. If you’ve grieved over a long period of time, you know this to be true. Play a board game, puzzle, knit, swim, anything to get your hands and mind in a "flow.”

5. Make a solid nighttime routine - the night was when the sad would come for me. Cup of tea. Hot shower. Favorite book or show. Gear up. Your armor is a cozy bathrobe.

6. During the worst of it, I did counseling, EMDR, physical therapy, and medical massages when I could. Keep doing things that help you get unstuck.

7. Be NICE to yourself. You will not get over it quickly. It's a long game. Be nice. Be understanding. Be gentle. But also be disciplined. (When you can't be nice to you, call someone who wants you to feel better and talk it out)

8. Be stubborn. Fight for hope. I put sticky notes with reminders of hope where I could see them. I read hopeful books. I kept making art. I kept trying to be me and feel like myself again. It was not pleasant or easy but I did keep showing up and I have become so resilient now.

I had a lot more to say than I thought. I am thinking of you and grateful for this community. The last five years have been challenging and often gut-wrenching for so many of you. Wow.

I am grateful my colors and words resonate with you in some way and that we have connected here.

I think all this reflection made me realize I am gathering up courage for a new season. I feel more ready to make art again. I've been trying for years and dancing around digging in because the pain and fear were too strong. Is it time to finally go to the belly of the beast and slay this thing? Maybe! I hope!!

Just...thank you. Some of you witnessed me experience all of this in real time and stuck around to follow the journey and I hope you know that means so much to me. I still feel called to write and make and have taken time off to really make sure I do. And I do.

If you are in the middle of your own beast — I hope you are able to find something outside of your circumstances or yourself to hope in. That was the key factors in braving the storm for me.

I hope my life, my art, my work, and my person can be a witness to you that sun truly does shine again. It's worth fighting for.

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