What Making Taught Me About Belonging
Before I ever got into cooking or started dreaming about websites and podcasts, I did something small that changed everything:
I hosted flower events.
Fresh blooms. Clippers. Buckets of color. A table full of women and stories and open hearts.
It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.
And for the first time in a long time, so was I.
Me starting that flower business was the first time I offered something of me to the world.
Not a résumé.
Not a version of me I thought people wanted.
Not something polished or proven.
Just something I loved—creating beauty with my hands and inviting others to do the same.
Until then, I’d been quietly creative. Behind the scenes. I’d made things for myself, for my kids, for comfort. But stepping out publicly—bodily—with something I made, inviting others in? That was new. That was terrifying.
That was sacred.
And here’s the part I didn’t expect:
They showed up.
The community showed up.
Small businesses offered support. Local women brought friends. People believed in me—before I even believed in myself.
There’s something about making beauty in public that cracks you open.
You don’t just create—you’re seen.
And when you’re seen and still loved—you begin to trust your place in the world.
Through those flowers, I found more than art.
I found reflection.
I saw my worth mirrored in the way others showed up, paid attention, spoke encouragement, and handed me their trust.
That’s when I realized:
Belonging doesn’t come from waiting for a seat at the table.
It comes from building the table—and inviting others to make something with you.
That first flower event taught me that making is a bridge.
Between souls.
Between stories.
Between who you’ve been and who you’re becoming.
Belonging, it turns out, isn’t something you’re handed.
It’s something you cultivate—like blooms in a bucket.
One stem at a time. One connection at a time.
And sometimes, it starts when you dare to say:
“Here I am. I made this. Want to come build something beautiful with me?”
