At times, the most creative art is born from suffering

Ambiguous grief is one of the hardest forms of grief to ever live through. The other person is still alive, but they are not there—such as an alienated child from a parent, an Alzheimer's patient, or a soldier M.I.A. There is no end, nor closure. It is a grief with no finish line. If it doesn't destroy you completely, it will definitely change you.

I was always artistic growing up—nothing fancy—and as I grew, my passion ran with writing. As an adult, I went through an extended period of parental alienation from my two oldest sons. The silence was deafening to my ears, and the screaming of my heart was soul-crushing. My boys were my entire world, and it took everything I had just to get through day after day.

In the beginning, I was incapable of thinking long-term about anything. I had to break my days down to minute by minute, then second to second,  just to survive.

Slowly, it changed to hour by hour, half a day, to a week, to a month. I started working on myself, trying to become the best version of myself possible for my sons—a version where they would be proud to call me their mom. Around that time, my husband and I moved into a Quonset hut that needed heavy repairing to be livable, as we do home renovations for a living.

There were hidden treasures in that steel dome. For me, anyway.

Wood furniture had been left behind—old, with colors mangled from time and use. That's when I began this newest journey. I picked up a sanding block, then chalk paint, and I refurbished my first set of nightstands. Later came a dresser, a bathroom storage unit, a mustard-yellow heart shelf, and so much more.

I discovered I was able to drown out the silence and the screaming in my head by keeping my mind and my hands busy at the same time. I started to feel happiness again, even if it felt a bit more hollow than before.

Then I started making jewelry and stenciling. Eventually, we were forced to move, and six weeks later, my youngest son was born. He brought me back to life.

Staying home with him, I wanted to help my husband with the financial burden, so I turned my creative energy toward resin, home decor, gnomes, and most recently, my wax and self-care products.

Looking back, I realize I wasn't just restoring furniture. I was restoring pieces of myself and trying to replace the broken ones. The things I create today all began with a sanding block, a forgotten piece of furniture, and the hope that something worn and overlooked could become beautiful again.

The truth is, I was trying to fill a hole that grief had carved inside me. Creating gave me something to hold onto while the life I knew was destroyed.

And out of the ashes, I rose.

Stay strong and never give up. Keep working on you so that you're ready when it's your time—even if you have to break it down to second by second.