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This morning, I cried. And let me be clear: I am not a crier!
It started with a note for school and ended in a lesson that nothing is wasted. Merit needed a note for school, and I remembered those “mom notes” I designed back when I ran my art business, paperclutch. I found one, pen in hand, and something inside me paused. That notepad was nostalgic, and before I knew it, I was tearing up—not because of the note, but because of what it represented.
It took me a minute to process it, and after I dropped my girls off at school, it hit me: I never grieved my business.
Paperclutch wasn’t just a business. It was a piece of me—a beautiful, chaotic, hard season of my life. I built something from the ground up, something that connected me to others and gave my creativity a purpose. And when it ended, I didn’t stop to celebrate it, reflect on it, or grieve it. I just slowly let it drift away and moved on. And full transparency, my Etsy shop is still in vacation mode. If that is not a “girl, hold the phone” moment, I don’t know what it is!
The Whisper
For the past two weeks, I have had crippling anxiety. I hid it well; you would never know that my heart was skipping literal beats, I could not breathe, and I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. I was seriously considering anything to make it go away, even the carnivore diet (yeah, I changed my mind about that, ha-ha). So there I am, in the middle of all my anxiety and overwhelm, I heard it: You are not healed.
I, of course, brushed it off. Healed from what? Sure, I was recovering from burnout but I didn't have time to unpack that now—I was busy launching the blog, overthinking every post, and wondering if I was making the right choices. But God's whisper wouldn’t go away.
Then, this morning, sitting in my car, crying (did I mention I am not a crier), it all became clear. God showed me why I wasn’t healed: I had never allowed myself to truly mourn the end of my business. I had stuffed it down, pretending it didn’t hurt and that I didn’t feel like a failure.
Through my tears, I prayed. I thanked Him for opening my eyes to what I’d been carrying. I asked Him for grace to let it go. And I felt this quiet nudge: It’s okay to grieve the past. It’s okay to celebrate it. And it’s okay to move forward. Nothing is wasted.
The Weight of the Past
Paperclutch was amazing. It was beautiful, meaningful, and hard—really hard. From the outside, it probably looked like I had it all together, but behind the scenes, I was struggling. When the world shut down, I had to pivot fast. And every time I thought about growing the business, I felt like I was hitting a wall.
I see now that it wasn’t just a wall—it was God’s way of redirecting me. I wasn’t ready to grow then, and I was holding on to a version of myself that wasn’t fully authentic. I was creating what people wanted, but I wasn’t creating from my soul.
Learning to Let Go
Today, as I wrote that note for Merit, I realized something: moving forward doesn’t erase the past. Every piece of paperclutch—the lessons, the friendships, the hard seasons—has shaped me into who I am now.
And yet, to fully step into this new chapter, I need to let go of the guilt.
Guilt that I didn’t keep Paperclutch alive forever.
Guilt for moving on to something new.
Guilt that letting go might somehow diminish what I built.
Here's the truth: That’s a lie! God has shown me that every chapter has a purpose. And this morning, as I prayed through my tears, I felt Him remind me: You’re not starting over. You’re building on everything I’ve already done in you.
Nothing Is Wasted
So today, I’m pausing. I’m grieving and sending myself a bag of emergency confetti. That season was not as a failure, it taught me lessons that are propelling me forward today.
If you’re in a season of letting go, I hope this reminds you to pause. Celebrate the past. Thank God for what He taught you. And then, when you’re ready, take a deep breath and move forward, knowing that He wastes nothing.
So, here’s to paperclutch and here’s to what’s next!
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