6 Lessons I Am Still Learning About Loving Myself Better
Introduction
This month, I’m opening up in a deeply personal way to share stories that have shaped me—stories that span from my childhood to where I am today. These aren’t just ordinary tales; they’re the profound lessons I’ve learned on my journey toward loving myself better. And this blog post? It’s more than just words on a page—it’s a piece of my heart.
Loving yourself is not a one-time achievement; it’s an ongoing, ever-evolving journey. Along the way, I’ve uncovered powerful lessons that I continue to practice every single day. I’ve learned to stop shrinking myself, to give myself permission to feel deeply, and to embrace my truest, most authentic self—flaws, imperfections, and all. I’ve unraveled old beliefs that no longer serve me and stepped into a life where I’m learning to honor my worth every day.
These lessons have been shaped by moments both big and small. From transformative experiences to quiet, everyday revelations, each has shown me that loving myself isn’t a destination—it’s a process that unfolds one step at a time. And because I know that many of us face struggles with self-doubt, insecurity, and fear of failure, I wanted to share these insights with you. I believe that we’re never alone in our struggles, and that the things we face don’t have to define us. Instead, they can shape us into who we’re meant to be, if we let them.
So, as I open up and share my story with you, I hope you’ll find comfort in knowing that no matter where you are on your own journey, you’re not alone. And maybe, just maybe, these lessons will resonate with you as you navigate your own path to self-love and authenticity.
Don’t Make Yourself Small
It’s funny how something as simple as sitting at a restaurant can reveal just how much I’ve been shrinking myself over the years. I’m left-handed, which means that for most of my life, I’ve had to make small but strategic decisions about where I sit. When I walk into a restaurant, I instinctively scan the room, searching for that perfect corner spot where I won’t feel squeezed in. If I’m stuck in the middle of a booth or a crowded table, it’s an unspoken elbow battle—me, trying to carve out space for my left hand in a world designed for right-handed people. So, I adapted. I learned to tuck my elbows in close, keeping them pressed against my body like a little bird folding its wings. I told myself it was just about being polite, being considerate. But looking back, I see it differently.
That tiny act of shrinking at the dinner table was never just about my elbows—it was a reflection of something bigger. A habit. A learned response. A quiet, unconscious belief that my presence, my needs, and my space weren’t as important as someone else’s. And I know I’m not the only one who’s felt this way.
How many of us have made ourselves smaller in other areas of our lives? How often have we held our tongues instead of saying what we really think? How many times have we dimmed our own light, softened our edges, or made ourselves more “palatable” because we worried about being too much? Maybe we’ve downplayed our accomplishments, apologized when we didn’t need to, or avoided taking up space—literally and figuratively—because somewhere along the way, we were taught that it was the safer, more acceptable thing to do.
Especially as women, we receive these messages constantly, even if they’re never spoken outright. Be accommodating. Be agreeable. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too opinionated. Don’t take up too much space. It starts early—maybe as young girls, we’re praised for being “sweet” and “well-behaved” while boys are encouraged to be bold and assertive. Maybe we’re taught to say “yes” when we really want to say “no,” to apologize when we haven’t done anything wrong, to prioritize making others comfortable over honoring our own needs. These unspoken expectations weave themselves into our daily lives so seamlessly that we don’t even question them.
We shrink in conversations, hesitating before voicing our opinions, afraid of being labeled as difficult or too much. We shrink in the workplace, downplaying our accomplishments so we don’t seem boastful. We shrink in relationships, putting other people’s comfort above our own, fearing that taking up space might push someone away.
And the most insidious part? We often don’t even notice we’re doing it. It becomes second nature—like tucking in an elbow, like sitting at the edge of a chair instead of settling in, like making ourselves just small enough to not disrupt, to not inconvenience.
We all have moments where we let our insecurities take over. Moments when we think our space isn’t as important, or valuable, as someone else’s. We forget that our presence matters, that we deserve to take up space just as much as anyone else. Here’s the truth: Loving yourself means taking up space. It's about spreading your elbows wide, using your voice, and unlearning the instinct to shrink, to apologize for existing, to make yourself smaller so others feel more comfortable. It means stepping into your own light, without permission and without guilt.
Taking up space isn’t just about the physical—it’s about allowing yourself to be fully seen and heard in every aspect of life. It’s about speaking up when you have something to say, rather than holding your tongue out of fear of judgment. It’s about expressing yourself unapologetically, whether through art, fashion, movement, or words, without worrying about whether others approve. It’s about dreaming big, allowing yourself to pursue those dreams, and knowing that you are just as deserving of success, joy, and fulfillment as anyone else.
I’m learning that I was never meant to shrink, and neither were you. Our worth isn’t determined by how much space we don’t take up—it’s found in how boldly we embrace who we are. The world doesn’t need a quieter, smaller version of you. It needs the real you, in all your depth, color, passion, and brilliance.
So I’m making a conscious effort to spread my elbows a little wider, to stand a little taller, and to walk into every space as if I belong—because I do. And so do you. No more shrinking. No more holding back.
If this resonates with you, let it be the nudge you need to take up space in your own life. Start small if you have to—hold your posture with confidence, share your thoughts without hesitation, set boundaries without guilt, chase the dreams that make your heart race. You are worthy of every inch of space you occupy. Own it.
Owning Our Space in the World
Owning our space isn’t just about taking up physical room—it’s about embracing our right to exist fully, unapologetically, and authentically in every area of life. When we own our space, we stop hiding parts of ourselves and allow our full, beautiful selves to shine. Here are some ways we can begin to truly claim our space:
Speak Your Truth: It’s time to stop censoring yourself to make others comfortable. Your voice matters, and what you have to say is valid. Speak up for what you believe in, share your thoughts, and trust that your perspective is valuable. Whether it’s in a meeting, with a friend, or on social media, let your voice be heard.
Set Boundaries: Setting boundaries is one of the most powerful ways to protect and honor your space. It’s about knowing what’s okay for you and what’s not, and giving yourself permission to say “no” when something doesn’t align with your needs or values. Boundaries ensure that you’re not overextending yourself or letting others take up too much of your time and energy.
Celebrate Your Achievements: Don’t downplay your successes or minimize your accomplishments. When you achieve something—big or small—celebrate it! Take pride in what you’ve done, because you’ve earned it. Acknowledge your efforts, and own the victories that come your way.
Embrace Your Body: Our bodies are our vessels, and they deserve respect. Instead of focusing on what we wish we could change, let’s appreciate what our bodies allow us to do. Whether it’s dancing, creating, or simply existing, your body is a crucial part of the space you occupy. Honor it and treat it with kindness.
Follow Your Dreams: Your dreams are your own, and they don’t need validation from anyone else. Stop waiting for permission to pursue them. Take up the space to follow what excites you, whether it’s a new career path, a creative project, or a personal goal. Trust that your ambitions are worth the space they take in your life.
Surround Yourself with Support: We often feel smaller when we surround ourselves with people who don’t uplift or encourage us. Seek out those who make you feel expansive, who remind you of your worth, and who inspire you to take up the space you deserve. A strong support system helps you stay grounded in the knowledge that you matter.
Let Go of Comparison: Comparison is the thief of joy and a surefire way to shrink your sense of self. Your journey is yours alone, and it doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s. Embrace your individuality, celebrate the path you’re on, and recognize that there’s room for everyone to thrive.
When we own our space, we show the world that we’re here to stay, that we deserve to exist fully, and that we’re not afraid to show up exactly as we are. It’s about being visible, unapologetic, and relentless in our pursuit of what makes us feel alive. And trust me, the world is better for it.
It’s Okay to Feel Deeply
I’ve always been someone who feels things on a deep level—the kind of person who gets emotional at weddings, who tears up at the sight of a simple act of kindness, and who carries the weight of someone else’s sorrow as if it’s my own. Crying, for me, isn’t just an emotional reaction; it’s almost a sacred act. A way to let the full depth of my emotions move through me, to express everything I’m feeling in its purest form. It’s like a release, a way of acknowledging and honoring the emotions that flow within me.
Growing up as an only child, I was fortunate to have the space to express myself without fear of being judged or dismissed. My parents never told me to “toughen up” or “stop crying,” and for that, I’m grateful. But even with that freedom, I was a quiet kid—shy, unsure, and often intimidated by social situations. Still, inside, I felt everything in vivid, overwhelming waves. I could sense other people’s emotions before they even spoke. I would pick up on their moods and energy, and it was like I could feel their pain and joy as if it were my own. As a young person, it was a lot to carry, and I didn’t always know what to do with all that feeling. It was intense.
For a long time, I saw my deep emotions as something to manage, to hide, to keep in check. I told myself that I couldn’t be “too much” for others, so I learned to keep my BIG feelings under wraps. I often lived in my head, analyzing and trying to make sense of everything I was feeling while simultaneously feeling the need to shrink it down to something more palatable for the world. It became this constant balancing act—trying to figure out how to share my emotions in a way that wouldn’t make others uncomfortable. When you feel deeply, it’s hard to break those feelings down into something that others can fully understand, and for a long time, I worried that my emotional depth would make people think I was overly sensitive, dramatic, or just too much.
But as I’ve grown, I’ve come to realize something profound about self-love: Feeling deeply isn’t a weakness; it’s a gift. My emotions are a part of who I am, and they are a reflection of my ability to love and connect on a level that’s unique to me. The more I embrace this part of myself, the more I see that I am deserving of love—not just from others, but from myself as well.
Because when I allow myself to feel fully, I realize that I have an incredible capacity for compassion. If I can feel so deeply about the world around me, imagine the depth of love and kindness I can offer to others when I fully embrace my true self. And if we all allowed ourselves to feel, to truly embrace our emotions without apology, we could create a world where love, empathy, and understanding are the norm, not the exception.
What I’ve come to realize is that my emotions are an integral part of who I am. They’re not something to fear or suppress, but something to embrace and explore. And that’s where my art, especially with Anam Cara Clay Goods, has played such a pivotal role.
Creating jewelry, particularly through polymer clay, allows me to tune into my emotions in ways that words often can’t express. It’s as if each piece I make is an extension of the feelings I experience, flowing outward into something tangible, something beautiful. When I create, I’m not just shaping clay or adding color to a design—I’m tapping into the deeper layers of myself. The excitement, the sadness, the joy, and the frustration—all of these emotions have a place in my creative process.
What I’ve discovered is that the more I allow myself to feel deeply, the more my art flows with authenticity. There’s a certain freedom in letting go of the fear of “getting it wrong” or “not being good enough.” When I stop judging my emotions and simply let them be, I find that my designs reflect a deeper connection to my own truth. Every swirl of color, every texture, every shape is infused with a part of my emotional landscape. It’s a way for me to process, to release, and to honor my feelings.
And the magic happens when I share these pieces with others. The beauty of creating from a place of authenticity is that it resonates. My art isn’t just for me—it’s for anyone who needs it. There’s something powerful about creating from the heart; it invites connection, understanding, and healing. When someone connects with a piece of jewelry from Anam Cara Clay Goods, it feels like my emotions have been shared, understood, and appreciated by another soul.
I think that's the beauty of art: it gives us permission to feel, and in turn, it allows others to do the same. I’ve learned that feeling deeply doesn’t have to be overwhelming or isolating—it’s an opportunity to create, to grow, and to share a piece of our most authentic selves. So, when I make a new design or piece of jewelry, I do it with the knowledge that I’m honoring my emotions and allowing them to fuel my creativity.
It’s a beautiful cycle. I feel deeply, I create, and then my art, in turn, helps others feel. This process has taught me that being vulnerable and open to my feelings isn’t a weakness—it’s the foundation of my art and my growth as both a person and an artist. So, these days, I try to embrace it all—the tears that come when I’m moved, the laughter that spills out when I’m overjoyed, and the deep empathy that helps me connect with others. I no longer apologize for feeling deeply or for being vulnerable with my emotions. I’ve come to see that feeling deeply is not only my superpower—it’s also one of my greatest strengths.
If you’re someone who feels deeply too, I want you to know that your emotions are not a burden. You are not “too much.” You are beautifully, wonderfully, and fully enough, exactly as you are. 💛
What Makes Me Feel Deeply
There are certain moments, experiences, and emotions that hit me in ways I can’t fully describe—each one taking me deeper into my heart, connecting me to the world in such a profound way. It’s almost like these things bypass my brain and go straight to my soul, reminding me of the beauty and the weight of being human. Here are a few things that make me feel deeply more than anything else:
Acts of Kindness: There’s something about witnessing or being part of an act of kindness that stirs me in a way I can’t put into words. Whether it’s a stranger helping someone carry their groceries, a friend offering a simple word of encouragement, or someone opening their heart to share their story, kindness has this ability to move me beyond the surface. It’s like a wave of warmth floods over me, reminding me that there’s still so much goodness in the world.
The Beauty of Nature: There’s something about being immersed in nature that always makes me feel small in the most comforting way. A sunset with colors painting the sky, the vastness of the ocean, or the quiet of a forest—each of these scenes fills me with a deep sense of wonder and reverence. It’s like nature speaks directly to my heart, reminding me of the interconnectedness of all things and the peace that can be found in simply existing within it.
Music that Tells a Story: Music has always been a powerful source of emotional release for me. The right song can make my heart swell with joy or break it open in a way that’s almost painful. It’s the songs with lyrics that resonate with my own experiences, or the melodies that carry a depth of emotion without needing words. There’s something about music that transcends the logical mind and speaks to the soul, and when it aligns with my emotions, it leaves me feeling deeply connected to the world around me.
The Vulnerability of Others: When people open up and share their raw, unfiltered selves with me, it creates a bond of trust and authenticity that touches me in a way I can’t ignore. Whether it’s a friend confiding in me about something personal or witnessing someone stand in their truth, that kind of vulnerability is powerful. It’s a reminder of the courage it takes to show up fully as yourself, and it makes me feel deeply honored to be part of that experience.
Love and Connection: The feeling of deep, genuine connection with others, whether it’s a partner, family member, or friend, is one of the most profound things I experience. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing that someone truly sees you for who you are and loves you regardless of your flaws. It’s in these relationships that I feel most alive, and it’s through them that I’m reminded of the incredible power of love to heal, uplift, and transform.
The Sacred Moments of Everyday Life: Sometimes, it’s the small, ordinary moments that strike me the hardest. A child’s laugh, the warmth of a cup of tea in my hands, or a quiet conversation with a loved one—all of these moments have the power to move me if I let myself be fully present in them. These are the times when I feel the sacredness of life in its simplest form, and I’m reminded of how precious and fleeting everything truly is.
These are the things that make me feel deeply—some joyful, some bittersweet—but all of them leave an impression on my heart. And as I continue on my journey of self-love and acceptance, I’m learning to let myself feel them fully, without holding back.
Find Your Voice
Remember, I was an extremely shy child. And as an only child, I spent hours inside my own head, perfectly content with my own company. Talking to adults? Terrifying. My mom would encourage me to say hello to people at church, and I’d smile and nod, agreeing that I’d do it. But when Sunday came? I stood there, silent as ever.
Then, in third grade, something surprising happened—I got detention. And not for forgetting homework or breaking a rule, but for talking. My third-grade teacher had a habit of getting us all riled up with her stories, only to hand out detention slips when we couldn’t settle down. Now, I adored this teacher, so don’t hold it against her, but getting detention for talking? For me, that was a miracle.
Even my kindergarten teacher, who was supervising detention that day, was shocked. When I told her why I was there, she smiled—really smiled. It was as if, in her own way, she was proud of me for it. She had known the shy, quiet little girl I used to be. Maybe she saw something I hadn’t yet recognized: I was starting to find my voice.
Then, in seventh grade, something shifted. I can’t pinpoint exactly what sparked it, but suddenly, I didn’t mind speaking up. Our table in math class always got in trouble for talking, and for the first time, I wasn’t just the quiet observer—I was part of the conversation. I was finding my voice.
That’s not to say the journey was smooth. Public speaking still terrifies me. In college, I’m pretty sure my professor only passed me because my grandmother passed away that semester and she felt sorry for me. I didn’t have to do my final speech, and honestly, I was relieved. But over time, I kept pushing myself. I worked on it, got a little less nervous, a little more confident. And here’s what I learned: content matters. When I know a subject, when I’m passionate about something—that’s when I shine. Talk to me about jewelry, cooking, photography, or dance, and I’ll talk until the cows come home.
And looking back, I see how life has given me so many opportunities to strengthen my voice. Being a camp counselor, working in a professional kitchen, substitute teaching, managing a kitchen, teaching dance classes—each one stretched me, shaped me, and forced me to step into my own voice. To stand up for what I believe in. To pursue my dreams with passion.
In a world that often feels loud and overwhelming, it’s easy to doubt the significance of your own voice. But the truth is, your voice does matter—more than you might realize. And the world needs to hear it.It’s an essential part of who you are, of the person you’re becoming. And just like me, you’ve probably spent years silencing it out of fear of judgment or the fear of making mistakes. I’ve been there. For a long time, I held my thoughts and ideas back because I didn’t believe they were worthy of being heard. But here’s what I’ve learned through my journey of learning to love myself better: finding your voice isn’t just important—it’s a revolutionary act of self-love.
And I can honestly say this: If I hadn’t found my voice, Anam Cara Clay Goods would not exist.
The last seven years have been a journey of honing and clarifying my voice—becoming into it, embracing it fully. And this business? It’s an extension of that voice. A reflection of my love for art, for storytelling, for meaningful connection, and for the confidence I’ve built in myself.
When I started my journey with Anam Cara Clay Goods, it wasn’t just about creating jewelry. It was about finding my voice—a voice that had been quieted for far too long. A voice that had been afraid of failing, of saying the wrong thing, of making mistakes in front of others. But with each new step I took, each new design I created, I began to realize that my voice—the unique combination of my ideas, my creativity, my thoughts—was something that could be shared with the world.
We all have something special to offer. Our thoughts, our ideas, and our unique perspectives are valuable, even if we don't always believe that. And that’s why I’ve come to understand that the world needs to hear it—your voice. Whether it’s in your work, your art, your conversations, or the way you show up for yourself and others, your voice has the power to make a difference. It has the ability to inspire, to uplift, to share something real and meaningful.
For me, finding my voice meant allowing myself to be imperfect. It meant embracing my vulnerability, accepting that I would make mistakes, and still choosing to speak up, create, and share. I spent so many years avoiding the spotlight, staying in the shadows of fear and doubt. But once I started to believe that my voice, my thoughts, and my ideas were worth sharing, I began to see the power of vulnerability and authenticity. My imperfections were not obstacles, but part of what made my voice truly unique.
Loving yourself is about honoring your voice. It’s about realizing that you don’t have to be perfect to have something valuable to say. It’s about letting go of the fear of being “wrong” or “unworthy” and trusting that what you have to say or create matters. When you choose to stand in your truth and speak with authenticity, you invite others to do the same. And in that beautiful exchange of vulnerability, we grow, we connect, and we build something far more meaningful than just our own stories—we create a shared story, where every voice is valued.
So, find your voice, no matter how small or quiet it may feel at first. It’s a powerful part of who you are. The world needs to hear it, even if you’re still learning to trust it. I’m still learning too. But the more I step into my voice—my true, unfiltered self—the more I realize that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Your voice matters, and when you speak from the heart, it can change the world around you. So, don’t be afraid to let it out.
The Voices That Shaped Mine
Finding my voice has been a lifelong journey, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without the people who saw something in me before I even fully saw it in myself. Each of them played a key role in shaping who I am—helping me discover not just my literal voice, but also my confidence, my passions, and my belief in myself.
My Music Teachers – The Power of Passion and Discipline
Whether in chorus or band, my music teachers were some of the first to show me just how much music is woven into the fabric of who I am. They not only helped me develop technical skills but also taught me the discipline of practice, the importance of teamwork, and the deep satisfaction that comes from working hard to create something beautiful. Music became a way for me to express myself beyond words, and because of them, I learned that my voice—whether through song or instrument—had a place in the world.My Dance Teachers: Expressing Myself Through Movement
Dance was more than just choreography to me—it was freedom. My dance teachers didn’t just instruct me in steps and techniques; they showed me how to express myself fully through movement. Whether it was a graceful routine or an energetic leap, they taught me that my body could be a vessel for emotion, storytelling, and confidence. They reminded me that expression isn’t always about words; sometimes, it’s about allowing yourself to move unapologetically in your own rhythm.My Youth Minister: Learning to Share My Faith
Faith has always been an important part of my journey, and my youth minister played a huge role in helping me understand what it truly means to live and share that faith. Through their guidance, I learned that finding my voice isn’t just about speaking—it’s about standing firm in my beliefs, showing kindness, and using my words and actions to uplift others. Their influence taught me that faith isn’t meant to be kept quiet; it’s something that should be lived boldly and shared with love.My Track Coach: Pushing Through and Finishing Strong
There’s something about running that mirrors life itself. Some races start off easy, while others test every ounce of strength you have. My track coach was the one who taught me how to push through—how to dig deep even when I felt like quitting. Their encouragement instilled in me the mindset that finishing strong isn’t just about crossing the finish line—it’s about perseverance, resilience, and proving to yourself that you’re capable of more than you think.My Mentor: Encouraging My Culinary Dreams
Before my hands were shaping clay, they were crafting flavors in the kitchen. My mentor in the culinary world saw my passion for cooking and encouraged me to pursue it wholeheartedly. They believed in my creativity and helped me see that my love for making things—whether through food or art—was something special. Their encouragement reminded me that pursuing a dream isn’t about playing it safe; it’s about embracing what lights you up inside.Each of these people shaped my journey in a unique way, helping me find my voice in ways I never expected. Their lessons, their encouragement, and their unwavering belief in me gave me the confidence to step forward and use my voice—whether in art, movement, music, faith, or perseverance. And for that, I will always be grateful.
Be Gentle with Yourself
I am a perfectionistic procrastinator. I’ve always had this deep desire to get things right the first time—no mistakes, no missteps. It’s almost like there’s an internal checklist that I need to follow, and if I don’t, it feels like I’ve failed. There's this unrelenting pressure to be flawless, to walk a straight line with myself, to keep everything in order and on track. I tell myself that if I just get everything perfect, if I follow every step precisely, then the world will make sense, and I’ll finally have control. It feels like if I can just nail this one thing—whatever it may be—then I’ll be okay. I’ll have everything figured out. But the truth is, I’ve spent so much time paralyzed by the need to be perfect that I’ve become my own worst enemy.
When things don’t work out as I hope, I feel completely demoralized—like the sky is falling, like the world is crashing down around me. It’s not just disappointment; it’s this overwhelming flood of emotions that can consume me in an instant. In those moments, it’s as though I’ve failed on a grand scale. I start imagining worst-case scenarios—how this mistake might ruin everything, how it could have been avoided if I’d just done something differently. I replay the situation in my mind over and over, analyzing every choice, every decision, wondering where I went wrong. And that’s when I start to spiral. The “what ifs” take over, and I lose sight of the bigger picture. In those moments, I can’t hear anything except my own critical voice—loud, demanding, relentless. It’s a voice that amplifies my failures and drowns out any ounce of self-compassion I might have.
I am my own worst critic. And I’ve realized that when I get stuck in that headspace, I forget to acknowledge how far I’ve come or to recognize that mistakes are part of growth. But what I’m learning, slowly but surely, is that sometimes I need to turn down that voice. I need to quiet the inner critic long enough to listen to the other voices in my life—the ones that remind me to step back, take a breath, and see the bigger picture. They’re the ones who remind me that progress isn’t always linear, that growth happens in fits and starts, and that mistakes are not failures—they’re opportunities to learn. These voices, the ones that offer love, understanding, and encouragement, are there to guide me through the noise. They remind me that perfection is not the goal; resilience, growth, and learning are.
One of those voices is my husband, Josh. He has no idea how much I lean on him in those moments of self-doubt, when I start to spiral and convince myself that I should have known better, done better. In those moments, he pulls me back, gently reminding me that the things I’m holding against myself are often minuscule in comparison to what truly matters. He helps me see beyond the perfect image I have in my head and reminds me that life doesn’t always follow the neat script we’ve written for it. His ability to help me refocus, to gently bring me back to the present and help me see the bigger picture, has been a gift I never take for granted. He helps me see that it’s okay to stumble and fall—it doesn’t mean I’m any less worthy or capable. And in those moments when I’m ready to give up on myself, he’s there, not just as a voice of reason but as a reminder that I am loved, that I am enough just as I am.
In 2017, I was diagnosed with endometriosis after a traumatic emergency surgery. That experience was humbling in ways I hadn’t expected. It brought me to my knees—literally. I couldn’t dress myself, couldn’t get off the couch, couldn’t even bathe without help. For someone who prides herself on independence, on doing things “the right way,” I felt utterly helpless. It was a stark contrast to my usual drive to get things done, to take care of myself and others. But in that vulnerability, something shifted.
Josh took care of me in ways I never could have imagined. He supported me physically, emotionally, and mentally—without hesitation, without question. In the midst of my frustration, in the midst of the pain, I realized something that changed everything: I had to learn to take care of myself too.
It sounds simple, but it wasn’t. It was hard. I had to learn to be gentle with myself. To be gentle with my body, my emotions, and my healing. The truth was, I had been pushing myself for so long, expecting more of myself than was reasonable. I had expected myself to be strong and self-sufficient all the time, and when that failed, I would punish myself for it. But that moment of vulnerability, the necessity of asking for help, showed me a new way of being with myself—one that was kind, one that was patient. During my recovery, I realized that healing, whether physical or emotional, demands gentleness. But, even then, I struggled. The perfectionist in me didn’t want to slow down. I wanted to power through the pain, to check the boxes, to move forward at full speed. Yet, I had to fight that impulse, to surrender to the idea that healing isn’t linear, and it certainly doesn’t adhere to a rigid timeline. There’s no room for perfectionism when you’re learning to heal.
Fast forward to 2020, and I found myself in the hospital again, recovering from another surgery—this time, during a global pandemic. The world around me was full of fear and uncertainty, and I felt that familiar sense of being completely out of control. But once again, I was reminded of the lesson I had learned before: healing demands gentleness.
And so, as I’ve worked through physical recovery and emotional healing, I’ve learned to be gentler with myself. Not just because I’ve faced hard times, but because I’m realizing that this practice of being gentle is an act of love. It’s love for myself. It’s a way of saying, “You deserve to heal. You deserve to be kind to yourself, even when you don’t feel like you’ve earned it.”
My endometriosis journey has forced me to slow down in ways I didn’t think possible. I’ve had to reconsider how I approach my goals, my ambitions, and my self-worth. I’ve realized that I don’t have to choose between pushing myself and showing myself grace. I can do both. I can be my greatest critic—pushing myself to achieve, to strive for more—but I can also be my greatest cheerleader, extending love and compassion when I need it most.
When that inner critic creeps in, when I feel the familiar weight of perfectionism and self-doubt, I stop. I listen. I remind myself that I am doing my best—and that’s enough. I am enough. Healing, growth, and progress don’t happen all at once, and they certainly don’t happen in a straight line. I’ve learned that true strength lies in being able to acknowledge my limitations and honor my needs, even when they don’t align with the picture of perfection I’ve created in my head.
I won’t pretend that being gentle with myself comes easily. There are still days when I struggle with perfectionism, when the pressure to be flawless seems overwhelming. But every day, I try. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. Slowly but surely, I am learning that showing myself love through gentleness isn’t a weakness, but a strength. It’s a radical act of self-compassion, one that is teaching me to embrace the beauty in imperfection.
Overcoming Perfectionism: What I Do and Say to Myself
Perfectionism has a sneaky way of creeping in, making me second-guess my work, hesitate before sharing something, or feel like nothing I create is ever good enough. But I’ve learned that perfectionism isn’t about striving for excellence—it’s about fear. Fear of judgment, fear of failure, fear of not measuring up. And fear has no place in creativity.
When I catch myself spiraling into perfectionist thinking, here are a few things I do and say to bring myself back to a healthier, more compassionate mindset:
1. “Done is better than perfect.”
I remind myself that getting something out into the world is more important than obsessing over every last detail. Progress matters more than perfection, and my work deserves to be seen—even if it’s not flawless.
2. Step away and reset.
When I start over-fixating on small details, I step away. Whether it’s taking a walk, listening to music, or just closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I give myself a moment to reset. Distance helps me see my work with fresh eyes and a more realistic perspective.
3. “What would I say to a friend?”
If a friend came to me struggling with perfectionism, I would never tell them their work isn’t good enough—I’d remind them of their talent, their effort, and their growth. So why wouldn’t I speak to myself with the same kindness? I try to replace self-criticism with self-compassion.
4. Set a time limit.
Perfectionism often leads to overworking a project to the point of exhaustion. So I set a timer. When the timer goes off, I commit to moving forward, whether it’s hitting “publish,” putting the piece aside, or deciding that good enough really is good enough.
5. “Art is about expression, not perfection.”
Especially in my work with Anam Cara Clay Goods, I remind myself that my art isn’t supposed to be flawless—it’s supposed to be authentic. Some of the most beautiful pieces I’ve made were the ones where I let go of control and just let the process guide me.
6. Celebrate small wins.
Instead of focusing on what could be better, I try to acknowledge what I’ve accomplished. Every step forward, every piece completed, every creative risk taken—it all counts.
Perfectionism will probably always try to creep back in, but I’m learning to recognize it for what it is: an obstacle, not a guide. And with these little reminders and strategies, I can quiet that perfectionist voice and keep creating with joy, freedom, and self-trust.
Believe in Yourself
For as long as I can remember, believing in myself has been a lesson I’ve had to learn—one I’m still learning. Self-confidence has never come naturally to me. I have always been the type to shy away from attention unless it was something I felt truly knowledgeable or passionate about. As I’ve shared already, I was painfully shy kid—so much so that I would often stay in my seat, even when every fiber of my being wanted to get up and join the excitement happening around me. I was a wallflower at many parties and school dances, mostly content with blending into the background, chatting one on one with the other wall sitters—until something caught my eye and made me wish, so deeply, that I believed I could be a part of it. And sometimes I did, but that usually involved a friend grabbing my hand and not giving me the option. Looking back, I am so glad for those friends who pushed me to not be afraid.
For me, art was the thing that finally got me off the wall.
Art—whether it was dance, cooking, photography, or scrapbooking—gave me a way to express myself when words failed. I’ve dabbled in so many creative outlets over the years, but they all led me to the same realization: I can do things. I can create beautiful things. And that realization changed everything.
I think the first time I truly felt that spark of belief in myself was in first grade when I entered an art contest at school. I decided to draw my favorite book characters, Frog and Toad. My parents were both artists, and while I remember struggling with techniques like watercolor and feeling frustrated when things didn’t come out the way I imagined, there was something magical about finishing that painting and entering it into the contest. And guess what? I placed second in my age group. That moment has stayed with me all these years—proof that when I tried, when I allowed myself to be vulnerable and put my creation out into the world, something beautiful happened. A couple of years ago, my mom even found that artwork in storage and had it framed for me. Now, it hangs in my home as a visual reminder of what is possible when I simply believe in myself.
As an adult, I look back on that memory with gratitude. It serves as a reminder that belief in yourself doesn’t just appear overnight. It’s something you build, step by step, through experiences—some of which are full of doubt, others full of triumph. Society often thrives on seeing people fail. The fear of failure and the lack of confidence can keep so many of us standing on the sidelines, watching opportunities pass us by. We tell ourselves we’re not good enough, that we’ll never measure up, that no one will care about what we create. But what I am learning about loving myself better is this: we have to try—even when we don’t fully believe in ourselves yet. The act of doing leads to belief. It builds the confidence we need to keep going. It is an act of self-love to at least try, even when we don’t know the outcome, even when we’re scared of what others might think.
At the end of the day, it’s not about what they think. It’s about what we feel, what we create, and what we love. This has been a truth that has become even clearer to me over time, especially as I’ve walked through the journey of building my brand and crafting my jewelry. The process of creating art isn’t about pleasing others or meeting expectations; it’s about the connection I have with the work itself. It’s about the way the colors and textures come together in a way that feels like it’s exactly what I needed to express at that moment.
Honestly? Even if no one liked my jewelry, I would still make it for myself. I genuinely love what I create. The joy I feel when I sit down at my workbench, shaping and forming something from scratch, is pure and untouchable. It’s a connection to something deep inside me that doesn’t need validation from anyone else. Sure, it’s incredible when others resonate with my work, when my creations bring them joy, but that’s not where the value lies. The value lies in the act of creation itself, in the process of bringing something into existence that wasn’t there before.
The fact that others love it too? That’s the added bonus. When someone buys a piece of jewelry, it’s not just a transaction—it’s a little piece of me being shared with them, and their appreciation of it is a gift that amplifies my confidence and reminds me why I do what I do. Knowing that my art connects with people on such a personal level is humbling. It’s validation of the belief that what I create matters, and it’s a beautiful reminder that this journey I’m on is not just mine.
But there are moments of doubt, aren’t there? Moments when the critical voice in my head starts questioning whether my work is good enough, whether I’m worthy of the attention or the recognition. In those times, I remind myself to take a step back and look at the journey. I think about the little girl I once was, sitting on the floor with her pony beads and embroidery thread, creating with no expectation beyond the pure joy of making. I remember the feeling of love and excitement that came from simply putting my hands to work, expressing my creativity without worrying about whether it was "perfect" or "worthy." And in those moments, I find peace. I find that quiet confidence that comes from knowing that I’m creating because I love to, and that’s enough.
That little girl, full of imagination and wonder, would be so proud of the woman I’ve become. She didn’t know the journey would be long or full of challenges. She didn’t know there would be moments of fear and self-doubt along the way. But she knew one thing for certain—creating was her joy, and nothing would take that away. The belief in what was possible, in the potential to make something beautiful, has always been inside me. And it’s that love for creating, that self-belief, that’s carried me through the harder moments.
Because at the end of it all, it’s not about external approval or recognition. It’s about the love I have for the process, for the creation, and for the woman I’ve become in the process. It’s about believing in what’s possible, no matter how small or big the steps are. I chose to love myself enough to believe that what I make matters. And that, in itself, is one of the most powerful things I could have ever done.
Developing a Self-Belief Mindset: Steps to Trusting Yourself
Believing in yourself isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s a mindset that takes intentional effort, patience, and practice. Over time, I’ve learned that self-belief isn’t about always feeling confident—it’s about choosing to move forward even when doubt creeps in. If you struggle with believing in yourself, here are some steps that have helped me strengthen my own mindset:
1. Recognize Your Inner Critic—And Challenge It
We all have that little voice in our head that whispers, You’re not good enough or What if you fail? But just because that voice speaks doesn’t mean it’s telling the truth. When I catch my inner critic being harsh, I challenge it by asking:
Is this thought actually true, or is it just fear talking?
What evidence do I have that proves I’m capable?
Would I say this to a friend?
By questioning negative self-talk, I take away its power and replace it with a more balanced perspective.
2. Take Small, Courageous Steps
Self-belief grows through action. Every time I push myself to do something outside my comfort zone—whether it’s launching a new jewelry collection, sharing a personal story, or learning a new skill—I prove to myself that I can do hard things. The more I take these small, courageous steps, the more my confidence builds.
3. Focus on Progress, Not Perfection
Perfectionism used to keep me stuck, making me afraid to start anything unless I was sure I’d succeed. Now, I remind myself that progress is the goal—not perfection. Every mistake, every misstep, and every challenge is part of the journey. I celebrate how far I’ve come instead of obsessing over where I think I should be.
4. Surround Yourself with Supportive People
The people around us shape how we see ourselves. I’ve learned to lean on those who encourage me, lift me up, and remind me of my worth—whether it’s family, friends, mentors, or the amazing community I’ve built with Anam Cara Clay Goods. Having people who believe in you makes it easier to believe in yourself.
5. Speak Kindly to Yourself
The words we tell ourselves matter. Instead of saying, I’ll never figure this out, I say, I am learning and growing every day. Instead of thinking, I’m not talented enough, I remind myself, I bring something unique to the table. Positive self-talk isn’t just about being optimistic—it’s about rewiring the way you see yourself.
6. Reflect on Your Wins
Self-doubt often makes us forget just how capable we really are. That’s why I take time to reflect on my wins—big and small. Whether it’s looking back at how much my jewelry skills have grown, revisiting kind messages from customers, or remembering a time I pushed through fear and succeeded, these reminders reinforce that I am capable, and I can trust myself.
7. Act As If You Already Believe
Even on days when self-doubt is loud, I remind myself that I don’t have to feel confident to act confident. I show up, take the next step, and trust that my belief in myself will grow with every action I take.
Developing a self-belief mindset is a lifelong journey, but every step forward strengthens that inner trust. The more you practice believing in yourself, the more it becomes second nature. And once you truly own your worth, there’s no limit to what you can accomplish.
Make Mistakes
One of the lessons I’m still learning in my journey to loving myself better is to make mistakes. Let me tell you—this one is tough for me. I hate making mistakes. I loathe failure. It’s a word that has never sat comfortably in my vocabulary, and certainly not in my inner monologue. I don’t like doing things wrong. When I make a mistake, I get frustrated with myself and can’t help but think, Why did you do that? It was so stupid. You're better than this, Julie." This self-destructive conversation with myself is unhealthy. It destroys my self-confidence and keeps me from pursuing my dreams.
I’ve had big dreams for as long as I can remember. I first started dreaming of starting my own business back in 2011. There were so many ideas: a restaurant, a pie shop, a non-profit for art workshops, an herb and spice shop focused on holistic health. I’ve written countless ideas in notebooks, woken up in the middle of the night with inspiration that I had to jot down and research later. I was always so excited about what could be, but something always held me back: the fear of failure. I was terrified of making a mistake that would ruin everything. I imagined messing up so badly that it would derail my grand plans. So I didn’t act. I waited for the “perfect” time. But time wasn’t the enemy—my fear was.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, everything changed. I had already discovered polymer clay and was dabbling in it, trying to see if it was something I wanted to pursue seriously. Then, suddenly, the world stopped. We were all on lockdown, working from home, and I realized something: I had time—a precious resource I had never had before. So I took the leap. I plunged into polymer clay and decided to try something new. For the first time in my life, I became less afraid of failure. I was willing to learn, to grow, and to take the risk that I might not get everything right. That leap set the foundation for what would become Anam Cara Clay Goods in 2022.
But let’s be clear—I didn’t stop worrying about failure. In fact, I could still feel the breath of failure on the back of my neck, whispering, "What if you’re not good enough?" "What if no one likes what you make?" "What if you can’t make this work?" These negative thoughts would circle around and around in my head. But I was determined to push through. I decided that this time I would keep going, regardless of what my fears told me.
Here’s what I’ve learned: time is a friend, not a foe. I used to think failure came with a sense of urgency—that I had to do everything fast and perfect to avoid failing. But this time, I took my time. Two whole years of learning, experimenting, and growing. Two years of honing my skills, crafting my artistic style, and building the business plan for my future. And guess what? Failure got tired of me. I realized that if I took my time—if I allowed myself space to make mistakes and learn from them—failure didn’t have a hold on me anymore. It kind of disappeared.
I spent years fearing failure, thinking it was the enemy—the thing I needed to avoid at all costs. It felt like failure was a reflection of my worth, something to be ashamed of, something that would prove I wasn’t good enough. I believed that success meant perfection, and anything less was a sign of inadequacy. But now, I see it differently. Failure isn’t the enemy—it’s the teacher.
Since launching Anam Cara Clay Goods, I’ve encountered my fair share of setbacks. Some have been small, others larger. There have been moments where I’ve gotten things wrong—whether it was a design that didn’t turn out as I imagined, a technical challenge with my finances, or a decision I later regretted. And yes, there have been times that were humbling, even embarrassing. It’s hard to put yourself out there, to share your creations with the world, and then have them fall short of your expectations. But when I look back, I realize that those moments were far from failures. They were stepping stones, each one teaching me something important about my craft, my process, and myself.
Failure, when I embrace it, keeps me honest. It forces me to confront my imperfections, my flaws, and my limitations, but in doing so, it pushes me to grow. It shows me that I don’t have to be perfect to keep moving forward. In fact, it’s through my mistakes that I’ve learned the most—whether it’s how to better manage my time, how to experiment with new techniques, or how to approach challenges with more patience and resilience.
Failure holds me accountable in a way that success never could. It’s a reminder that I’m always learning, always evolving. When something doesn’t go as planned, I’m not only faced with the immediate consequences, but I also have an opportunity to reflect, to ask myself, “What can I do differently next time?” It’s like a little nudge, encouraging me to refine my approach and not get complacent. It’s that little push that says, “Keep going, you’re on the right track, but there’s more to learn.”
In a strange way, I’m beginning to think failure is on my side—doing reverse psychology on me. It makes me want to prove it wrong, to show that I can keep going despite setbacks. Every mistake becomes fuel for my determination. Every misstep reminds me that I’m human, and that humanity is the key to growth. Failure doesn’t stop me from reaching my goals—it propels me forward, makes me more resilient, and ultimately, it helps me achieve more than I could ever have without it.
So here’s my advice: Don’t let the fear of failure stop you. Don’t let it keep you from taking risks, from going after your dreams, from pursuing the things that light you up. Make mistakes. Learn from them. Grow from them. And above all, love yourself through it all. Be patient with yourself when you fall short, be compassionate with yourself when things don’t go as planned, and know that you are worthy of love and success even when things aren’t perfect.
The Lessons Failure Has Taught Me with Anam Cara Clay Goods
Failure is an inevitable part of any creative journey, and running Anam Cara Clay Goods has given me plenty of opportunities to learn from my mistakes. In the beginning, I feared failure—I worried that a flawed design, a slow market day, or a misstep in my business would mean I wasn’t cut out for this. But over time, I’ve realized that failure isn’t the end of the road; it’s a teacher. Here are some of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned:
1. Failure Means I’m Trying Something New
Some of my biggest breakthroughs have come from my biggest mistakes. The first time I tried a new clay technique and it didn’t turn out how I expected, I felt frustrated. But instead of giving up, I kept experimenting—and that mistake led to a beautiful texture I now use in my designs. Every failure is proof that I’m pushing myself beyond my comfort zone, which is where true growth happens.
2. Perfection Isn’t the Goal—Progress Is
I used to spend hours obsessing over tiny imperfections in my pieces, convinced that if something wasn’t flawless, it wasn’t good enough. But perfection is an impossible standard, and chasing it only kept me stuck. Now, I remind myself that every piece I create is a reflection of my journey—and that progress, not perfection, is what truly matters.
3. Mistakes Are a Chance to Innovate
Some of my best designs have come from accidents. A batch of earrings that broke during the sanding process led me to explore new reinforcement techniques. A color mix that didn’t turn out as planned pushed me to discover a shade I never would have created otherwise. Failure has taught me that mistakes aren’t dead ends; they’re opportunities to innovate and evolve.
4. Not Every Market or Launch Will Be a Success—And That’s Okay
Early on, I took it personally when a market day was slow or a new collection didn’t sell as well as I’d hoped. I saw it as a reflection of my worth instead of what it really was—a natural part of running a business. Now, I use these experiences as learning opportunities. I ask myself:
What worked well?
What could I do differently next time?
How can I pivot and adjust?
Each setback has helped me refine my approach, and with every experience, I grow stronger as an artist and entrepreneur.
5. I Am Not Defined by My Mistakes
Perhaps the most important lesson failure has taught me is that I am not my mistakes. Just because something doesn’t work out the first time doesn’t mean I’m not capable, talented, or worthy of success. Every failure is just a stepping stone toward something greater.
Mistakes used to feel like roadblocks, but now I see them as redirections—guiding me toward new ideas, better techniques, and a stronger version of myself. If I never allowed myself to fail, I’d never give myself the chance to grow. And with every setback, I remind myself: Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of the path to it.
Final Thoughts
As I continue to learn and grow, these six lessons serve as powerful reminders to honor and nurture the person I am—flaws, strengths, and all. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that self-love means striving for perfection, but I’ve come to realize it’s so much more than that. Loving myself is about accepting who I am in this very moment—accepting that I’m not perfect, and that’s completely okay. It’s about embracing my unique journey, with all the twists and turns that come along with it, and trusting that growth, though sometimes slow and uncertain, is happening beneath the surface. There is no timeline for this process, and I’m learning to be patient with myself as I evolve.
I’m still learning, and that’s not only okay, it’s beautiful. I’ve found that embracing my voice, even when it’s shaky, gives me the courage to speak my truth. I’m allowing myself to feel deeply, to sit with emotions without fear or judgment. I’m discovering the layers of who I am—both the light and the dark—and appreciating the complexity that makes me whole. And with every step, I’m learning to be kinder to myself, to speak to myself with the same compassion I would offer a friend. It’s not always easy, but each day is an opportunity to be more gentle with myself and more loving toward who I’m becoming.
By sharing this journey, I hope it encourages you to reflect on your own path, to recognize your inherent worth, and to give yourself the same grace and understanding that you so freely offer to others. Celebrate your progress, no matter how small it may seem. Acknowledge your efforts, even when the results aren’t immediate. Self-love isn’t about reaching a destination; it’s about showing up for yourself—every single day, with patience, understanding, and trust that you are enough. Loving yourself is a beautiful, ongoing process—one that’s worth every single moment.
So, let’s continue this journey together. Let’s show up for ourselves, let go of the need for perfection, and embrace the messy, beautiful process of becoming who we are meant to be. Whether we’re taking small steps or giant leaps, we are all worthy of love, just as we are, right now.