Even broken glass reflects light

Today I sat in my studio, tears streaming down my face, trying to create something beautiful while pain tore through my skull like a wildfire.

Not metaphorical pain. Not poetic sadness.

Real, body-splitting, soul-erasing pain.

The kind that makes you question if you can survive another hour—

and not because you’re dramatic,

but because your bones are screaming,

your nerves are electric,

and your face feels like it’s being crushed in a vice.

That’s what my illness does.

It takes. And takes. And takes.

I wanted today to be productive. I had goals, plans, hope.

Instead, I found myself sobbing in front of my computer because I couldn’t think clearly enough to finish a single task. I made mistakes, then made them again. I uploaded the same thing twice. I deleted the wrong file.

And every time I tried to fix it, the pain got worse.

I wanted to be strong.

I wanted to push through.

But the truth is—I wanted to give up.

And still…

I made ornaments.

I kept going.

I stayed.

I finished all of the 12 Step Collection. Doesnt seem like a lot. 48 ornaments. For me it is. Its a TON.

Not because I’m brave.

Not because I’m better.

Because there was nothing else to do but try.

Pain this loud is isolating. It swallows language. It makes the world go dim and small. And unless you’ve lived it, you can’t understand the kind of strength it takes just to exist through it.

To breathe through it. To not give in.

So if you’re reading this, and you’re in that place too—

If your skin is buzzing, your thoughts are scrambled, and you’re holding back tears because you don’t want anyone to see you falling apart…

I see you.

You are not dramatic.

You are not weak.

You are surviving something most people couldn’t even imagine.

I’m making beauty out of agony.

I’m creating with trembling hands and a locked jaw.

And if that’s all I do today—it is enough.

It is everything.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky