A year after Jody died,
I opened a life coaching practice.
It became another chapter in my recovery—
teaching me courage, resilience,
and the healing power of sharing my story.
Then one quiet afternoon,
something unexpected happened.
My eyes fell upon a drawing Jody had made as a child.
Wanting to feel close to her,
I gathered a few supplies
and tried to recreate it.
What began as an act of love
became a discovery.
A gift I never knew I possessed.
Over time, I created greeting cards, gift books,
and artwork that seemed to flow from somewhere deeper than skill alone.
Doors opened.
My cards appeared in beautiful nearby shops.
I sent my work to Blue Mountain Arts.
They accepted it immediately.
The opportunity was everything
I once thought I wanted.
Yet something inside me knew otherwise.
The pressure to produce,
to please,
to turn creativity into performance,
slowly drained the joy from it.
And so I chose differently.
I discovered that giving my cards away
brought me far more happiness
than selling them ever could.
In the end, the lesson was simple:
My gift was never meant to prove my worth.
It was meant to be shared.
Not for recognition.
Not for success.
But for connection,
love,
and the simple joy
of creating something beautiful.
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