Listening to the Creative Part of Me
Recently, in conversation with my therapist, I found myself naming something that has followed me for a long time: I am someone who gets overwhelmed easily by long to-do lists and by the quiet pressure to do things “the right way.” When there are too many moving parts, my mind races ahead, and I start measuring progress by productivity instead of presence.
And yet, when I pause and listen more carefully, I know exactly which part of me feels most at ease.
It’s the creative part.
When I was young, I could sit by the window for hours, practicing a single technique over and over again. I remember learning Chinese calligraphy and ink painting—how the black ink spread into paper that absorbed water instantly, how you had to wait for it to dry before layering leaves, adding texture to rocks, letting space and patience do their work. That slow, focused process was deeply satisfying to me then, and I realize now it still is.
That same feeling is what I love most about this beading journey. Creating quietly. Observing nature. Letting color, texture, and rhythm guide my hands. That part has always felt natural.
Got my new magnifying glasses. Absolutely love them!
What feels newer—and more challenging—is sharing that joy with others.
I want to pause here and thank my community, especially those of you who consistently show up—liking posts, sending thoughtful messages, offering feedback on videos and photo shoots, and even being among the first to read these blog posts. I notice you. Your presence has made this small studio feel less solitary and much more meaningful. Truly, thank you.
At the same time, the artist in me—who also happens to be a little perfectionistic—has been learning how to coexist with the business side of things. Finding a cohesive visual language, understanding my own style, choosing angles, backgrounds, color pairings—these decisions took far longer than I expected. At times, I felt surprisingly lost, unsure whether I was creating art or building a brand, and how to do both in a way that feels sustainable.
Through therapy, I began to understand what was underneath that discomfort. It wasn’t a lack of direction—it was the feeling of being unproductive during an unknown stage. The phase where identity, style, and vision are still forming, and nothing feels concrete yet.
Around this same time, I found myself inspired by people around me. My hairstylist—young, thoughtful, and steady—recently celebrated five years of running her salon. I remember when she first opened, when many of the booths sat empty. Now, the space is full, established, alive. She reminded me that growth often looks quiet before it looks successful.
I see that same truth in my own professional life. It took years of education, experience, and patience before I felt confident and grounded in my work. That confidence didn’t arrive quickly—it was built slowly.
So this post is a small reflection, for my future self and for this community: I am juggling a lot. I am a mom of three young children. I hold a professional career. And I am nurturing a small creative studio that matters deeply to me. This season requires more grace, more time, and fewer rushes.
Moving forward, I’ll be taking this journey one step at a time. I plan to create and share intentionally, with a slower rhythm—releasing pieces every two weeks, and offering limited quantities so the studio remains sustainable and joyful. Some moments will live first on Instagram, and others will unfold here, on the website, when they’re ready.
Thank you for being here—for your patience, your encouragement, and your quiet support. This journey is still unfolding, and I’m grateful to be walking it with you.
With hands and heart,
Juliana