I didn’t set out to start a business. I set out to survive one of the darkest seasons of my life.

In the fall of 2020, I was working in events and marketing, trying to stay afloat in a world that had completely shifted. My workload had tripled, my pay had been cut, and any sense of creative fulfillment had evaporated. I felt stuck, overwhelmed, and emotionally depleted.

Desperate for something—anything—that felt like mine, I turned to the instincts that carried me through childhood: a deep need to create. To make something from nothing. To express myself, even if I didn’t know what I was trying to say yet.

With just two blocks of polymer clay, a paperclip, and some water bottle caps, I made my first pair of earrings. They were objectively terrible—but they awakened something I hadn’t felt in years. That spark led me down a rabbit hole of experimenting with color, texture, and new materials. I wasn’t just crafting—I was reconnecting with a version of myself I’d long forgotten.

Within months, I had a growing collection of earrings and handmade goods and decided to apply to a local market—fully expecting rejection. To my surprise, I got in. I made over $400 that day, and more importantly, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: hope. It was the first glimpse that this thing I was building could become something more.

I named my business Muddy Lotus after the idea that beauty doesn’t exist in spite of the mud—but because of it. The lotus only blooms by pushing through darkness. I’ve always believed that our most beautiful moments are born from struggle. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this business would become my own transformation—my way of clawing through the mud and building something meaningful. It’s a little ironic, but profoundly true: the thing I created to save me ended up becoming one of the most beautiful parts of my life.

As I kept creating, I made the decision to leave my full-time job. I wasn’t making much yet, but I was done being burnt out and underpaid. I took on freelance work to pay the bills and poured every free moment into Muddy Lotus—designing, experimenting, and prepping for markets.

Then something unexpected happened: the Bengals started winning.

I made a last-minute pair of “WHO” and “DEY” earrings before a playoff game—bold, funky, and perfectly on brand for me. I wore them out, posted a picture, and suddenly, my DMs were flooded. People were meeting me in parking lots to pick up orders before the next game. I was assembling earrings around the clock. When the Bengals made it to the Super Bowl, it felt like the whole city wanted in—and for the first time, I couldn’t make things fast enough.

Shortly after, I got a message that changed everything: one of the Bengals cheerleaders had seen my work and wanted to collaborate. We met, designed custom white pearl “B” logo studs, and I hand-delivered 40 pairs—each with a note wishing them luck. Weeks later, I watched them wear those earrings on national TV during Monday Night Football. It was surreal. A full-circle moment that reminded me just how far I’d come.

From there, the business kept evolving. I moved from my home studio into a 1,300-square-foot space that finally allowed me to breathe and dream bigger. I started investing in bigger and better machines, adding a UV printer and a larger laser, which expanded my capabilities tenfold.

For a long time, I thought I was building a product-based business. But somewhere in that growth, I realized I was actually building something deeper. I wasn’t just making earrings anymore—I was telling stories. Helping other people express themselves through custom signage, thoughtful gifts, and personalized design details.

It’s a creative studio that helps others tell their story—because telling mine saved me.

I didn’t know why I started this at the time. But now I do. I’ve found my purpose in helping others feel seen through design—whether they’re building a brand, planning a moment, or giving a gift that really means something.

I'm so thankful for every single person who has supported me on this journey so far. You are why I continue to bloom.