“The willingness to show up changes us, It makes us a little braver each time.”
― Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

May 26

There's a particular walk I know well now.

It's the one from the car park to my stand on the first morning of an event. It's never very far, but it feels it. You're pulling a trolley, probably in the wrong shoes, running through a list in your head that you can't do anything about anymore. Does the stand look right? Have I brought everything? Will people come? Will the weather be good - but not too good?

And underneath all of that, the quieter question that's harder to ask. Not about the event. About whether I belong there at all.

I've done this walk more times than I can count now. I still get nervous every single time.

I've been thinking about why that is, and its definitely about the vulnerability of putting yourself “out there” I’m not someone who arrives with a fanfare and unbridled energy and confidence, I take my time to unfurl and feel comfortable - but that’s my nature and I’m learning to own that and use its quiet strength

I’m leaning more into that intuition and acceptance – learning from nature and taking its cues. After all seasons don’t change in a heartbeat, they emerge, Spring doesn't arrive all at once, it edges forward, tentatively one green shoot at a time. I find that rather reassuring.

Because emergence, when you look at it closely, is about deciding to come forward without knowing for certain whether the conditions are right, before you know how it will be received. The snowdrop doesn't wait until it's sure of the weather. It simply does what it was made to do, in the only season it has.

I've been reflecting about that this Spring, about the things we hold back until we feel more ready, more qualified, more certain. And about what actually happens when we stop waiting.

The idea of being behind a stand, talking to strangers all day about work that’s deeply personal to me, didn't come naturally. It still doesn't, if I'm honest.

And there's something else I've probably not said out loud very often. I am a classic post-Covid pivotor, I’m not trained, I haven’t spent a lifetime honing my craft. Even though my career in fashion was creative, I hadn’t drawn “properly” for almost 30 years, and for a long time that felt like something to apologise for rather than simply a fact about the way my life unfolded. That quiet uncertainty - do I actually belong here? - was always somewhere in the background.

I've only just admitted to myself why showing up is hard. And that admission is what's made the difference.

Because what I didn't expect - what genuinely surprised me - is what happens on the other side of that walk from the car park.

The warm "Morning" from other stall holders, a genuine, friendly "Hope you have a great day" - it feels like we're in this together.

The customers who stop, the smiles that cross their faces when they look at my work - and occasionally that flicker of recognition, a memory triggered that they want to tell you about. That moment of connection is something no Instagram comment ever quite captures.

There's something that happens when you're around other people who are doing the same mad, wonderful, slightly terrifying thing as you - building something from scratch, putting their work out into the world, hoping it connects. You stop feeling like the only one who isn't sure what they're doing and find a real human connection.

So yes, somewhere along the way, something shifted and I do look forward to them now - not just because they grow the brand or improve sales, though they do. It's because of the people. The other makers and small business owners I've met along the way, who have somehow become a network of supportive, generous friends.

This feeling of instant camaraderie was totally unexpected - I didn't see that coming. But the acceptance and confidence these cheerleaders give might be the thing I'm most grateful for.

I used to think that the nervous, sick feeling you get before doing something new was a sure sign to put the brakes on. But that discomfort - finding something scary but doing it anyway - that’s growth.

And yes, I do sometimes still hold my breath and question myself on that first car park walk but the difference is, now I know just by showing up it’s already a success

If you’d like to know where I’m going to be next, just click the events tab below and I’d love to see you

Events