Making Something Out of the Mess: Creativity as Grief Work
Grief, stress, and trauma have a way of stripping you down without you noticing. It’s death by a thousand paper cuts. One day, you wake up and realize you don’t recognize the person you’ve become.
I don’t often say luckily in front of this next sentence, but in this case, luckily, we live in the age of the internet, and for better or worse, nothing really dies there. Pieces of who you were float back to you like breadcrumbs. Articles and captions written by a person with a much lighter and happier voice, with an undertone of naivety. Photos of projects you once loved, proving you once had both passion and energy. Remnants of a time you created just because you wanted to, because it made you happy. Reminders that you once found joy in mess, in turning something damaged into something beautiful.
Lately, I’ve been following those breadcrumbs back. I’m remembering that the project is me.
I go through phases because that’s how grief works. Some days, I’m bitter and angry and can’t imagine there’s any point to all of this pain. Other days, there’s a quiet undercurrent of hope, tiny slivers of my past self whispering that maybe something beautiful can come from this. Sometimes I believe it. Sometimes I call bullshit.
Recently, somewhere in the middle of all that anger and exhaustion, I hit my breaking point with the noise of social media. My life was heavy enough; why was I inviting anything in that could pile on more? So I hacked my algorithm. I muted, unfollowed, blocked, and reshaped my feed until it started serving me art, creativity, animals, and anything weird enough to make me laugh or want to make something instead of doomscrolling myself into an anxiety spiral.
It worked. Little cracks of light and sparks of inspiration are getting in again. One day, I found myself hauling up boxes that had sat untouched since 2020, the remains of Pretty Bookish, my old book-jewelry business, the part of me I’d quietly packed away and forgotten about in the chaos.
It feels good, like really, really good too. I feel pieces of myself coming back. For years, I told myself I didn’t have the time, the energy, or the space in my day to create. Carving out space for it now feels like exhaling after holding my breath too long. It’s healing to sit down and make something with my hands, to let small bits of beauty sneak back in. Each cut and paste feels like reclaiming a little more of who I was before everything got so damn heavy. It’s been reenergizing.
My new, more curated feed has been inspiring. I saw a few creators making their own tarot decks, and I thought it was the perfect place for me to start. Just one small card a day. I could totally do that, and I already had all the supplies. I’ve always been drawn to tarot and oracle cards. I view them as just another tool for self-reflection and discovery, like little invitations to pause and check in with yourself. When I’ve read for myself, I’ve almost always reached for oracle decks. Tarot felt more intimidating. The structure, the archetypes, the energy of traditional decks felt a little too harsh, too masculine for me. I never felt fully connected to it.
So, I’m making my own. Mixing my intuition with the images that speak to me, building a deck that feels like my journey, feminine, fierce, tender, sometimes messy. Each card so far is a reminder to create from where I am, not where I think I should be.
It’s early, as I’m just a few cards into it so far, but already this practice feels like a conversation with myself. A way of reminding myself that when the feelings get heavy, I can move them through my hands. I can rip, cut, paste, and create until the weight inside me turns into something tangible. Proof that I can channel energy and emotion into something beautiful.
Already, it’s become more than just an art project. It’s a quiet but powerful practice: sitting with myself, gathering scraps, finding strength in beauty, reclaiming my own narrative one card at a time. A reminder that healing doesn’t have to look polished, it just has to begin.
I’m sharing this because the noise will always be there, but joy can be louder if you let it. If life has gotten too heavy, start small. Curate what you see, choose what you feed your mind, and make space for one forgotten thing that used to bring you light. You don’t have to rebuild yourself all at once; just follow one breadcrumb back.
If you want to follow along, I’m posting a card each day on my personal socials until this deck is complete. After that, I’m dreaming about creating my own oracle deck next, one built entirely from the imagery and words that have been helping me find my way back.
