FEAR TO FORWARD MOTION: WHY I’M REDEFINING DEAR HANDMADE LIFE

but before I jump in, I’d like to explain the why behind it.

I’m writing this blog at the kitchen table in the house where my Dad grew up—the same house I now call home. 

If you’ve been following along, you know that a few months ago I moved from Northern to Southern California into my grandmother’s house. It was a massive change, the kind that comes with a mix of excitement and sheer terror. I made the leap without really knowing how I’d feel once I landed.

And then, there were all of the “what-ifs”.

• My husband, who’s spent the past decade working in Napa Valley’s wine industry, suddenly found himself in Orange County—not exactly known for its wineries. 
• I hadn’t lived this close to my family in over 15 years. Would our deeply “in-each-other’s-business” Italian ways feel smothering, or would they be exactly what I’d been longing for? 
• Then there was the logistical chaos: getting my grandma’s house move-in ready, packing up our lives, moving, and—oh yeah—becoming a landlord (something the little part of me that still identifies as a struggling creative never thought I’d say).

The doubts piled up. But like E.L. Doctorow said, “Writing is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” 

One step, one task, one box at a time. First, I had to get in the car. Then start the engine. Then hit the gas. 

An object in motion tends to stay in motion, right? Once that momentum of movement started—once the decision was made and I created my multi-tab spreadsheet of moving tasks and enlisted the help of my generous family—it wasn’t just my location that changed. It set into effect a domino of change. My mindset, my routines, even how I saw myself.

For the first time in almost five years, I’ve been able to stick to an almost-daily morning walk. 

Instead of my usual comfort-binge of Friends or The Office at night, I’ve traded my summer-long escape into romance novels for diving back into self-growth books—not that there’s anything wrong with fiction, but it was time to turn my focus inward again. 

I’ve even carved out weekly Saturday dates with my son Luca. 

These are all things I couldn’t seem to commit to before the move.

And, of course, this avalanche of change didn’t stop there—it swept into my business too.

For years, I’ve struggled to define what Dear Handmade Life has truly become since it all started with our first Patchwork Show nearly 20 years ago. Sure, we still produce events for creatives, but what’s the deeper voice of this brand? Every time I tried to pin it down, it felt like trying to fold a fitted sheet—technically possible, but somehow always a chaotic mess for me.

Currently, the voice of this brand and its mission is to share the good work my team and I are doing—BTW, our fall Patchwork Show season is here, and early bird registration for Craftcation Conference is closing soon! But lately, I’ve felt this growing pull to share more about the other side of things too—the raw, unfinished parts of my life that sneak their way into my newsletters. 

Some days, I hold back, worried I’m about to overshare. Other days, I let it all out and wonder if I’ve accidentally trauma-dumped on someone who just wanted to know when the next Patchwork Show is.

It was like making salsa and knowing it needed “a little something.” You experiment with salt, add extra cilantro. Then someone takes a taste and says, “More lime.” That “aha” moment? I finally had mine with the Dear Handmade Life brand.

It came during a call with our COO, Katie Mac. She simply asked, “Why is Dear Handmade Life even called ‘Dear Handmade Life’?” That question unlocked everything! Suddenly, I saw what had been missing, what I’d been trying to define all along.

Dear Handmade Life had evolved from the business I co-founded with my former partner nearly 20 years ago into something else. The “missing lime” was realizing that our events needed their own home, and I needed a space to fully embrace my purpose: mentoring other creatives and showing up as the mostly unfiltered creative weirdo I’ve always been.

The moments I feel most connected, most alive, are when I’m writing these letters to you. When I’m simply sharing—honestly and openly—the stories from my life and what I’ve learned as a creative and business owner. That is my purpose.

And now here’s the big news…