I would love to be writing something uplifting today - to show off a store bursting with products and a dream that’s finally "arrived." But here I am, perhaps ready to disappoint some of you. Or maybe, I’m here to offer a bit of relief to those of you struggling with the same trio I am: self-doubt, perfectionism, and the procrastination that stems from both. When I last wrote on here, I ended my post with: “And I don’t care how long it takes. I will be here, walking through d

I know I promised to be back as soon as the updated, colour‑corrected beetle plate print arrived. Well, the print arrived a while back and I didn’t let you know. Not because I didn’t want to—but somehow life always finds its sneaky little ways to distract you… especially when you’re trying to build a dream so close to your soul. The beetles arrived, looking much more true to their natural colours, and have been patiently waiting to be listed for sale in our Etsy store. But so

Day 35. I actually had to go back to my diary and count the days. Time shows no mercy lately; if there were an award for using up hours too fast, I’d take first place. Our Etsy store opened exactly one month ago, and by now, it was meant to be bursting with life. Instead, it stares at me with empty eyes. Reality is complicated. My imaginary life? Effortless. Morning robusta brews perfect plans—the struggle only begins when trying to drag them into reality. To cut a long story

History repeats itself, doesn't it? That déjà vu hits hard—this endless dance with my soul's idealistic vision of homemaking, housewife life, and working from our kitchen table. Down-to-earth reality keeps whispering (shouting?) that dreams like Blackbird Cottage Co. take grit to root, not just wishful longing. I've quit jobs a million times, chasing joy in this cozy creative life, only to crash into demotivation walls every time. One hard-won lesson sticks, though: you can't

​ This certainly isn't the fairytale beginning I imagined for our homemaking journey—but if you knew me, you'd understand why. My expectations run high: perfect routines, perfect life, perfect everything. So waking after just 4½ hours of sleep—battered by yesterday's caffeine haze and overwhelm over a major life decision—felt far from the dreamy freedom I pictured when I quit my daily job. Normally, I'd have given up. Emailed the agency to accept their safe offer. Carried on