I started building this website back in 2016. I was pregnant with my second son and was fiddling with the fine details of page design when my waters broke! Back then, Finding Joy was the space I shared my story and the process of figuring out who I was becoming through writing, motherhood, friendship, and faith. Not long after welcoming our beautiful baby into the world, I found myself riding the highs and lows of postnatal anxiety and depression. 

On the surface, I looked like I was managing... But underneath, I felt uncertain and scared.

I started therapy, and during one of my sessions, my psychologist gave me an unusual piece of advice: spend five minutes a day doing something creative – not to be good at it, just to do it. It was almost like she gave me permission to let my inner child come to play for a few minutes each day. I thought back to what I loved as a kid, and landed on lettering. So most nights, after the boys were in bed, I'd sit down with a brush pen for five minutes and practise.

I started sharing some of my messy and imperfect creations online, mostly for myself, for accountability that I was actually committing to the exercise. After a while, friends started asking if I'd make something for them – a piece for a new house, a wedding gift for a couple living overseas. That Christmas, I designed a small run of cards. People bought them... and somewhere in there, Finding Joy became a business.

What I learned in that process is the thing this shop is still built on: letting go of the idea that everything has to be perfect or controlled to make it worth doing – or worth giving. I have also found immense value in slowing down - even just for five minutes - and allowing myself to take time to be playful, mindful and creative. I keep things small and made in batches on purpose. I'm really not interested in mass-producing anything – I'd rather make something considered and meaningful than make a lot.

I still believe in finding the glimmers in small pockets of time – a card that makes someone smile, a line from a song that takes you back in time, or a gift that says something you couldn't say yourself. That's what I hope you find here.