The Art of Being a Mess (And Owning It)**

It’s 9 AM, and I’m sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by fabric scraps, half-empty coffee cups, and so many bobby pins. My latest design project is due in, like, three hours, and guess what? It’s not even close to finished.

A few months ago, this would’ve sent me into full panic mode—heart racing, hands shaking, the whole nine yards. But today? I’m weirdly… calm. Or at least, not spiraling. And that feels like progress.

I’ve been thinking a lot about control—or, more accurately, my lack of it. I used to think that if I just planned hard enough, worked late enough, or stressed enough, I could force things into place. But life keeps proving me wrong—flat tires, exes, coffee orders spelled wrong—and I’m starting to realize that maybe the mess isn’t the enemy. Maybe the mess is the point.

Last night, I was up way too late sewing (read: aggressively stabbing fabric with a needle) when my roommate peeked in and said, “Girl, you look like a Pinterest board exploded.” And instead of freaking out, I laughed—because she wasn’t wrong. My life is a Pinterest board that exploded. Chaotic, colorful, and somehow still kind of beautiful.

I used to think being put together was the goal. Now? I think the goal is just being. Showing up, even when things are half-finished. Trusting that the mess isn’t a failure—it’s just part of the process.

So yeah, my project might be late. My room looks like a craft store threw up. And my love life? Still a work in progress. But for the first time, I’m okay with that.

Here’s to embracing the mess—and realizing it’s where the magic happens.

xx Mandy

(P.S. The barista got my name right today. We’re officially on-again.)