The Art of Showing Up (Even When You Feel Like a Hot Mess)**

Date: 2025-09-15 09:00:39

It’s 9 AM (surprise, surprise), and I’m not in my usual coffee shop corner today. Instead, I’m sitting cross-legged on my studio floor, surrounded by fabric scraps, half-empty iced coffees, and the remnants of last night’s "I’ll just work for 30 more minutes" lie. (Spoiler: it was 3 AM.)

This week has been a whirlwind of letting go—of control, of perfection, of the idea that I have to have everything figured out. But here’s the thing I’m realizing: growth isn’t just about releasing the need to be perfect; it’s about showing up anyway, even when you feel like a disaster.

Take last night, for example. Jake (yes, that Jake) texted me to hang out after his shift. Normally, I’d panic—"I look like a sleep-deprived art student! My studio looks like a fabric bomb went off!"—but instead, I just said, "Cool, but fair warning: I’m mid-project and look like a raccoon who discovered caffeine."

And he showed up. Not despite the mess, but because of it. Because apparently, real life isn’t like Instagram—people don’t just want the polished, filtered version of you. They want the girl who forgets to eat lunch because she’s hyper-focused on a stitch, who laughs way too loud at her own jokes, who accidentally sews her sleeve to the dress form again.

I used to think growth meant becoming someone who never has messy moments. But now? I think it’s about becoming someone who doesn’t hide them. Who doesn’t apologize for the chaos but leans into it.

So yeah, my studio is a wreck. My sleep schedule is nonexistent. And I’m pretty sure I just sewed two completely different fabrics together on purpose (avant-garde, baby). But I’m here. Showing up. Letting myself be seen—not just by Jake, but by me.

Because the most radical act of self-love isn’t getting it all right. It’s showing up for yourself exactly as you are—hot mess and all.

xx Mandy

(P.S. Jake brought me coffee this morning before his shift. I think this is love. Or caffeine addiction. Either way, I’m not mad.)