A fresh jar of sourdough starter beginning to rise, full of bubbles and fermentation activity.

Sourdough Healing Journey

💫 When Creativity Needed a Reset

How letting go of old habits—and picking up sourdough—led me back to myself.

🌲 A New Life, A New Rhythm

I didn’t grow up drinking. In fact, I didn’t start until I was 40. But the years that followed—moving from Billings, Montana to California, navigating new rhythms, loss, and the thrill of constant creation—led me on an unexpected sourdough healing journey.

I loved chasing the creative high—pouring myself into projects, staying up late, designing, building, imagining. Until one day, I realized I’d lost track of where I ended and the work began.

There was no grand plan. Just momentum. I got swept up in the work—designing, building, creating—and for a long time, that was enough. Until it wasn’t.

At first, the occasional drink felt lighthearted. A way to ease into unfamiliar territory. A quiet signal that I belonged in this new life I was building. I was creating constantly—designing websites, building brands, helping others find their voice online.

It was electric—each design, each brand, each story felt like pure creative voltage. I couldn’t get enough.

But somewhere in that swirl of creativity, I stopped hearing my own voice.

⚡️ When Everything Cracked Open

Life has a way of forcing pause. For me, it came in 2017, when a boating accident shattered the right side of my face—and everything I thought I was building.

I stepped away from my corporate job without knowing what would come next. In the long, uncertain quiet of recovery, I taught myself how to build websites from scratch. It became my tether. My way of staying useful, staying creative, staying in motion.

But healing isn’t just about productivity. And while my face and career found new forms, my heart had healing still to do.

🍷 Creativity, Escapism & Stella

What started as a ritual of creativity—late nights, web design marathons, day drinks with clients who became friends—slowly became a quiet crutch. I wasn’t partying. I wasn’t escaping in the way people usually talk about. I was creating—pouring beauty into other people’s visions and staying in motion.

Behind the scenes, I leaned into a rhythm that felt like control—Stella in hand, ideas coming faster, the noise fading just enough for the creativity to rush in. It wasn’t wild. It was comforting. Familiar. Easy.

And yet… deep down, I knew something was missing.

🖤 Losing My Mom, Finding the Silence The Loaf Happened

Years passed. The sites got shinier. My clients got bigger. But somewhere in all that momentum, I disappeared a little. I was always creating for someone else—never for myself. And when my mom passed away in 2023, that silence inside me became deafening.

Her death changed everything.

The grief rearranged me. It didn’t ask permission. It just came in like a tide, washed everything out, and left me standing in the kitchen one afternoon processing life,

I didn’t set out to make anything. I just needed to feel something.

To be still. To be in my kitchen without expectation or urgency—just a quiet moment of calm in the middle of everything.

🍞 The Starter That Started Everything

That’s when I reached for flour and water. I had no plan. No idea what I was doing. I just knew I wanted to build something that didn’t require words. Something that asked me to slow down. To be present. To feel my feelings and still create something from them.

And so, I built a sourdough starter.

That messy little jar on the counter became the most honest thing in my life. It didn’t need a filter or a pitch deck. It just needed me to show up. Feed it. Pay attention. Listen. And that became my healing: presence without performance.

Each loaf brought me closer to the version of myself I’d lost along the way.

🎄 The Christmas That Changed Me

My best friend—someone who had walked with me through so many versions of myself—gently, bravely, called me out. She saw what I hadn’t yet been willing to name. Not with shame, but with love. With unwavering clarity.

And for the first time, I didn’t deflect.
I didn’t retreat.
I listened.

In that moment, I realized I had been holding onto rituals that no longer served me. Habits that once felt like comfort but had quietly become cages. Her honesty cracked something open in me—not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet way real change often begins.

The grief I had been quietly carrying wasn’t new—it had been with me for months, woven into my days like background music. But something in me was shifting.
The grief was still there, but alongside it, I began to recognize another familiar presence—my creativity. A companion I had always known, but was only just learning to trust.

And for the first time, I didn’t need to access it through a bottle.

I had leaned on Stella for years—quietly, casually, as a creative companion. A shortcut to flow. A softener of edges. But in this season, I was ready to let that go. Not because I didn’t still crave ease, but because I finally believed I could create without disappearing.

It wasn’t a breaking point.
It was a turning point.
An awakening to the woman I was becoming—clearer, more grounded, and finally ready to trust her own presence and instincts.

I gave myself permission to slow down.
To rest in who I already was.
To lead with the creativity I had always carried—but rarely claimed.

And I started baking my way through it all.

🌿 From Numbing to Nurturing

I didn’t need to chase creativity anymore. I just needed to nurture it.

That’s how Sourdough Afterglow was born—not as a brand or a business, but as a quiet remembering. A return to stillness. A celebration of the beauty that follows the breaking.

🔥 Showing Up—Fully, Finally

Now, when I create, I do it from a place of rooted joy—not escape. I bake with my hands and write with my heart. I don’t disappear to create anymore. I show up.

Because that’s what sourdough taught me: presence is its own kind of art.

Healing is a deeply personal journey, and each of us finds solace in our own unique ways. Whether it’s through the rhythmic kneading of dough, the creative expression of art, or the quiet moments of reflection, it’s important to honor what brings you peace. Trust your heart, follow your path, and remember that your experiences are valid and seen. Embrace your journey, and know that you are not alone.

✨ The Afterglow

So if you’re in a season of grief, growth, or just searching for something soft to hold—start here. With your hands. With your heart. With something wild and alive in a jar.

👉 This is the bread that brought me back to myself. Maybe it can meet you there, too.

And if you ever need a little encouragement or a reminder that you’re not alone in your becoming—I’m just a loaf away.