I made this on a day my nerves were showing.
I was newly engaged, packing up my life, moving to Los Angeles with the man I love. Everything felt tender. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I didn’t feel broken, just exposed.
This piece came from that exposure.
That day I realized how much of my heart spills into the people I love. How perfectionism is often just fear asking to be held. Every face I drew carried a version of me. Sensitive. Intense. A little overwhelmed. Wanting to be understood without having to explain myself.
Drawing became a way to soothe my body.
No Illustrator. No erasing. Just my hands, letting lines be imperfect and still worthy of staying. Each uneven detail felt like permission. I wasn’t trying to clean myself up. I was letting myself be seen.
What once felt sharp started to feel gentle.
This piece isn’t about fear going away. It’s about learning how to cradle it. Let it exist without shame. Let it soften into something honest and alive.
That day reminded me that peace doesn’t come from becoming perfect. It comes from allowing yourself to evolve out loud, with grace.
Sometimes growth looks quiet.
Sometimes it looks emotional.
Sometimes it looks like this.