From Broken to Becoming: The Journey I Can See in My Shop

There are moments in life when everything changes at once. Moments that pull the rug from under your feet, tilt the world on its axis, and leave you standing in the ruins of a life you thought you understood. My journey to Looe began in one of those moments — or rather, in a whole series of them.

Looking back, 2020 wasn’t just a difficult year; it was the year that reshaped me entirely. I lost my dad, my husband, and my business in what felt like one long, unrelenting wave. Each loss hit a different part of me. Each one took something I didn’t know how to replace. And eventually, the grief became a weight I couldn’t lift.

But the part that surprised me most wasn’t the grief or the loneliness. It was losing faith — not just in the world, not just in people, but in myself.

The Breaking Point

I don’t think there are words strong enough to describe what it feels like to lose your confidence so completely that you no longer recognise yourself. I went from being a woman who could run a business, make decisions, welcome customers, and show up fully… to someone who felt invisible and, in some ways, wanted to be.

That’s the strange thing about heartbreak and trauma — it doesn’t just take what you had; it takes who you were.

When I moved to Looe, I carried all of that with me. I felt shattered. Exhausted. Unsure of everything. And the last thing I wanted was to be seen.

For someone whose livelihood has always been outward-facing, that was perhaps the toughest layer of it all. How do you run a business, connect with people, and put yourself out into the world… when you feel like you’re held together with string?

A Town That Held Me While I Healed

What I didn’t realise then was that Looe would become part of my healing. Not loudly, not dramatically — but quietly, gently, in all the ways I didn’t know I needed.

There’s something about the sea that softens you. Something about the tides that make you feel less alone in the rise and fall of your own life. Something about a small town that offers a sense of belonging even before you’re ready to claim it.

At first, I stayed in my shell.

I kept my guard high.

I did what I needed to do, but I didn’t let myself connect.

But healing has its own timings.

It comes not in one big leap, but in tiny, almost invisible steps — steps you don’t even realise you’re taking until you look back and see how far you’ve walked.

The Shop That Became a Mirror

Sweet Pea was never just a shop.

Not for me.

Not ever.

It became a reflection of the parts of me that were slowly coming back to life. Every small change I made in the shop matched a shift happening inside me.

When I started rearranging displays, I noticed that my inner world felt a little less chaotic. When I put out a crystal known for trust, or heart healing, or courage, I realised I was calling those things in for myself too.

When I welcomed a customer with a genuine smile, it reminded me that connection can feel safe and warm, not frightening or draining.

Little by little, I began showing up fully again — not out of force, not out of expectation, but out of an emerging desire to be part of the world again.

The shelves changed.

The energy changed.

I changed.

I began to let people in — carefully at first, tenderly, but sincerely.

And step by step, I stopped hiding.

Letting Myself Be Seen Again

Confidence doesn’t return overnight. It rebuilds quietly, layer by layer, moment by moment.

There were days when I still doubted myself.

Days when I wondered whether I could truly start again after losing so much. Days when the past felt heavy on my shoulders.

But there were also days when someone came into the shop and told me how peaceful it felt.

Days when a customer shared their own story of loss or healing.

Days when someone said they felt “held” in the space I’d created.

And I realised that maybe — just maybe — what I had been through wasn’t for nothing.

Maybe it was shaping me into someone who could hold space for others. Someone who understood fragility and strength in equal measure. Someone who could build something new from the ashes of what was lost.

The Journey I Can Actually See

Now, when I walk into Sweet Pea, I see so much more than crystals or shelves or displays.

I see courage.

I see resilience.

I see the quiet, determined rebuilding of a life I once thought was beyond repair.

I see the woman who first arrived in Looe — the one who was shattered and scared — and I also see the woman I’ve become: grounded, hopeful, and ready.

It’s rare in life that we get to see our journey physically reflected back to us. But I do — every day, in the energy of my shop, the community around me, and the peace I now feel standing behind the counter instead of shrinking into the background.

Looking Forward With an Open Heart

The woman I am today is not the same woman who moved here. She’s softer, but also stronger. More open, but also more discerning. More grounded, but also more willing to dream again.

For the first time in a long time, I feel excited about what’s coming next.

Not because life is perfect — it never is. Not because everything is clear — it rarely is. But because I finally feel ready.

Ready to be seen.

Ready to trust again.

Ready to grow.

Ready to create something beautiful from everything I’ve lived through.

If my journey says anything, it's this:

You can lose everything and still rise.

You can fall apart and still rebuild.

You can lose your way and still find a home — inside yourself, and in the world around you.

And sometimes, the place you heal becomes part of the story too.

Looe has become that place for me. Sweet Pea has become that reflection. And I can’t wait to see where the next chapter leads.

Here’s to healing and to hope. Here's to

Here's to becoming — again and again. ✨