When You’re Building Something Beautiful in the Middle of Being Tired

March 22, 2026 No Comments

I’ll be honest with you: I almost didn’t write this week. Not because nothing is happening — actually, the opposite. So much is happening that my brain has gone a little quiet on me, like a browser with too many tabs open and not enough RAM.

You know that feeling?

When life is full and you’re grateful, but you’re also just… tired?

That’s where I am right now. I’m in the middle of launching a new creative business called That’s Nice Actually — t-shirts, totes, stickers, things that are meant to make you smile or feel seen. The name says everything about the vision. Not loud. Not trying too hard. Just… that’s nice, actually. Simple things that carry a little joy.  I’m genuinely excited about it, even on the days when excitement and exhaustion look almost identical.

On top of that, I’m still doing a little clothing resale, still trying to keep a house from descending into chaos, still making space for painting and mixed media and the kind of creative play that doesn’t have a product attached to it — the kind that just fills you back up.

And I’m still showing up here, at Daring to Mend, because this space matters to me even when the words come slowly. Especially when the words come slowly.

I think that’s actually what this blog has always been about, underneath everything. Not performing wellness or pretending the creative life is glamorous. But showing up anyway — imperfectly, mid-process, still figuring it out.

Mending isn’t a one-time event. It’s something you do over and over, in small moments, even when you’re tired. So this is me, showing up. A little scattered, a little stretched, but still here.

Still building.

Still daring.

If you’re in a season like this too — where you’re holding more than feels reasonable, where you’re proud of what you’re creating but wish you had more energy to enjoy it — I just want you to know:

You don’t have to be at your best to keep going. You just have to keep going.

And…that’s nice, actually. 😉

When the Brain Starts Building a Case

March 11, 2026 No Comments

Okay, so re-reading my last blog, I feel like I only scratched the surface of a deeper issue.

The case-building structure my own brain seemed geared to build a case against me.

Was it the product of previous unhealthy relationships in my life?

Not just romantic ones — friendships, family dynamics, environments where approval sometimes felt uncertain.

Honestly, when I think about it now, I want to go back in time and give younger me a great big hug.

She was full of so much deep-rooted fear, and such a strong desire to be approved of… to be deeply loved.

It’s not that she didn’t love herself at all.

It’s that she didn’t know how to forgive herself when she failed.

She wanted stability.

She wanted growth.

She wanted harmony.

She genuinely wanted to do good for others as well.

But it’s almost as if she could never quite succeed at being the person she envisioned herself becoming — because she didn’t yet know how.

And letting things go?

That rarely came quietly.

It often came with a storm of emotion.

Self-blame.

Pain.

Long stretches of wondering what she had done wrong.

Looking back now, it almost feels like she was quietly asking every person around her the same question:

Please tell me I’m good enough.

Please tell me there’s something special about me.

Please tell me you see me.

Please tell me there’s something about me worth saving.

Lately I’ve been wondering if those strange memory replays stuck around for a reason.

Not because they prove something terrible about me.

But because they remind me of a version of myself who was still trying to figure out who she was allowed to be.

A version of me that kept looking outward for confirmation she was okay.

And when I think about that younger version of myself now, I don’t feel annoyed with her the way I used to.

Mostly I just want to sit next to her for a minute.

Tell her she doesn’t have to keep gathering evidence about her own worth.

Tell her the whole world isn’t secretly keeping score.

But of course life doesn’t really work like that.

You don’t get to go back and reassure the person you used to be.

But you can sit beside the person you are today.

You can see the potential in who she is becoming.

You can affirm it.

Validate it.

You can remind her that everything is going to be alright.

Because there is evidence now.

Evidence that you are worthy.

Evidence that even when you make mistakes, you keep trying to do your best.

Evidence that even when life didn’t turn out the way you once imagined, you still look for the silver lining.

You still search for the remaining rays of hope.

Maybe that’s enough.

Just maybe.

Because there was a time when I don’t think I could have said or done that.

I was my own worst enemy.

And when you think about it, that’s a strange badge of honor to carry — being the person who fought yourself harder than anyone else ever did.

So I’m curious.

If you could sit beside the younger version of yourself for a few minutes…

What would you say?

Stupid Little Moments on Repeat

March 10, 2026 No Comments

There are certain memories that make sense.

The big ones.

The life-changing ones.

But then there are the other ones.

The stupid little moments your brain apparently decided were worth storing forever.

Not traumas.

Not major heartbreaks.

Just… odd little fragments.

A weird comment someone made in 1998.

A look someone gave you in a grocery store line.

The moment someone didn’t laugh at a joke you were proud of.

That one time someone ghosted you and you still occasionally wonder what the heck happened.

Nothing earth-shattering.

And yet somehow your brain will randomly replay these moments 10, 20, even 30 years later like it’s flipping through an old VHS tape nobody asked to watch again.

You’ll be doing something completely normal — washing dishes, driving somewhere, watering plants — and suddenly:

Oh yes. Let’s revisit that awkward conversation from 2004.

Thanks, brain.

Sometimes the memories are mildly embarrassing.

Sometimes they’re confusing.

Sometimes they’re just… unfinished.

And maybe that’s the real reason they stick.

There was no clear ending.

No explanation.

No satisfying little bow.

Just a weird moment suspended in time.

I suspect most of us carry a small mental collection of these.

Tiny emotional splinters that didn’t hurt enough to be called trauma, but apparently bothered us just enough to get filed away in permanent storage.

The funny thing is, when you look back at them years later, you often realize something else.

The moment that stuck with you probably meant very little to the other person.

It was just Tuesday for them.

But for some reason, your brain went:

Ah yes, let’s archive this one forever.

Which is both irritating… and strangely human.

Because life isn’t made only of the big dramatic events.

Sometimes it’s also made of these strange little emotional echoes that pop up out of nowhere while you’re trying to mind your own business.

And maybe the best thing to do when they show up is just shrug a little and say:

“Well… that was weird.”

Then, grab the next dish and move on.

But, maybe, these strange little memory replays are just part of being human.

Our minds keeping odd little souvenirs from moments that didn’t quite resolve.

What’s one of yours?

The Unexpected Pivot: Becoming My Husband’s Administrative Assistant While Building My Own Work

March 5, 2026 No Comments

Reflections on small business life, creative projects, and learning as I go.

In the beginning…

Before I talk about where things are now, I want to be honest about what the last stretch actually looked like.

It wasn’t a clean transition. It wasn’t a Hallmark movie montage of inspiration and everything magically falling into place.

There were months when bills were behind. Months when the vision wasn’t clear. A lot of confusion, frustration, and more than a few arguments about what we were doing and whether it was even going to work.

Some days felt gritty and uncertain. The kind where you’re following gut instincts because there isn’t a clear roadmap yet. Listening to podcasts or motivational talks for small hits of inspiration—sometimes even a Mel Robbins clip here or there—just trying to keep your head in the right place while things still feel shaky underneath.

In a lot of ways, it was messy. Funky. A little scary.

But somewhere in that stretch, without much announcement, something began to shift.

Not a big breakthrough.
Just the smallest sliver of light.

Enough to start seeing where the path might actually be forming.

That’s where this story really begins.

The Unexpected Pivot I Didn’t Plan

A funny thing happens when life starts shifting directions.

Sometimes the change is dramatic and obvious.
Other times it happens quietly, almost without you noticing at first.

Over the past year, I’ve found myself stepping into a new role: becoming an administrative assistant within my husband’s business.

I had once pondered this role but mostly waited on the sidelines. When I finally started stepping into it, there was its own tug-of-war between what was required of me and what ideas I brought to the table—some good, some not. But over time, the role began to take shape.

What started with collecting expense receipts on a spreadsheet and doing a little driving around slowly turned into more and more side projects, along with the indispensable parallel management of our household and extended family—some blood, some not.

In some ways, the work has drawn on skills I’ve carried through different seasons of life before—especially in roles where helping people navigate systems, solve problems, and find workable solutions mattered.

And while this shift wasn’t something I completely mapped out years ago, it has been developing alongside something else that is very important to me.

Something of My Own

Alongside supporting his work, I’ve also been continuing to develop my own long-term project: Daring to Mend.

What began as a personal writing space has slowly evolved into something much larger than I originally imagined.

It’s becoming a place where I can explore:

  • personal writing
  • creative reflection
  • healing themes
  • thoughtful storytelling
  • practical tools for growth

And like most creative projects, it’s evolving in ways I couldn’t have predicted when I first started.

The Side Projects That Are Becoming Real

One of the interesting things about this season is how many ideas are beginning to take shape at once.

Some of the things currently in progress include:

  • reselling my old clothing or other used clothing I find through places like Poshmark
  • experimenting with AI design projects (which I am also doing for my husband’s business)
  • developing print-on-demand products (which I am also doing for my husband’s business)
  • creating digital downloads and resources
  • outlining future books and written projects
  • learning new technology and IT skills that will help support everything I’m building
  • beginning independent study in hands-on crafts like acrylic painting, sewing, and a few top-secret ones I will share once they actually produce products

Some days it feels a little like building several small bridges at the same time, and my mental—and actual—open browser tabs are far too many.

But each one connects back to the same bigger vision: creating meaningful work that blends creativity, technology, and personal expression.

Learning as I Go

One thing I’ve learned during this process is that you don’t have to know everything before you start.

You just have to be willing to learn as you move forward.

Working inside a small business environment has given me a deeper appreciation for how many moving parts exist behind the scenes—organization, communication, systems, and problem-solving.

At the same time, some of the skills from my past vocational work have quietly resurfaced. Recently I’ve found myself helping a family member with a reading disability navigate assistive tools, develop practical literacy strategies, and learn how to better advocate for themselves within different systems. It has been a reminder that access to information is not always as simple as it seems, and that patience, creativity, and the right tools can make an enormous difference.

It’s a small side note in this season of life, but it connects deeply to work I’ve cared about in the past.

This season has also reminded me how important self-care truly is, and that the goal with housework is for it to be managed, not perfected.

At the same time, the technology side of things has been fascinating to explore.

Artificial intelligence tools, digital design, and online publishing are opening doors that simply didn’t exist for independent creators even a few years ago.

And I’m excited to keep learning.

What This Season Looks Like

Right now, life looks a little like this:

  • helping support my husband’s growing business
  • continuing to develop Daring to Mend
  • experimenting with creative and digital projects
  • slowly building skills in technology and systems
  • working toward future books and content
  • practicing self-care
  • accepting that the kitchen and laundry may only be fully finished a couple of times a week—and that’s okay

My routine map may have a few anchors, but most days it probably looks like a lot of squiggly lines.

And that is okay, too.

The Long Game

What I’m building may take time.

But I’ve realized something important.

Even when the audience is still small…
Even when the projects are still forming…

The work itself still matters.
Self-care still matters.

Because sometimes the most meaningful chapters begin quietly, long before anyone else realizes something is taking shape.

And maybe that tiny sliver of light we finally started seeing…
was simply the first sign that we had already made it through the darkest stretch.

If you enjoy following creative projects as they grow, you’re welcome to follow along here at Daring to Mend.

Kitchen Sink

February 23, 2026 No Comments

I may be strong.

I may still carry beauty

born of pain.

But there are chambers of my story

only God has entered—

because words do not always land,

and not every heart

knows how to hold them.

I have worn names

laid on me like verdicts—

small, sharp charges

against my soul.

I have felt shame

others could not bear to face,

their unease slipping out

in whispers,

in mockery,

in silences,

in eyes that rolled

and granted no grace.

What is one soul worth

if she will not fall in line?

If she will not fit the frame?

Did she ask too much—

or only ask

to be seen?

Still—

there will come a knowing.

Not loud.

Not announced.

But in the way

I keep honoring

where there were only stares.

In the way I speak gently

of roads that cut my feet.

In the way I stayed tender

where I was handled roughly.

In the way my story

keeps breathing—

unbidden,

unpermitted,

alive.

They may never know the nights,

the loosening seams,

the prayers spoken

after language failed.

But they will see

what endured.

And it is enough.

The woman who now

makes the evening meal,

washes the last of the dishes,

tends the house in silence—

still bows in thanks

before her God,

even when her knees

CANNOT kneel or stand no more.

Physical pains throb

where emotional wounds left off.

She has become the light in the valley.

The sun for the shadow.

The rock, for the clay.

She is not God,

but He has allowed her

to bear witness,

yet another day.

Ten Years Later: What Galileo Church Gave Me When I Was Falling Apart

February 22, 2026 No Comments

The Church Who Held Space

In 2016, I walked into Galileo Church at one of the lowest points of my life.

I was broken in ways that didn’t show on the surface. I carried questions, grief, identity shifts, spiritual wrestling, and a life that felt like it was quietly slipping through my fingers. Some pieces were already gone; others hung by threads.

I had long cared about LGBTQ+ issues. Even while living mostly on the heterosexual side of my own bisexuality, I had always felt protective of spaces that were safe for others. Galileo’s openness in that area first drew me in.

But what I found there was far deeper than a single stance.

I found a kind of love that was just love—without hidden agendas or attempts to fit me into a box I wasn’t meant to fill.

I found creativity and intentionality woven into worship in ways I had never experienced before. Services weren’t thrown together—they were curated, crafted, thoughtful. Week after week, there was beauty, consistency, and substance.

It felt like someone wrapping a warmed blanket around you after standing out in the cold for far too long.

Comfort—yes.

But also challenge.

Galileo didn’t just soothe me. It ignited something in me. It called me into purpose, identity, courage, and a deeper understanding of who I was—and who God might still be inviting me to become.

Sometimes their social justice stance leaned more liberal than my moderate instincts. I won’t pretend that every position fit neatly into my personal framework. But the heart behind their message—the unmistakable love, integrity, and refusal to perform—made those differences feel secondary.

Because love and integrity that is real disarms critique.

Over time, their five missional priorities stopped feeling like slogans and started feeling like something written into my own spiritual DNA:

OUR MISSIONAL PRIORITIES:

  1. We do justice for LGBTQ+ people, and support the people who love them.
  2. We do kindness around mental illness and mental health and celebrate neurodiversity.
  3. We do beauty for our God-Who-Is-Beautiful.
  4. We do real relationship, no bullshit, ever.
  5. We do whatever it takes to share this good news with the world God still loves.

These priorities shaped me. They expanded my compassion. They sharpened my discernment. They reminded me that faith and honesty are not enemies.

For some Christians, Galileo’s differences from traditional structures are hard to reconcile. I understand that tension—I’ve wrestled with it myself.

But when I think about the love I encountered there—the very real, embodied, inconvenient love—any critique feels superficial, even hollow.

Let me be clear: no church can save a person. No community can be everything to everyone. I am not holding Galileo up as a gold standard for all believers. That would be unfair—and hypocritical.

But I am saying this:

God knew these were the Christians I needed.

When my life was unraveling—and at times nearly gone—this community helped anchor me. Not by fixing me or rescuing me, but by loving me into wholeness.

This blog, in many ways, exists because of the courage and permission I absorbed in that space. Because of the beauty I witnessed. Because of the honesty modeled from the pulpit. Because faith and justice were allowed to live in the same room without apology.

Ten years later, I’m still grateful.

Wrestling in the Silence: Witnesses, Not Fixers

There were seasons when I stepped away from Galileo Church because my darkness felt too heavy, my needs too great. I wrestled with God in those times, ashamed to face myself. I craved validation and acceptance in ways that were exhausting and consuming.

I remember a moment with Dr. Rev. Katie Hays that started a shift. I had flip-flopped on a choice, and in her careful explanation, she challenged me to consider: why was I so focused on her approval? It wasn’t comforting at first, but it was prophetic—a nudge back to God and my own wholeness.

Galileo Church has never been the puzzle I needed to solve my life. They weren’t the ones to put every broken piece together. But they were part of the bigger picture. They sat alongside me, witnessing, holding space, letting me wrestle, stumble, and learn what God was showing me.

They never chased me—they held space. They allowed me the solitude to “figure out” God, face myself, and understand that God’s silence wasn’t absence. It was listening. It was God letting me discover that the wholeness I sought had already been given—only obscured by doubt, shame, and external voices.

They weren’t my saviors or the puzzle. They were witnesses, companions, and custodians of a sacred space where I could be made whole—piece by piece—on my own.

Sometimes, that is the greatest gift anyone can offer: to hold space, bear witness, and trust that the work is God’s, not theirs.

About Galileo Church and Dr. Rev. Katie Hays

They can be found online at galileochurch.org. They have a vibrant in-person and online community, but first…

Origins

Galileo Church is a non-traditional Christian congregation in Fort Worth, Texas. It launched in 2013, led by Rev. Dr. Katie Hays, who previously served nearly two decades in traditional ministry before starting Galileo with younger adults seeking a different faith community.

Mission and Identity

Galileo describes itself as a “next-church community of belonging in Jesus’ name.” It is welcoming and affirming to those excluded or hurt by traditional churches—especially LGBTQ+ people, neurodiverse individuals, and “spiritual refugees.”

Worship & Community

Galileo holds Sunday worship at 5 pm (Central) on the I-20 service road in southeast Fort Worth and offers a livestream. Community outreach includes initiatives like Finn’s Place, a center for transgender and gender-diverse youth. Though structured as its own nonprofit, it grew from Galileo’s mission and Dr. Hays’s leadership.

Leadership & Perspective

Dr. Rev. Katie Hays writes sermons, blogs, and pastoral letters on inclusive theology, justice, and spirituality. She has been featured in Christian publications and recognized as a voice for inclusive ministry. Many of her books are available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other retailers.

If this sounds like a place you’d like to experience—online or in-person—check them out!

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