A few days before my birthday, I lost my job.
I remember how quiet the room felt that day — how even the hum of my laptop seemed too loud. My inbox had turned into a reminder of what I no longer had, and for a while, I just sat there, staring at a blank page.
That blank page felt like my life — uncertain, empty, and a little terrifying.
But instead of running from it, I opened a notebook. I didn’t plan to write anything meaningful; I just needed somewhere to put all the noise in my head. So I wrote.
At first, it was messy — thoughts tangled together, raw and unfiltered. But as the days passed, my handwriting slowed down. My sentences softened. Somewhere between the scribbles, I started to breathe again.
When Writing Became Healing
Journaling became my quiet act of survival. It didn’t fix everything overnight, but it gave me something to hold onto — a few minutes each morning where I could be honest with myself. Writing helped me process what I couldn’t say out loud.
I started noticing small things — the smell of coffee, the sound of rain, the way sunlight hit the kitchen counter. I began to write about those things, and somehow, it made the world feel gentle again.
That’s when I realized that blank pages aren’t something to fear.
They’re proof that you still have somewhere to go.
From Healing to Creating
When I began designing Sweet Pastry Notebooks, I wanted each one to carry that same sense of comfort — a reminder that rebuilding takes time, and creativity can be a way back to yourself.
Each journal is a safe space for your thoughts — whether they’re messy, uncertain, or full of hope. I wanted to make notebooks that felt warm, soft, and comforting, like your favorite pastry from the oven.
If you’re going through a hard season, I want you to know this:
You don’t need to have it all figured out. Just start where you are. Write one word, then another.
Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It happens quietly — page by page, thought by thought.
