Christmas Eve in the Studio

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m in my studio.

No plans. No obligations. No performance. Just time.

I’m standing inside a space that exists entirely because I built it. The walls didn’t come this way. The shelves didn’t arrive full. Almost everything in here started as an idea, a sketch, a mess on the floor, or something I didn’t know how to finish yet.

This studio is made out of my work.

And the work inside it is made from my life.

The last few months were unstable. I didn’t see a future clearly for a while. There was a lot of emotional noise, a lot of physical exhaustion, a lot of rebuilding happening all at once. This space grew alongside that. Slowly. Piece by piece. Paintings stacked before they were hung. Tools brought in before there was a place for them. Order coming after chaos instead of before it.

Now I can look around and see momentum.

Not success. Not certainty. Momentum.

That matters more.

There’s something grounding about standing inside a thing you made when everything else felt like it was falling apart. This room doesn’t argue with me. It doesn’t ask for reassurance. It doesn’t need me to explain myself. It just exists because I kept showing up.

I’m not here because I’m avoiding people.

I’m here because this is where I feel aligned.

The holidays can make you feel like you’re missing something if your life doesn’t match the expected shape. Family setups. Traditions. Trees. Noise. I’ve done that life. I know what it costs. I also know what it gives. Right now, this is what fits.

Art is my priority. Healing is my priority. Building a life that feels sustainable is my priority.

Tonight, that looks like paint drying, unfinished ideas on the table, and the freedom to stay as long as I want or leave when I’m done. That freedom didn’t come from nowhere. It came from work. From loss. From choosing to rebuild instead of disappear.

This studio isn’t an escape.

It’s proof.

Proof that I can make something solid.

Proof that I can live inside my own creation.

Proof that even when things fall apart, something honest can grow in their place.

That’s enough for tonight.