What I Learned Showing Up

As my first full market season drew to a close, I found myself sitting with a heart full of reflection. What had begun as a hesitant “yes” to in-person selling had grown into one of the most shaping and unforgettable experiences of my creative journey.

I had only sold my work online before—quietly, behind the scenes, where everything felt safe and contained. The thought of showing up physically, face-to-face with customers, was daunting. I’m a deeply introverted and quiet creative. The idea of putting myself on display alongside my art felt like more than just marketing—it felt like exposure. As artists, we don’t just sell products; we share parts of ourselves. Every stitch, clasp, fiber, and detail I offer carries my heart. To share that publicly meant allowing my work—and, by extension, myself—to be vulnerable to praise, critique, or indifference.

But something unexpected happened during those seven months. I was received with kindness, curiosity, and warmth. I found myself surrounded by community—fellow small business owners, artists, and passersby—who embraced my work with open hearts and encouraging words. And I was thankful.

I was thankful for every conversation with someone who saw something in my work that resonated with their soul. For every person who paused at my booth, looked twice, smiled, and asked thoughtful questions. For the quiet affirmations: the double takes, the whispered wows, the admiring glances—even when no purchase followed. I was thankful for the people who saw value in my craftsmanship and chose to pay more than I asked, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. That generosity reminded me that people still recognize the sacredness of handmade work.

I was thankful for the repeat customers, the custom orders, the ones who returned with stories about how they wore my pieces or gifted them to someone they loved. I was thankful for those who walked by, snapped a photo of my setup, or complimented my work as they moved along. Even in fleeting moments, I felt seen.

I was especially thankful for the artists and vendors who shared wisdom without competition—who offered advice, encouragement, and genuine support. It taught me that there is space for all of us, and that gatekeeping has no place in a thriving creative community. Their openness left a lasting impression.

The event organizers who gave me space to be part of their markets—who offered platforms for exposure, connection, and growth—I remembered each opportunity with deep appreciation. They gave me the chance to expand my business in ways I never could have done through social media alone. Those events helped my art reach hearts I never could have found otherwise.

And behind the scenes, helping me every step of the way, was my daughter, Nyaimani—the namesake of my brand. I was especially thankful for her selfless support. She showed up for me with strength and joy, helping with setup and breakdown, carrying heavy bins, and serving customers with grace. Her presence was steady and her encouragement constant. I couldn’t have done it without her.

In every moment—seen or unseen—I knew that God was guiding the entire season. From the opportunities to the people I encountered, from the energy to show up each week to the quiet confirmations that I was exactly where I needed to be—it was all Him. The answered prayers. The provision. The grace. I was walking in what I now recognize as my Ephesians 3:20 season—more than I could ask or imagine.

Now, with space and time to reflect, I realize that this chapter wasn’t just about selling. It was about growth. I became braver. I became more grounded in my calling. I became someone who could stand in front of her work and know its worth.

I may never return to the vendor circuit. But I will always carry the lessons it gave me.

That the work of your hands matters.
That your quiet, heartfelt creativity has value.
And that when you step out in faith, even trembling, God meets you there—with community, with confirmation, and with provision far greater than you imagined.

I was thankful then. I am even more thankful now.