003. The Silence That Followed the Launch
01/
It’s been a minute. Well, more like six months. I haven’t posted regularly since the end of May, and maybe you’ve wondered if Eden and Sable is still alive.
Honestly, it’s a fair question… and one I’ve asked myself too.
The truth? Depression got to me.
02/
The Launch
On April 19th, 2025, I pressed “Publish” and Eden and Sable was live. Ten years of dreaming, designing, and refining had led to this moment.
Almost immediately, I began questioning my timing. Not only because the economy felt uncertain, but because my life outside the brand was anything but settled. Our house was still under renovation, something that had already been dragging on for far longer than expected and I didn’t even have a proper space to work, let alone create content. Everything felt temporary, improvised, unsettled.
Still, I wanted to press on, after all I had come so far. My sister and I ran ads on a modest budget, casting a wide net to “catch bees with honey.” Some of you followed, browsed, and interacted. But no sales came, and it quickly became clear the reach wasn’t working the way I had hoped. We averaged about 100 site visits a day, around 700 a week, which if you’ve done your research, you know isn’t nearly enough to secure a sale.
I couldn’t figure out where I had gone wrong. So I dove headfirst into analytics, Facebook ads, Pinterest pixels, API setups, hours and hours of work with very little to show for it.
In the background, I watched other small brands and even some that seemed well established, announce their closure. 2025 was a tough year. And I couldn’t help wondering: if this is where their chapter ends, what does that mean for mine?
03/
In Search of Guidance
Around this time, I started thinking about all the advice I’d heard from so-called industry experts—people who insist they can make your brand successful if you follow their program.
Their pitches are polished: they’ve built successful brands themselves or helped others do the same. Their proof often comes in the form of celebrity photos or client lists but look closer, and there’s little you can verify. And the price? Always steep.
Still, I convinced myself I needed help. I booked a free call.
The sales rep had already reviewed my site and socials. She outlined a three-part program: brand definition, production, and sales/marketing. I didn’t need production, but I thought the other two could help.
Then came the price, basically my entire year’s marketing budget and remaining production funds. I hesitated. I called my mom and my partner during the meeting for advice. Both told me it was my decision.
The rep pushed for a commitment right then, warning that if I didn’t join now, I might not be accepted later. My stomach turned. My heart raced.
And I said yes.
The moment the call ended, I broke. Tears streamed down my face. I’d just thrown my budget out the window. Worse, the modules I needed most, sales and marketing, were locked for nearly three months. And I could only blame myself for this heartbreak.
04/
A Season of Grief
I told myself I would focus on the open modules of the program, brand definition, while waiting for the others to unlock. But then June arrived, and with it, a personal crisis I wasn’t prepared for.
I’m not ready to share the details yet, but it came with heartbreak and a level of physical pain I hadn’t felt in years. For seven days, I couldn’t walk, sit, or sleep without agony. I spent hours in the ER. And at the end of it, I lost something deeply precious to me.
If in May my tears felt like a steady rain, in June they became a downpour. I didn’t distract myself this time. I didn’t outrun the grief. I let it settle in my body.
I went to work, saw family, smiled when I had to and then went home and cried until sleep finally came.
As summer went on, the weight didn’t lift. And by August, another layer of uncertainty appeared: my place of work was threatened with forced closure, and I was suddenly at risk of losing my job. The job I relied on to keep Eden and Sable open.
Grief, instability, fear, it all began to stack. It was a lot to carry at once.
05/
The Turning Point
The shift didn’t come all at once. It came quietly, through relief I didn’t expect.
The only thing that kept me from disappearing completely was my daughter. I didn’t want her to see me breaking every day. I know she saw more than I meant her to, but she also gave me the reason to move forward.
So I made a plan,for my mental health first, and then for Eden and Sable. I reached out for help. I gave myself a timeline to start moving again. Slowly, the fog began to lift.
Around that same time, my dad reached out to tell me that we had a relative in Canada, a cousin, who might be able to help with our ongoing home renovations. By that point, we were nearly a year and a half into the renovations and were nowhere near completion.
Hearing that someone was willing to help felt like a lifeline.
With their support, we were finally able to get the house to a point where we could live in it—and work in it. That meant finishing a proper workshop space, but also something much more basic: completing our bedrooms. After years of not sleeping in them, we could finally rest in our own space.
That stability mattered more than I realized. Once my environment began to settle, I slowly did too.
It’s been a couple of months since I began feeling like myself again. I’m still working through that expensive program, still unsure if it will be worth it. I’m also learning how to carry my loss and keep moving forward. Life doesn’t always go as planned, and so much of it is out of our control. But I do know this:
Eden and Sable is still here.
And I’m still here, designing, creating, and giving it everything I’ve got.
If you’ve wondered where I’ve been… now you know.
The dream is still alive. And this is just the next chapter.