Changing Things Up & vulnerability

Hello!... It’s been a while, right? Sorry about that—life has been a bit difficult lately. So in this post, I just wanted to share why I’ve been disappearing and reappearing (then disappearing again… you see the pattern!). I think this has been the longest I’ve been away.

I also want to explain what this means for Of Wild and Wonder and the changes you’ll see going forward. This may be a bit of a long one—so apologies—but I want to be as authentic and transparent as I can. Some of this is raw and difficult to talk about, but I need to get it out and start afresh. Trigger warning: this post includes topics of mental health and abuse.

So… where do I start?

Okay, a few years ago, I was diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses that have quite a large impact on my day-to-day life. Mine are dynamic in the sense that one day I feel like I can take on the world, and the next day it hurts just to lift my head from the pillow.

Last year, I was also diagnosed as autistic, and I’m currently waiting for an ADHD assessment. For me, both of these are closely linked with mental health challenges like anxiety and depression. I’ve also been in therapy for the past year and a half to recover from a 12-year abusive relationship, which left me with its own issues.

So, a lot is going on in the background. I never wanted to believe any of this was real. I tried to keep it all hidden—from my work, friends, even some family—because I thought it was embarrassing or made me look weak. I didn’t want to be seen as mardy; I wanted to be upbeat and positive. So I kept posting like normal, booking events one after another, signing up for everything because I felt like I just had to crack on. I could not accept ( and still find it hard -part of why I am doing this) and had the daft attitude of denial —pull your socks up, smile, eat some kale and spinach, do some yoga, lose a bit of weight, and everything will be fine.

I kept masking. I ignored advice from my occupational therapist, therapist, and my physio. Things like “pacing.” I thought, What the heck? How am I supposed to get anything done if I pace myself? I kept pushing. I told myself I’d be fine.
…And then: boom. Burnout.

disappear, cancel all my events, stop posting on socials, and disengage from everything. It was just too much—physically and mentally. I’d go to the GP, get medication I wouldn’t take (because it never worked in the past), wait for therapy, once in therapy, start to feel a little better… and then do it all again. Sign up to things, restart Instagram, feel like things were great—until the mask started to feel heavier. Not just online, but in my whole life.

Eventually, I couldn’t hold the mask up anymore. I’d break down again. I felt like I was letting people down, or that people would question me if I showed the truth. So I’d disappear again.

I didn’t want to post that I was in the hospital again, or that I couldn’t get out of bed, or that the world felt like too much that day. I didn’t want people to see that side of me. And in my mind, acknowledging it gave it power.

But as you can imagine, this boom-and-bust cycle was going to end in tears—and it did.

In April of this year, Ross’s (my partner’s) father became very unwell and sadly passed away. For just under a month, we were visiting him in the hospital. For someone with health anxiety, chronic illness, and neurodivergence, this was incredibly difficult. On top of that, I was trying to manage my own appointments, markets, daily life, and support Ross through everything.

Ross’s father passed in April, with us by his side. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever witnessed, and I still find it upsetting. I miss Bob very much.

Then there was everything else that needs sorting when someone passes on (which I had no idea about—this was new to me). I kept going, stayed strong for Ross and myself. Then my own father came to visit, so I had to be on form for that too. Then I had a market coming up… and I had nothing made for it. So I sat at my desk, day after day, creating as fast as I could.

The market was on June 22nd, and I was completely broken. As I write this now in August, I’m still unwell. I have never felt so unwell at an event. I couldn’t talk to people. I could hardly stand. But I smiled anyway—I didn’t want to let anyone down.

A week later, I completely burned out and broke down. I sat with Ross and said, If I’m going to keep doing this, something has to change. Or I’m going to have to stop altogether. I can’t keep going like this.

I was carrying guilt for not being present online, not doing things “as well” as other people, for only being able to go slow. It felt like everyone was zooming ahead of me, and I was constantly trying to catch up—but I just couldn’t make it.
That made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Like my art wasn’t good enough. Like maybe this path wasn’t for me.

I’d created a version of myself online that didn’t reflect my reality. I felt like I couldn’t keep posting without either creating a brand new profile or finally being transparent about my ups and downs, which led me to write this post…
So here we are.

I don’t want this to be a pity blog post. I know so many people are going through really hard things. And the world is honestly scary right now. But this is my way of freeing myself so I can post authentically again—without hiding when I’m having a rough day.

And maybe, this post might help someone else feel seen, too.

Something’s shifted…

I don’t know why exactly, but over the past few months, I’ve started to accept my limitations—and embrace what I can do. I’m learning to accept my neurodiversity and my capabilities as a dyslexic, autistic, and possibly ADHD individual, with chronic illness

I’m realising: it’s okay if things are too much sometimes.

This world wasn’t built for neurodivergent folks, and it can be exhausting to navigate. It’s okay to drop the mask and be yourself. But it does take time when you’ve been masking for years.

I am also learning to ask for help. I don’t have to be the strong one all the time.
Having a chronic illness doesn’t make me weak or less of a person. I can adapt to create a life that works for me.

I’m learning to love my authentic self. To stop feeling ashamed of who I am or what I’ve been through. To allow that authenticity to show up online and in my art.

It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to live a slow, calm life.
Not everything has to be rush, rush, rush.
It’s okay to sit on the sidelines of the race with a cup of tea and a slice of cake—and then join back in at your own pace.

In fact, I think I’ll achieve more this way—because I won’t keep hitting those huge periods of burnout. ( fingers crossed!)

So… what does this mean for Of Wild and Wonder?

One of the biggest changes: I’ll only be doing 2–3 shows or cons per year.

My main focus will shift online—building my website and expanding the world of Wild and Wonder. Working from home gives me more control and flexibility, and should reduce the recovery time that markets usually demand.

I’ll still use social media, but it won’t be my main focus. I’ll use it more like a portfolio and for behind-the-scenes content via stories.

I’ll be putting more time into my blog and starting a YouTube channel/YouTube Shorts, documenting what it’s like to build a creative business (sort of from scratch) as a neurodivergent, chronically ill person. I’ll share the challenges—but also the good stuff: living a slow, peaceful life, creating magical creatures from clay, painting botanical watercolours, crafting other worlds in acrylic. sharing my journey with you, as just as me—Kerry—the woman behind Of Wild and Wonder.

If you got to the end of this—thank you. Truly, for taking the time to read this, I know it’s a long one, but I needed to get it all out to reset my direction, and so I can show up authentically online.

If you resonate with any of this, please know: it’s tough sometimes. But you’re not alone.
It can feel very lonely, but you’re honestly not alone. We can support each other through our unique, magical, and wonderful journeys.

Love,
Kerry 🌿