Maker & Reader Apothecary

Today I’m changing labels.

It’s small, practical work; peeling, pressing, lining things up just right. The kind of task that keeps your hands busy while your mind wanders. And honestly, my mind has been wandering a lot lately.

Things feel heavy. Loud. Unsettled.

I don’t need to name headlines or events for that to be true. You probably feel it too. There’s a shared tension in the air, something that lives in our shoulders, our breath, our sleep.

So today, I’m grounding myself in this work.

Maker & Reader didn’t begin as a business plan. It began as care. Care for dry, cracked hands. Care for nervous systems that don’t know how to rest.

Care for bodies that carry more than they should.

At its core, this work has always been about tending; slowly, intentionally, without urgency or spectacle. Making things by hand is my way of saying: softness still matters.

Gentleness still exists. Especially now.

I want to say this plainly: this space isn’t about telling anyone what to think.

It is about honoring how many of us are feeling.

If you’re tired, tender, overwhelmed, or just quietly holding your people a little closer; there’s nothing wrong with you. That response makes sense. Wanting calm doesn’t mean you’re disengaged. Choosing gentleness doesn’t mean you’re ignoring the world.

For me, care isn’t political.

It’s human.

There’s something grounding about small rituals. Applying a salve before bed, breathing in a familiar scent, taking thirty seconds to be present in your body. These aren’t fixes. They’re reminders.

Reminders that you are here. That your body deserves kindness. That tending to yourself is not indulgent. It is sustaining.

“Rooted in care” isn’t just a tagline to me. It’s a value. It means choosing slowness when the world pushes speed. Choosing humanity when things feel sharp. Choosing to make things that help people feel steadier; even just a little.

That’s what I’m doing today.

Quietly. Intentionally. With care.

If this season feels heavy, you’re not alone. And if all you can do today is tend to something small; your hands, your breath, your space; that is enough.

Sometimes, care is the most grounding thing we can offer.