I’m a believer that our strength is not meant to be hidden. 

I spent so much of my life living in fear. Constantly looking over my shoulder. Wondering when everything would finally play out exactly the way my nightmares convinced me it would.

In my case, the nightmares weren’t far off. There’s not a lot of rainbows and daisies when you’re being trafficked as a child.

After getting out, it took me another decade to feel like I was no longer working from a deficit.

I considered everything about myself— down to my core— broken. Vile and rotten. My flashbacks, fatigue, and paranoia were the seals of my wrongness.

But as time went on, the world began to take on a different hue. I seemed to possess something. Something that was always there, but had been buried beneath the manipulation, brainwashing, and despair that was inescapable as a child.

It was a small flame. One that despite the inhospitable conditions, continued to burn. In truth, I think it was always there.

The change was gradual. Like peeling away layer after layer and sitting with the raw beneath each one. Learning to cry. Reclaiming my anger. To sit with the once unbearable memories.

I know what it’s like to be silenced. Which is why I strive to listen earnestly.

I know what it’s like to be shamed. Which is why I strive to cast out the darkness and isolation that shame can bring.

I intimately know the extreme pain and despair people can cause. Which is why I try to be a supportive force— or at the worst neutral.

Again, I’m a believer that our strength is not meant to be hidden.

I learned blacksmithing as a child. I made hooks, chains, shackles, and knives. The purpose of which I will leave to your imagination. I’m 31 years old and I have 16 years of experience.

I literally forged my way out of hell. And my pieces all contain a part of my story. 

What I’ve learned since starting Midnight’s Honor is just how many people relate. Some of which have been trafficked. Some of which have found themselves staring up from that pit of despair— unable to see the light.

And yet the number of people that have made the decision to climb out of that hole with little more than their bare hands is nothing short of inspiring.

I never would have thought a hammer held the key to my dreams. But a hammer is a hammer. And it’s up to me how I choose to see and use it (I’m not just talking about a hammer here).

To me, my works are more than just a piece of jewelry that looks cool. It connects me to a piece of myself that I treasure. 

Because when all is said and done, I don’t wish to hide.

I never did.

I wanted to be me. 

I wanted to connect with others. 

And I believe my work is an expression of this.