Index
Before the dolls. Before I finally left. Before I knew what I was building—there was Bluelady.
She Was the First Form I Gave the Magic
You don’t have to believe in spirits to get this: sometimes, the only way to survive what you carry is to give it shape.
Bluelady was the first shape I gave it.
She wasn’t soft. She wasn’t mystical. She didn’t drift in with candles or whisper affirmations.
She showed up like a general. Like someone who had seen the damage, cataloged the losses, and still expected you to get up and get moving.
I didn’t summon her. She was already there. I just finally gave her form.
She Rose Out of a Vase
I created her as a logo—blue-skinned, rising from a vase like she had outgrown the container but wasn’t done with it yet.
Back then, I didn’t know what that meant. I hadn’t started making dolls. I hadn’t unraveled the connection between containment and becoming.
Now, it’s obvious.
That vase was my life. My small, scared life.
She was showing me I could emerge from the life I was barely surviving. And she was doing it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
What She Does
Bluelady doesn’t guide like a guardian angel.
She commands. She directs. She watches the internal weather shift and tells the other parts of me where to go, what to hold, what to build.
She doesn’t flinch when the Shadow walks in. She just makes room at the table.
When I feel scattered, she calls the meeting.
When I lie to myself, she pulls receipts.
And when something needs to be created—whether it’s a doll, a sentence, or a whole damn system—she doesn’t ask if I’m ready. She asks what I’m waiting for.
Where the System Began
In the early 2000s, I was coaching. Quietly. Intuitively. Building sessions that didn’t follow a script because the people coming to us didn’t need a program—they needed a mirror that didn’t flinch.
Back then, I worked alongside someone I trusted with the work, my sister. And together, we started selecting herbs, oils, stones, and symbols for each client—not based on a book, but based on what we could sense.
It wasn’t random. It was pattern recognition. It was emotional tracking. It was Bluelady.
She led us to the materials that could carry what people were afraid to name.
Those pairings became the framework I still use.
So if you’ve ever wondered why the meanings I assign don’t match what the Internet says—this is why. I don’t translate my intuition through someone else’s language.
I trust what was built when everything was on the line.
Where She Is Now
Most people who find my work don’t know her name.
But they’ve possibly felt her in my work.
She’s the one who pushes me to be specific instead of poetic.
She’s the one who stops me from wrapping trauma in pretty paper.
She’s the one who knows the difference between healing and posturing.
When I choose the materials for a doll, usually it’s just knowing. Sometimes it’s her.
When I sit with a piece that isn’t landing, she’s the one who tells me what’s missing—and doesn’t let me leave the table until it’s there.
She isn’t loud. But she’s final.
She’s Not the Brand. She’s the Reason It Exists.
This page isn’t nostalgia. It’s acknowledgment.
Before the Shadow took a seat, before the dolls spoke their names, before I could explain any of it—Bluelady showed up and told me to build anyway.
She didn’t wait for me to feel better.
She didn’t care if the world understood.
She just wanted it built honestly.
And I still answer to her.