When pain, boredom, and executive dysfunction unite—you get resin, rage, and a whole lot of accidental glitter.

I didn’t set out to become a craft goblin. I wasn’t summoned under a full moon or handed a glue gun by a mysterious old crone—though honestly, that would’ve been cooler. What actually happened? Chronic illness, ADHD, and mental health issues tag-teamed me into a corner, and I crawled out with glitter in my hair, UV resin on my shirt, and a 3D printer whirring in the background like some kind of mechanical emotional support animal.

🧠 Brain fog + body pain = weird creativity cocktail

Being chronically ill is basically like living in hard mode with no save points. There are days where just getting out of bed feels like climbing Everest. And when your body taps out, but your brain still insists on doing something, you get creative—weirdly creative.

One day I woke up and thought, “What if I poured sparkly goo into molds to feel better?” Then, “What if I started designing stuff to go in the goo?”
Next thing I know, I’m elbows deep in fidget toy sketches and debating the opacity of rose gold filament.

Not because I’m trying to get rich. Not because I want to be Etsy famous.
Because it helps me feel like a person again.

🧙‍♀️ Crafting is my magic—just with more swearing

There’s something weirdly powerful about turning pain into something tangible. Making trays and fidgets and little resin reminders isn’t just “cute” or “fun.” It’s my therapy when therapy isn’t enough. It’s my way of saying “I’m still here” even when my body’s out of spoons and my brain’s rerouting itself through a foggy mess of dopamine starvation.

And yes, sometimes I cry while sanding something or curse at my printer like it personally betrayed me. That’s part of the ritual.

🛠️ My cauldron just happens to be full of UV resin and PLA

There’s a stereotype that chronically ill folks just sit around watching Netflix and napping. (Okay, sometimes we do that too—rest is radical, y’all.) But a lot of us are brimming with creativity, we just needed the right outlet—and in my case, that outlet prints in layers and smells faintly of molten plastic.

Now I blend 3D printing and resin pouring into something like art, something like therapy, something like survival. I make trays that say things like “Grounded Spirit” and “Wildflower” because those are the things I need to remember. I make fidgets that spin and snap and soothe because my nervous system is a feral toddler with no nap schedule.

And when people actually buy those things? When they tell me it helped them feel a little more seen, a little more held? That’s the part that feels like real magic.

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🧷 Not an ad, but here’s the cauldron shop if you want to peek

If you’re curious about what resilience looks like in resin, I’ve got a little Etsy shop full of snark, softness, and sensory-friendly goodies. I call them my “Spoonie Shenanigans,” and no two are ever quite alike—kind of like us. https://joknowscreations.etsy.com Til next time gang take care of yourselves, and each other.