Why I Started Making Suncatchers (and What They Mean to Me)
✨ Why I Started Making Suncatchers (and What They Mean to Me)
It started with a window.
In a sunny apartment on a gloomy day.
During a season when everything felt heavy and stuck.
I didn’t know it then, but I was in the middle of a pretty big spiral—depression, burnout, executive dysfunction, you name it. I was struggling to connect to anything that felt soft or good or joyful. My brain, already wired with AuDHD (Autism + ADHD), was short-circuiting under the weight of the world, and my body felt like it had given up on sparkle.
But I kept coming back to light. I missed the sun. I missed color. I missed the sensory joy of making something with my hands.
So I did. Just one thing.
I strung together some beads, a clay charm, and a crystal.
I hung it in the window.
And when the first rainbows hit the wall, I burst into tears.
That was the first suncatcher.
And it was for me.
Not for the shop. Not for a market. Just… for my survival.
☀️ It Wasn’t Just Pretty. It Was Mental Health First Aid.
As a neurodivergent artist living with AuDHD, depression, and social anxiety, I’ve learned that I need more than one kind of therapy.
I need routines I can fall in and out of.
I need joy that isn’t performative.
I need sensory input that’s calming, not overwhelming.
I need proof that light still exists—even on hard days.
Making suncatchers became a quiet coping ritual.
- Stimming & repetitive motions = grounding
- Color palettes = emotional expression when words fail
- Finishing a piece = a sense of progress when I feel stuck in executive fog
They became little permission slips to feel better—or not—and a way to keep going either way.
🧠 They Help Me Self-Regulate When the World Does
There’s something sacred about the process.
- Lining up beads in soothing order
- Softly sanding clay shapes
- Choosing colors based on how I feel, not what’s trending
- Watching the light hit glass and break into color
This is sensory-friendly creativity that meets me where I am—whether I’m masking through a market, managing shutdowns, or celebrating a rare energy burst. The act of making is both a balm and a boundary.
Some people meditate.
I build small, sparkly light catchers and whisper, “It’s ok not to be okay” and “Keep creating, keep going.”
🌈 From Survival to Sharing
When someone told me, “I hung your suncatcher in my kitchen and now I smile every time I make tea,” it cracked me wide open in the best way.
Because yes, these started as coping tools.
But they became connection tools, too.
They’re for:
- The person recovering from a hard season
- The neurodivergent soul who finds safety in routine and rhythm
- The queer kid who craves color in a beige world
- The plant parent who wants sparkle with their monstera
- Anyone who’s ever cried because the light hit just right
💖 Why They Still Matter (Even on My Bad Days)
Some days I still feel heavy.Some days I don't want to be perceived, talk to strangers, or leave my apartment.
Social anxiety doesn't care how many compliments I get.
But the act of making—especially suncatchers—reminds me that even when I feel disconnected, I can still create connection.
That matters.
So much more than I ever expected
🛍️ Want to Catch a Little Joy?
If you're looking for something more than just decor—something handmade with intention, texture, and a tiny bit of magic—my suncatchers are here.
Each one is created with care, color, and a deep knowing that light can reach us, even when we forget to look for it.