Crumbs, Ink, Hope: A Year in the Making
Let’s skip the fireworks and just light a candle, okay?
Because if you're anything like me, you're sitting at the end of the year with a messy bun, lukewarm coffee, and a planner already full of dreams. You're maybe doing a little life inventory, wondering how you're still vertical after teething spells, craft fairs, and business launches... and somehow still excited about what's to come.
That’s where I’m at. And this is my very official, very personal, very sleep-deprived year-end reflection. With a side of wit, a splash of realness, and a hope that it resonates if you're navigating motherhood, slow-living, and starting something meaningful between naps and existential spirals.
Year One: Done-ish
The biggest surprise? That I actually did it.
I launched a business while deep in mom-life, with zero guarantees that anyone would care about paper products that don’t use glue (yes, I mean it — glue-free binding or bust). And people did care. Some told me it made them slow down. Some said my booth at the craft fair felt like a magical paper heaven. One customer nearly made me cry when they said, “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
Correct. I round notebook corners at midnight while watching Dawson’s Creek and whispering soft little prayers to the baby monitor so Rosalie doesn’t wake up during the punch noise. I absolutely do not do things halfway.
Running Writuals this year has taught me a lot. Like:
There’s no such thing as “eco-easy” — sustainable paper-making is a daily uphill battle against greenwashing.
Most of our customers are just as intense about paper as I am (which is weirdly comforting).
You can be proud, scared, tired, and excited all at once — a true founder cocktail.
Also? Embossing is my new crush. And block printing on seeded paper is almost a form of therapy (minus the part where it drinks ink like it’s spring break in Cancun).
What This Year Taught Me
This wasn’t just a business year — it was a whole internal season.
I learned I’m more versatile than I thought. I learned I can be a founder, a mom, and still function enough to remember where my coffee mug is (okay, most of the time). I realized how fragile and powerful it feels to put something into the world that comes from your deepest places — and watch others feel something because of it.
Motherhood made me softer. Business made me sharper. Together, they turned me into someone I don’t think I’ve fully met yet — but I like her.
Success, for me, isn’t about scaling fast or selling out. It’s about having someone buying my planner, then message me that it's the first planner that doesn’t make them feel like they’re failing every week. It’s someone telling me they cried while journaling in the Matrescence workbook. It’s someone realizing they don’t have to be Type A to deserve beautiful, slow, intentional paper tools.
It’s also about seeing my friend Colette — the one I used to go notebook hunting with every semester at Nota Bene — come to my craft fair booth and buy my notebook. A full-circle moment that nearly broke me in the best way.
Looking Ahead (Slowly, with Snacks)
2026 is shaping up to be a wild and beautiful year, maybe.
I say maybe because this is a slow business. My toddler is growing. My hands are full (usually with crackers and paper trimmings). So here's what’s on the wishlist — tender, flexible, and subject to change without guilt:
Custom collaborations with people and businesses I admire
New products for spring and Mother’s Day: notepads, cards, stacks of seeded paper bundles, and a brand new Maternity Workbook built on deep personal stories
Later in the year: a Grief Journal, a 2027 planner, seasonal ritual decks, and hopefully stickers (once I find a sustainable option — not giving up)
Creative exploration: more block-printing, embossing, maybe even some community events or workshops
Craft fairs, again — the kind where people touch the paper and whisper “ooooh” like it’s holy. Because it is.
Word of the Year: Balance
Running a slow business in a fast world is weird.
Everyone loves the idea of slow-living — until they have to wait five business days for shipping or don’t get an instant dopamine hit. But I’m still committed. I want this business to keep feeling fun, meaningful, aligned. Rosalie will always come first. I want Writuals to grow with her, with me, with the seasons.
This year I let go of things that didn’t fit — like stickers made with bad greenwashing vibes and unrealistic expectations of always having it all together.
I kept the stuff that matters — integrity, intention, creativity, late-night crying in joy over how soft my paper is.
Final Thought
If you’re here reading this, I just want to say thank you. For seeing what I’m building. For being part of it. For showing up for slow things in a fast world. I hope something I make helps you feel a little more grounded, a little more hopeful, a little more you.
Here’s to slow starts, big dreams, and a planner full of good things.
See you in 2026.
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With embroidery yarn in my hair and hope in my inbox,
Sarah
Founder, Writuals