When the Bench Grows Quiet: A Note from Mad Meadow
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When the Bench Grows Quiet: A Note from Mad Meadow
There comes a moment—maybe it’s subtle, maybe it hits like lightning—when you realize something has to give. For me, that moment has been building quietly over time, tucked in between custom requests, long workdays, tremors that wouldn’t quit, and an ever-growing need to just... rest.
This isn’t an easy letter to write, but I’ve never been one to sugarcoat things. If you know me, you know I don’t hide much. So here it is: I’m pulling back from new custom jewelry orders and repairs, outside of what's already listed. Not because I want to. Because I have to.
The Invisible Weight
Lately, my body and mind have been in open rebellion. The tremor in my hand—something I used to be able to ignore—has grown louder, more insistent. On good days, I can do light work. On bad days, I can't even hold a setting tool steady enough to breathe near a gemstone. It’s unpredictable and unforgiving. And that unpredictability has started to unmake me.
But the tremor is just the surface.
Underneath it, there’s the deeper current. In recent years, I’ve been diagnosed with Autism and PTSD—add that to the lifelong companions of OCD and generalized anxiety, and you’ve got a cocktail that makes daily functioning feel like an Olympic sport. These aren’t just clinical terms to me. They are layers of who I am, the unseen scaffolding I’ve built a life around, mostly in silence.
Now I know their names. And that gives me power. But it also demands compassion—and that compassion, right now, means slowing down.
The Burnout is Real
For years I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. My day job is full-time, full-on, and then there’s Mad Meadow, which has never been “just a side hustle” to me. It’s where my spirit lives. But love doesn’t make us limitless.
The result? Classic burnout. Textbook meltdowns. I’m not talking about being tired or stressed. I’m talking about hitting that point where your whole system short-circuits. Where even a gentle “Hey, how’s that project going?” message can send you spiraling. It’s not the message—it’s the pressure, the perfectionism, the impossible standards I hold myself to.
And when I crash, everything crashes with me. Not just my business, but my home, my joy, my ability to be present with my kids and my partner. And I’m done watching everything I love suffer because I couldn’t say no.
What This Means
So here’s what’s changing:
I’m stepping back from custom orders that aren’t already listed. I’m not taking on new repairs. If I have one of your stones in my studio, I will be returning it to you—with care and my deepest apologies.
I’m moving away from bench work for now—laser welding, soldering, intricate stone setting. My hands need a break, and my heart needs one too. But this doesn’t mean the end of Mad Meadow. Not by a long shot.
Instead, I’m shifting into work that supports my health: 3D modeling to cast, more digital design, and probably more resin lamps (and catching up on getting the ones I have on line) — the kind of creative expression that doesn’t rely on still hands or strict timelines. Because this craft? It’s still my sanctuary. It’s the only time the chaos in my brain goes quiet. That kind of peace is sacred. I’ll never let it go completely.
But I have to meet it differently now.
No Deadlines, Just Intuition
I’m removing timelines, letting intuition lead instead. No more inbox panic when someone checks in. No more pushing through when my body says stop. I’ll still create. I’ll still share. But it will be on a quieter, gentler rhythm—one that honors my capacity.
I’m not canceling any show dates at the moment, but that could shift depending on how I’m doing. I’ll communicate openly and honestly—just like always.
Thank You for Seeing Me
This has been so hard to write. I’ve wrestled with guilt, grief, shame. I’ve cried over what I can’t do, and held fast to what I still can. But above all, I’ve felt gratitude.
Gratitude for those who’ve supported me, who’ve shown patience, who believe in my work even when I’m not producing at full tilt.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Thank you for holding space for the complicated, human side of an artist. Thank you for understanding that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is pause.
Mad Meadow will continue. Just in a slower, softer form—for now.
And in this new rhythm, I hope to find not just healing, but a deeper kind of creativity. One that doesn’t burn me out, but builds me back up.
With love and so much appreciation,
Kate
Mad Meadow Designs