Then this happened

Home
United States
Charlotte, NC
Then this happened

Directions Website

Then This Happened is a creative reset for anyone who’s been carrying too much for too long.

It’s our space to pause, breathe, reconnect, and remember what joy feels like again.

09/27/2026

I’ve been quietly building something.

Something for every person who has ever stood in front of a stack of tubs thinking…

I know I have it.

I just have absolutely no idea where it is.

In the coming weeks, I’m going to show you what I’ve been working on.

And when I do, digging through bins, buying duplicates, and wondering what the heck you already own may finally be a thing of the past.

I’m kind of obsessed with it already. 👀

09/21/2026

My husband and I were caregivers for the past 8 years, first for my mom, then for his dad. Within the last year, we lost them both.

We are grieving, of course, but we also felt a little lost. Caregiving had shaped so much of our lives that suddenly being untethered felt almost… overwhelming.

We just got back from a four-day cruise, and I don’t know how else to say it except that those four days felt like a new lease on life. Who knew what a difference FOUR days could make?!?

Not because everything is suddenly fixed. Not because we’re done grieving.

But for the first time in a long time, I caught myself wondering what comes next for us.

And as the overwhelm is disappearing, I’m actually excited to find out what’s next.

Oh and BTW in the pineapple…that’s pina colada and if you get the opportunity, I highly recommend it 🤣🤣😍😍

09/13/2026

This week has been A LOT.

Work has been soul-sucking and life has been life-ing, and I needed something that was just mine for a minute.

So naturally, I finally bought the ridiculous cat I’ve been stalking at Michaels.

And now I’m building an entire wreath around him because that’s my version of self-care.

I’m going to film some of the work in progress, mistakes, ribbon decisions, dramatic staring at it from across the room… all of it.

I have no idea exactly where this is going yet, but honestly, that’s kind of the point.

Sometimes you just need to make something that makes you happy.

Stay tuned.

This little lunatic is getting a glow-up.

09/07/2026

The stupid wreath sat there unfinished and mocking me for almost two days.

And because apparently my brain is very supportive, the soundtrack went something like:

Failure.
Loser.
What is wrong with you?
You used to be able to do this.
Maybe you’ve lost it.

Since my mom passed, I’ve only made a handful of wreaths.

No clay work. Barely any creative momentum. Just this weird flatness where I could look at supplies I normally love and feel… nothing.

So I picked a Halloween wreath on purpose.

Low stakes. Fun colors. Something that didn’t have to mean anything.

And I still couldn’t get going.

That bothered me more than I expected, because it wasn’t really about the wreath anymore. It started to feel like proof that something in me had gone missing.

But I kept messing with it.

Changed the ribbon. Took things out. Put them back. Walked away. Came back. Swore at it a little. 😂

And then finally, something clicked.

I finished it.

And I felt lighter.

Not because it’s the greatest wreath I’ve ever made. Not because finishing one project suddenly fixes grief or brings back my creative spark.

But because for a couple of hours, I felt like me again.

I think that’s the part I’ve been missing.

Creating was never just about making pretty things.

It was one of the ways I processed life.

One of the ways I found energy again.

One of the ways I came back to myself.

So maybe this wreath wasn’t stupid after all.

Maybe it was just sitting there waiting for me to catch up.

09/06/2026

Eight years into caring for my mom, I had gotten really good at handling things.

Calls.
Appointments.
Prescriptions.
Paperwork.
Work.
Family updates.
The next crisis.

I had a full-time job away from my mom, and what felt like another full-time job with my mom.

And somewhere in all of that, I started disappearing a little.

Not in some dramatic way.

I still showed up.
I still got things done.
I still handled whatever needed handling.

But I was exhausted.

I was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and whatever tiny scraps of energy I had left.

And I missed myself.

I missed doing something just because I wanted to.

Something that wasn’t useful.
Something that wasn’t urgent.
Something that didn’t involve fixing, managing, coordinating, or taking care of somebody else.

So I started making things.

A wreath.
A bow.
Something for the house.
Something pretty.

And for a little while, I wasn’t somebody’s caregiver.

I wasn’t the person with the list.

I wasn’t waiting for the phone to ring.

I was just me, standing at a table with ribbon everywhere, probably making a gigantic mess, trying to turn a pile of stuff into something beautiful.

And I think that’s why I loved it so much.

It wasn’t really about the wreath.

It was about making something beautiful when life felt anything but.

It was about seeing something take shape in front of me and thinking, There you are.

A little piece of the person I still was.

That’s where Then This Happened came from.

Not because I needed another hobby.

Because I needed somewhere to go where life could still be funny, creative, messy, ridiculous, and beautiful.

I didn’t need to reinvent my whole life.

Because sometimes you just need one small thing that reminds you that you’re still in there.

Then This Happened is for that part.

09/05/2026

There were nights I sat in my car in the hospital parking lot for ten minutes before going inside. Not because I didn't want to be there. Because I needed those ten minutes to become the person she needed me to be.

I was my mom's caregiver for eight years. And for most of that time, I thought the exhaustion was something I was doing wrong. Like if I just managed my time better, or asked for help sooner, or slept more somehow, I'd stop feeling like I was being slowly hollowed out.

I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was doing everything right. And it was still too much for one person to carry.

If you are in the middle of it right now, the appointments, the paperwork, the family group chat where you're the only one who actually does anything, the grief that doesn't have a name yet because the person you love is still here, I want you to know something.

The parking lot minutes count. The times you showed up even when you had nothing left? Those count too.

You are not failing. You are carrying something most people never have to carry, and you’re doing it without a manual, without a break, and without nearly enough credit.

This is the messy middle. And you're not in it alone. We’re in this together.

09/04/2026

The hospital said Friday. You said you weren't ready. And then you signed anyway, because you didn't know you could push back.

This is one of the most common moments caregivers describe: a discharge that felt rushed, papers you barely had time to read, staff who were kind but clearly moving on to the next room. And somewhere in all of it, the quiet, awful feeling that you were supposed to know what to do next.

Here's the thing nobody tells you in that hallway: you have the right to appeal a hospital discharge. It is a real right, it is written into Medicare, and hospitals are required to give you notice of it, though they don't always explain what it actually means or that you can use it.

Appealing doesn't mean picking a fight. It means buying time to make a safe, informed decision about where your person goes next, whether that's a rehab facility, home with equipment, or somewhere else entirely. That decision matters enormously, and you deserve more than four hours to figure it out.

You don't have to take whatever Friday they hand you.

08/30/2026

My Mom could complain. To her it was conversation, to me it was sometimes comedy, sometimes ridiculous, and sometimes frustrating as hell, but mostly it centered around food.

Grief is funny, it’s a myriad of emotions that can hit you all at once. Some days you think you’re fine and other days she taps you on the shoulder reminding you that she’s still right there, you’re still carrying her.

I’ve tried for months to find the words to post a tribute to mom, but I just haven’t been able to. Yesterday was her birthday, and today I found this video, and well, it is pure Beverly.

I laughed out loud at her eye roll (wait for it. It’s a treat) and then I looked at the date I recorded it.

I didn’t know that day that just two weeks later I’d be saying goodbye to her for the last time.

Grief is truly a bitch, you can’t escape her, you just have to sit with her until she’s through with you.

08/14/2026

I finally did it! Got the courage to get my laser engraver up and running. It’s really the coolest thing! I’m ready to engrave anything that stands still long enough. 🤣🤣

Address

Charlotte, NC
28201-28237, 28240-28247, 28250, 28253-28256, 28258, 28260-28262, 28265-28266, 2

Website

https://sanityshoppe.etsy.com/, http://themiddlemess.com/

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Then this happened posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Want your practice to be the top-listed clinic in Charlotte?