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ash & ash noshery

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ash & ash noshery

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A local in-home Micro-Noshery - Trying to make *just* enough “dough” to be able to stay home and raise our kiddos while also raising awareness for mental health.

06/18/2026

Tonight! 5-8! Be there or be ⬛️

06/18/2026

It’s fine it’s fine. I got in trouble for my last couple posts about mental health. So I’m going to take them down, but I’ll be more cognizant of that in future videos. I tried to be discreet but I was in the middle of an entire spiral so I wasn’t as successful at that as I had hoped!

We’ll get this figured out 😘

In the meantime, any mental health crisis, please call/text 988 or go to your local ER.

06/17/2026

McCue’s Nebraska Taproom THIS FRIDAY!

06/17/2026

THIS WEEK’S UPDATES AND REMINDERS! Online ordering is still open if you’d like to preorder or if you can’t make it to either bake sale! Closes at midnight tonight!

06/17/2026

Cannot wait ✨ We will have our CINNAMON BABKA CROWNS exclusively for this event!

06/16/2026

McCue’s Nebraska Taproom FRIDAY - BE THERE!

06/16/2026

Feel like ordering online? Follow the link in the bio

06/15/2026

Double dipping AGAIN this week! We just can’t get enough of you Kearney! Here are the deets:

Thursday - ash & ash noshery X Third Thursday Night Market at Rooted Plant Co. 5-8p
Friday - ash & ash noshery X McCue’s Nebraska Taproom Father’s Day Bake Sale 4-8p

06/15/2026

🚨 Fb isn’t going to push this video but I am because I know I’m NOT the only one who has gone through this kind of depression.

LEMME SAY IT FOR THE FOLKS IN THE BACK. 📣

I HEAR YOU.
I SEE YOU.
WE GOT THIS.
IT GETS BETTER.
Eventually.

“Surviving the monster inside me has been disgusting and exhausting.

It’s been fighting the physical sensation of something trying to rip me up from the inside out.

I’ve fought the feeling of falling to the ground.

I’ve succumbed to the urge to curdle blood with my scream.

I’ve suppressed the explosions with my own body.

My mind has raced and my body has failed.

I have to save myself a million times every day.

I have saved the doors from my fists but
I couldn’t save the water glass from being hurled at the wooden floor.

I see the chipped wood every time I sweep the kitchen.

I’ve put remotes back together more than I’d like to admit.

Searching through the piles of unwashed laundry for the batteries that didn’t stand a chance.

I’ve cried enough to keep a salt water aquarium running with fresh water.

But my tears have a component of acid – never healing.

Never making me feel better.

Eating the things around me.

I gag on my tears within moments fighting to urge to vomit anytime I try to face this monster inside me.

He’s loud, and comforting.

He tells me to sit when I want to run, and to crumble when I thought I had the energy to succeed.

You don’t need groceries this week.

Or next.

Your son can survive with another sandwich.

Your marriage can take another hit.

Your husband can sleep on the couch another night.

My kid and I use the toilet paper tubes to look through like a spy glass – he doesn’t understand why there are rolls of toilet paper in every room.

To wipe away the tears before I choke on them.

He runs and climbs on the sofa and dives into the heap of depression that takes the shape of his mom.

He loves on her for a moment before he takes off to find his truck.

If it’s a good day you can find me sitting at the table trying to accomplish anything before the monster comes back home.

If the monster decided not to leave that day, you can find me on the sofa.

In the same spot.

Everyday.

In the same clothes.

Screaming feels like the only release.

But it scares my son.

Throwing things and slamming doors feels like a release.

But it scares my son.

What’s left inside me other than things that scare my son?

I have to keep them inside.

I can’t be the reason he has nightmares.

Three more months, I tell my husband.

Three more months until we can begin the process of healing.

But that’s three months I don’t want to spend in hell.

It’s loud here.

Everything is loud.

The smells are strong.

The lights are loud.

Food is a burden.

Colors are loud.

There’s five things on the floor, but there might as well be a million.

There’s a dish too big for the sink – so I let it sit there and be covered by more and more until the smell is too much.

Clean dishes sit on the counter.

Clean laundry sits in baskets.

Cooked meals sit in the fridge.

As I sit in the same corner day after day.

On the sofa.

Barely surviving.

Did I eat today?

I can’t get to sleep.

I can’t stay awake.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I just can’t anymore.

I ask for help taking my son outside so he can at least feel the sunshine and run instead of sitting captive in my misery.

Recess, I called it.

But they think the recess is for me, to get away from him.

But how – why would I want a second away from the only source of joy I have around me?

Why would I want to be away from his smiles and giggles and innocence for a moment?

To do laundry?

Yes absolutely – let me choose putting away a week’s worth of clothes over being in the sunshine with my son for his first summer outside.

An hour away from the chaos of my own prison.

Yeah.

Let me choose folding towels over watching him pick the dandelions from the yard.

I need a nap.”

This was written in 2021 while I was pregnant with August. I was 6 months into an unmedicated pregnancy and struggling with a deep depression just trying to inch towards the finish line.

Ben Polk asked me to share this story again. He thinks it needs to be heard.

06/14/2026

You’ll never know the ending if you don’t stay until the end. Why was this so easy to record and so incredibly heartbreaking to watch back? Reading back into old articles I’ve written - it never makes sense to me. When I read it, I’m like, “that’s sad but who is she?”
My brain wipes it from my memory like it never happened. Every single time. But recording this and hearing it back with headphones in, I was literally sobbing. And Ben comes in and he’s like - yeah, it’s good right?! And I’m like - no, it’s heartbreaking. I went through this. Every word of this is mine. It came from the weakest version of me I’ve ever seen. I cannot believe I made it through, and got August out of the deal.

3 months. That’s what I had to wait to be seen for my first psych appointment. I had to sit on my hands for three months in a time where, retrospectively I should’ve been hospitalized, I truly was in the blackest of black pits. I should’ve been seen immediately. But I waited three months.

I had medicine for 3 months before I found out I was pregnant with August.

I then went 9 months unmedicated - and in the video you’ll see how well that went.

My postpartum psychiatric care has been substantial but worth every second of effort. Worth every pill I had to take. Worth every smile I smiled when there was a time I didn’t even know “who I’d be if I was happy.”

If you relate to this at all; please find help. You can call or text the amazing crisis hotline at 988, or go to the hospital if you feel unsafe in any way.

Address

Hastings, NE

Opening Hours

Monday	8am - 5pm
Tuesday	8am - 5pm
Wednesday	8am - 5pm
Thursday	8am - 5pm
Friday	8am - 5pm
Sunday	8am - 5pm

Website

https://ashandashnoshery.square.site/

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