I recently saw the Martha documentary on Netflix and it felt like a piece being placed in the puzzle of my life.
When I was a child, my parents moved from New York City to Connecticut, which was a huge culture shock. I was used to always having something to do, and the city had been a remedy for boredom and restlessness. In contrast, Connecticut felt quiet and unfamiliar.
I found myself in the pages of my mom’s Martha Stewart Living collection. At the time, I didn’t really see Martha as a real person—she was like a fairy godmother. Whenever I felt anxious, I would immerse myself in her perfect world. I made ladybugs out of chocolate and strawberries, crafted a homemade swamp monster costume from dried moss and fishing nets, built birdhouses with my neighbors wine corks, grew an herb garden in our kitchen. In those moments, I felt whole. I found a quiet rhythm, a sense of calm and creativity, where every detail of the home and garden offered a gentle escape.
