A year ago, I was not in a good place.

My job was crushing me. Financial pressure was building up. Life got heavy. Too heavy.

I hit a low I’m not proud of, but I’m also not going to pretend it didn’t happen.

What got me out wasn’t some big plan. It was small stuff. I went to an art class. I sucked, but I loved it. My therapist told me to get outside, away from the desk, so I did. The first time I went camping on my own I had no idea what I was doing, I was shitting myself, but somehow it was the most alive I had felt in a long time.

So, I kept going. I made things. Painted, Drew stuff, Went outside. Explored. Said yes to trying new things. Took chances. I let myself be honest about where I’d been. And slowly, I started to feel like the me I had always wanted to be.

I made a few shirts to wear in the bush and in the YouTube videos I was making. Then people started commenting on them, wanting their own. And somewhere amongst the chaos, Wayward was born. I didn’t go searching to create a brand, the brand found me. That word. Wayward. It got in my head and didn’t leave.

Wayward.

Getting off the path that’s wearing you down. Going to find the thing that brings you back to life, even if you’re rubbish at it, even if it scares you.

By the time I understood what “Wayward” actually meant, I’d lived every word of it.

Here’s what it stands for now.

wayward (adj.)