Who I Am

Brea
Jun 4
4 min read

Hey. I'm Brea. 👋🏿

And if nobody has told you today — I see you. The one doing everything for everybody else. The mom. The wife. The employee. The problem solver, the cook, the driver, the glue.

I was you. I AM you.

You've probably landed on this page because you found my shop, my social media, or maybe someone shared something I made and you thought *"wait, who IS this?"*

So let me tell you. For real.

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**The Beginning**

I became a mom for the second time on October 19, 2015. My daughter came into this world and I was so full of love. Four months later, on February 3, 2016 — my mom was gone.

She was my everything. My support system. The one watching my babies while I worked. The one I called first. And just like that, with a newborn and a 2 year old, she was gone. And so was my job that same year.

I don't remember much from that season. It's all blurred now. I know I cried a lot. I drank a lot. I ate everything or nothing at all. I was just... surviving. A deer in the headlights with two kids and my head not on straight, trying to figure out how to grieve and mother at the same time.

Nobody tells you how to do that.

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**The Part Where Life Kept Going Anyway**

Grief doesn't stop the world. Bills still come. Kids still need breakfast. And somehow, in the middle of all of that mess — life sent me something unexpected.

I met my husband online. He had just moved to Iowa from Mississippi. He had his own story. His own weight. And somehow, two broken people found each other at exactly the right time.

We didn't just fall in love. We built something.

We took three families — mine, his, and the kids' — and made one. When we got married, everyone was there. Both sides. All of it. And they all get along. They all root for each other. That is not luck. That is intention.

We have been through almost everything together. Tears. Laughing until we cry. Anger. Birth. Death. The kind of things that either break people or bond them forever. We chose forever.

Grief is not linear. Navigating it while trying to hold your kids together — while YOU are still broken — is one of the hardest things a person can do. We've had to walk through loss as a family more than once. And every single time, we chose each other.

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**The Part About My Brother**

My brother is one of my best friends. My rock. The one who encourages me to show up for me. He roots for me with pure love. He's also been there through all the things. We rode many highs and many the lows together. He's across the country now. But we stay connected — intentionally. Because that's what you do with people who matter. You don't just let distance be an excuse. You show up anyway.

Intention is everything.

That word follows me everywhere. In how I love my husband. In how I raise my kids. In how I show up for the people I care about. And yes — in how I CREATE.

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**The Part Where I Found My Space**

A few years ago, the depression got loud. The anxiety was high. I felt lonely even when I was surrounded by people who needed me. I had no space that was just *mine.* I floated from person to person, need to need, never stopping long enough to breathe.

So one day I pulled out my old Cricut.

I wanted to make something. Engrave something. Something just for me.

And I've been creating ever since.

That little space — just me, my machine, and something I was building from nothing — started bringing me back to myself. I'm still finding her, honestly. But I didn't lose the most important part: my ability to turn nothing into something.

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**What Brenderella Designs Really Is**

It's not just a shop.

Every design I choose is intentional. Every image represents something I believe in. I choose to be loud in the most subtle ways. A keychain that says what you've been feeling but couldn't say out loud. A hat that tells the room exactly who you are without you having to explain yourself. A shirt that makes you feel seen just putting it on.

I make things for the woman who feels invisible. The one who gives everything to everyone and keeps nothing for herself. The one who deserves to take up space — even if it's just on a keychain.

That's you. And that's me.

I'm not here to just make a buck. I'm here because creating saved me. And maybe — just maybe — something I make will remind you that you're still here too. That you matter. That your story isn't over.

Who I Am

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