Hellbloom Haven: A Year of Becoming
Learning to See Myself Through Love, Not Survival
Wendi Kehn/Hellbloom Haven (Also featured on Substack & Medium)
Dec 31, 2025
One Year Ago
One year ago, I was living out of my car, sleeping on friends’ couches and in spare rooms, aching with physical pain and heartbreak. I had lost my home earlier that year, had no stable income, and no safe place to take my children. The life I’d been building for four years since my divorce had come undone.
And in the silence that followed, I wondered if I would ever feel whole again, or if wholeness was even something meant for me.
This isn’t a story about bouncing back. I haven’t “made it” yet.
This is a story about rebuilding from the ashes, with no blueprint but instinct, no capital but willpower, no mentor but the voice in me that refused to die. It’s about what happens when you keep showing up for yourself, not because it’s easy, but because no one else can live your life for you.
The Breaking
In September 2023, I injured my back at work. And just like that, the life I had worked so hard to rebuild began to unravel.
Four years earlier, after my divorce, I had started over from scratch. I lived in a women’s shelter for some time, and then got into a housing program that helped find me a place for my kids and I. I clawed my way out of survival mode and built something steady, hard-earned, and mine. I made art, I cooked, cleaned, danced, healed my nervous system, stayed up as late as I wanted. I had found peace and freedom Id never had before. And here I was again, watching it all collapse. Everything I had gained was gone, all the healing and nervous system repair being put to the test. Again.
Eighteen years of experience in healthcare suddenly didn’t matter. I couldn’t work. My income disappeared, my mobility was severely limited, and left me unable to work and with it, I lost my housing. I spiraled into debt just trying to survive.
In early 2024, I moved back in with my ex-husband. It wasn’t simple, but it gave me a place to land. When things became strained and we couldn’t get along, I left on my own this time and tried to stay afloat myself. By September, I was staying with a friend, keeping my belongings in my car, trying to be present for my kids while quietly holding a collapsing life behind the scenes.
I couldn’t afford my phone. I lost my storage unit. My car broke down.
Still, I kept waking up and trying again, not because I felt strong, but because I had no other choice.
In January 2025, I moved back in with my ex again. It’s been complicated and difficult in many ways, but it gave me enough ground to start over, again and allows me to be present and here for my kids.
This wasn’t the first time I’d lost everything. But this time hit differently. Because I knew what it had taken to rebuild my life before. I knew the cost and how hard it would be.
And still, I chose to begin again.
The Learning
While sleeping on my friend’s couch, I had a laptop, time, and ideas. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start.
I was in pain. I was grieving. But every time the sadness got too big, I created something. Every time life overwhelmed me, I turned it into tools, poems, designs, and offers, anything that could help someone else get through.
And in doing that, I slowly began to heal myself.
I taught myself how to code, which didn’t come easily. I made mistakes constantly. Cried over broken lines and crashed pages. Debugged websites at midnight, questioning if I was in over my head. I’d never built a website before, but I built one. Then another. And when it all collapsed, I rebuilt it again.
I poured everything into my first shop. The time, the energy, the emotional labor. I sacrificed sleep. I stayed up learning design software, writing product copy, setting up systems. It consumed me, so much so that it caused rifts in relationships. People didn’t always understand what I was doing or why I was trying so hard with no guarantees and many thought I was being irresponsible and naive.
Then in July 2025, Shopify shut down my store.
I was devastated. That shop had been my anchor. I cried. I questioned everything. I wondered if I had made a mistake trying to build something this big, while still broke, still healing, and still in survival mode.
I considered giving up. I even started looking for other jobs.
But something in me said:
You didn’t come this far just to start over again the same way.
So I chose to build again.
In two weeks, I relaunched as Hellbloom Haven, new name, new brand, and a clearer vision. I learned WordPress from scratch. Built new pages, rewrote every product, created all new visuals.
I did it tired. I did it scared. I did it not knowing if it would work.
But I did it.
And every time I learned a new skill, I realized:
If I can do this, I can do anything.
💻 What I Built This Year
- 2 full websites
- A breathwork app
- 2 children’s books
- 2 adult coloring books
- A self-help book
- Multiple trauma healing workbooks
- Digital affirmation cards, journaling prompts, and toolkits
- Over 100 original designs
- A blog on Substack for poetry, truth-telling, and reflection
- A growing line of peer support offerings and intuitive sessions
- An online presence on Medium, Tik-Tok, Instagram, Pinterest, Threads, LinkedIn, Facebook, and x
All while co-parenting, managing complex living dynamics, and rebuilding my life with no financial safety net.
None of it came easy. But all of it came from the truth.
Every tool I made, every poem I wrote, every product I shared, it came from real pain, real process, and the choice to create something meaningful. Not to impress, not to perform, but to support others who are healing in real time, like me.
The Rebuilding
Hellbloom Haven wasn’t born from a business plan. It was born from heartbreak, necessity, and raw hope.
When the first shop was shut down, I almost gave up. But something deeper called me to rebuild.
I created a space that was more aligned, allowed me to show up more authentically, and more honest. Not just a shop, but a sanctuary. A digital ecosystem rooted in healing, expression, and self-trust.
I haven’t had many sales. I haven’t gone viral. Most people don’t know I exist.
But I kept creating.
I kept showing up.
I kept tending to the vision, even when no one was clapping.
I’ve posted content into silence.
I’ve built while grieving.
I’ve made things I believe in, even if no one buys them.
I’ve received a few beautiful reviews from my come as you are peer support sessions and they reminded me:
This work matters.
My presence matters.
Being real matters.
This season of rebuilding has been mostly invisible. But I am not the same woman who started this year.
I’ve built discipline, capacity, trust. I’ve created a body of work that exists because I refused to give up on myself.
This isn’t success the way the world defines it. But it’s mine.
It’s honest. It’s earned.
And I’m proud of it.
What I Know Now
This wasn’t the year I expected, or the life I thought I’d be living.
But I’m starting 2026 with something more valuable than any resolution:
Self-trust. Self-respect. And gratitude for the losses.
Because the losses made space for something I never gave myself before:
Time. Attention. Healing.
I lost jobs. Relationships. Comfort. Stability.
And in their place, I found me.
I faced things I had long buried: trauma, grief, anger, insecurities, fear, and shame.
And I discovered I could sit with them, and still keep going.
Even when I was crying on the floor or was up debugging websites at 2 a.m.
Even when I was building toolkits through tears, I was becoming someone incredible.
This year taught me that I am:
- Brilliant I taught myself what I needed to survive and build.
- Creative I turned pain into poems, and survival into offerings.
- Strong and soft I protected my peace while keeping my heart open.
- Capable not because I had support, but because I kept choosing myself.
I don’t need a fresh start.
I just need to keep going.
Not to become someone new,
But to keep becoming more me.
A Final Note
This year, I hope you start seeing yourself clearly.
Not through the lens of what you’ve lost, or what you’re trying to become,
but through the quiet, steady truth of who you already are.
There is beauty in you. Depth. Wisdom. Power.
Not because of what you’ve overcome, but because it’s always been there.
You don’t need to be more to deserve peace, rest, or love.
Start seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you.
Because that love? That gaze? You can offer it to yourself now.
Let this be the year you stop waiting to feel whole.
You already are.
Thank you for reading.
If you’d like to explore my work,
You’ll find offerings including digital tools, books, peer support sessions, and creative resources for healing, all rooted in lived experience and made with care.
Wishing you a safe, gentle, and meaningful New Year.
May you keep becoming more of who you already are.
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