I make ceramics in Berlin.

I’ve actually loved ceramics ever since I was a child. I always dreamed of taking a pottery class, but those kinds of classes were simply too expensive for my single mom, who was raising four children. Back then, I never would have imagined that ceramics would one day become such an important part of my life.

About two and a half years ago, I went through a very difficult time. My panic attacks became so severe that, at some point, I couldn’t function anymore. I was admitted through the psychiatric emergency department and then spent eight weeks in a day clinic.

It wasn’t an easy time. But it gave me something I desperately needed back then: structure.

The day clinic itself was not exactly a place where I felt comfortable. But one day, I discovered the occupational therapy studio. At first, it felt pretty strange — after all, I’m an occupational therapist myself, and suddenly I was on the other side: as a patient.

And then I discovered a big box filled with different kinds of clay — red, black and beige.

From that moment on, I spent almost every free minute in the studio. I could lose myself in my little clay projects for hours. My hands were busy, my mind became quieter, and suddenly I was able to create something again.

Something that had only existed in my head was suddenly right there in front of me.

That feeling gave me so much. With every little project, a little more energy came back. And with every piece I created, a little more joy returned to my life.

The people there quickly noticed how much the studio meant to me. After a while, they would just smile when I walked into the common room completely covered in clay. I probably wasn’t actually supposed to spend quite that much time there or use quite that much material.

I think my therapists and supervisors simply turned a blind eye. They saw how much creating was helping me.

When I left the day clinic, I knew I wanted to keep going.

I found a small, old ceramics studio in Kreuzberg run by an older woman. She taught me how to work on the wheel, and I spent countless hours in that rustic basement. The only truly cozy thing in there was the little fireplace — without it, I probably would have frozen in the winter.

But I loved it.

After some time, I bought my very first pottery wheel. My boyfriend offered to let me set it up in our living room.

And that’s how it all began.

What started as a hobby slowly became a permanent part of my life. And over time, this little ceramics page came to life.

Today, I’m incredibly grateful that I was able to take something so beautiful with me from one of the hardest times of my life.

Ceramics didn’t “heal” that difficult time, of course. But it gave me a place where I could start doing things again. A place where I could immerse myself, create something, and in the end, look at it and think: