About:
The Khaotic Good
A Literary Journal and Creative Collective
The Story Behind
The Khaotic Good
Long before The Khaotic Good became a literary journal, a creative collective, or a community, it was a belief I carried with me:
there is always good within the khaos.
I came up with the name when I was seventeen, during a time when I was trying to find my place in the world and figure out who I was. I had spent years learning to make myself smaller, quieting my voice, and searching for a sense of belonging. Writing became the place where
I could finally be honest.
The Khaotic Good began as a personal blog, where I wrote about the things life had taught me and tried to turn difficult experiences into something meaningful. Years later, the idea of a magazine came to me. I knew I wanted to create something bigger than myself, but I wasn't ready yet. I still had a lot of growing, healing, and becoming to do.
Eventually, I understood that TKG was never really meant to be just a magazine. It was meant to be a home. A home for stories, poetry, art, memories, vulnerability, weirdness, wonder, and the parts of ourselves we are often taught to hide. A place for people who have survived hard things and still notice the beautiful ones. For sentimental souls, quiet observers, loud dreamers, and anyone who has ever felt like they didn't quite fit anywhere else.
The Khaotic Good is about finding the glimmer without pretending the chaos doesn't exist.
It is about taking the scraps life gives us and creating something meaningful from them. It is about remembering that darkness and light can exist together, and that sometimes the most beautiful things grow from the messiest places.
What began as a seventeen-year-old girl's way of making sense of her own world eventually became a place where other people could bring pieces of theirs. And somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn't just building the home I had spent my life searching for.
I was building it for all of us.
DREAM
Growing up, I didn't always know what to do with that part of myself.
I was sensitive in a world that often told me sensitivity was something to outgrow. I felt deeply. I thought deeply. I noticed too much. I questioned everything. I could spend hours thinking about a conversation someone else had forgotten five minutes later. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me for being that way.
So I learned how to make myself smaller, to keep certain thoughts to myself. I learned how to read a room before deciding whether I was allowed to be fully myself in it. I became very good at surviving, but survival and living are not the same thing.
Eventually, I got tired of simply surviving my own life and started asking different questions.
Who am I when I am not trying to be what someone else needs?
What happens when I stop apologizing for the way my mind works?
What if the things I spent years believing made me too much were actually some of the most important things about me?
And slowly, I began coming back to myself.
I found myself in the strange places life took me, in the people I loved, within the people I had to leave behind. In motherhood. In creating. In starting over. In the quiet moments nobody else saw. I learned that becoming yourself is not always about discovering some hidden version of who you were meant to be, but rather removing everything you were taught to be.
The Woman Behind
The Khaos
Today, I am a writer, artist, creative director, editor, storyteller, collector of beautiful little things, and lifelong student of being human. I am endlessly curious and probably think about absolutely everything more than I need to. I love stories with a little magic in them. I love strange ideas, beautiful objects, old things, handmade things, nature, gardens, music, poetry, photography, scrapbooking, and anything that makes ordinary life feel a little more enchanted.
I believe there is beauty in imperfection and that memories deserve to be held onto. That creativity does not have to be useful to be valuable, and people are infinitely more interesting when they are allowed to be complicated and messy. I believe that the parts of ourselves we once considered flaws can sometimes become the very things that make our lives meaningful.
I want to create things that feel like something. Something you can return to years later and still recognize yourself inside of. Something that makes you remember a person, a season, a feeling, a version of yourself you thought you'd forgotten. Life moves quickly. People change, places disappear, seasons end and memories blur. We become different people without always realizing when it happened.
I just want to leave evidence behind that, once upon a time, I was alive.
I have always been a collector of things.
Stories. Little scraps of paper. Ticket stubs. Photographs. Paintings. Half-finished ideas. Words I overheard and never forgot. Pieces of nature. Pieces of people. Pieces of myself.
I have always been fascinated by the things most people overlook, the tiny details that somehow become the things we remember forever. Rather a particular song, that now holds nostalgic memories, a handwritten not, a collage, an enlightening conversation with a stranger.
I think, in many ways, I have spent my entire life trying to preserve those things.
I have always been deeply creative, but creativity was never just something I did. It was how I understood the world. I wrote when I couldn't speak, I crafted when words weren't enough,
I collected when I was afraid of forgetting.
I have always needed to create because making things has always been one of the ways I make sense of being alive.
