The Christmas I Crumbled—

Here's what no one tells you about rock bottom—sometimes that's exactly where you find the thing that lifts you up.

"Chin up," I whisper to myself, arranging those oversized cookies on a plate. "It's Christmas. You make it magical no matter what."

I hear my parents' car in the driveway and my stomach drops. The last people I want to see are my mom and dad. Not because I don't love them, but because they'll see right through my forced smile to the mess underneath.

The kids run to greet Papa and Gammy. I busy myself with the details of the morning, back turned, hoping they won't notice my puffy eyes.

I never thought four words from my mom would change everything.

Christmas morning 2022. I'm standing in my kitchen at 6 AM, eyes so swollen from crying I can barely see, pulling giant chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. The night before had been a train wreck—one of those hits that makes you question everything you thought you knew about your life.

I wanted to crawl under my bed and disappear.

But it's Christmas morning. My kids are about to wake up with bright eyes and Christmas big expectations. My parents are coming over to watch them tear into presents. And I'm Mom—which means no matter how shattered I feel, I have to make magic happen.

If you've ever had to "perform" being okay when everything inside you is screaming, you know this feeling. That exhausting act of pretending your world isn't falling apart.

Then my mom wanders into the kitchen. She picks up one of those giant chocolate chip cookies—the ones I made at 3 AM because I needed something to do with my hands while my world fell apart.

She takes a bite. Then another.

"You could sell these."

I stare at her, thinking - Mom, my life just imploded and you're talking about cookies?

But she's not kidding. She holds up that cookie like it's something special instead of just what happens when you stress-bake in the middle of the night.

"These are incredible, Ashley. People would pay good money for these."

Here's what no one tells you about rock bottom—sometimes that's exactly where you find the thing that lifts you up.

While I'm drowning in fear about what comes next, she's tasting possibility in a chocolate chip cookie I made because I didn't know what else to do.

"You really think so?" My voice cracks.

"I know so."

The moment I realized she wasn't just being nice—she genuinely saw something I couldn't—something shifted. Not the pain. That was still there. But maybe there was something else too.

That cookie became the first Instagram post to what transformed into "TrendyMint" later on. Not because I had some grand business plan, but because my mom believed in something I baked during the worst night of my life.

Every time I teach other bakers now, I remember that morning. How my mom didn't try to fix my problems—she couldn't. But she gave me something better. She saw my potential when I could only see the wreckage.

Now when my other's struggling through their own hard days, I think about that Christmas morning. How do I become the voice that sees their cookies when they can only see crumbs?

Because sometimes we all need someone to look at our 3 AM creations and say, "This Matters."