Rizzy had successfully turned her pottery studio into a thriving space. Her signature coffee mug, adorned with a delicate strawberry design, had become a best-seller, reminding her of the parting gift she had made for Mona. Rizzy's reputation as a talented potter attracted a steady stream of customers, and she even began offering pottery lessons to those interested.
The self-pottery space, where people could try their hand at crafting under Rizzy's guidance, was always open to the public. Rizzy was committed to sharing her passion for pottery with anyone willing to learn. However, the process required her to forgo her usual attire of hoodies and sweatpants. She had to work in a tank top to avoid getting clay all over her clothes, a change that left her feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable, especially due to her D cups. But for the time being, she had no other option.
Rizzy had enlisted Stan to assist with cashier duties and sales, recognizing that managing the shop alone was overwhelming. Stan agreed to help, understanding her needs. One particular morning, as he arrived to open the shop, he found Rizzy asleep amidst her creations, her face etched with exhaustion.
Gently trying to wake her, Stan whispered, "Rizzy, it's time to open up. Customers will be coming soon."
Rizzy stirred, her eyes heavy with fatigue. "I'm so tired, Stan. Maybe I can just sleep a bit longer."
Seeing her in this state concerned Stan deeply. He hadn't realized the extent of her struggle, the toll it was taking on her. As Rizzy slept, Stan noticed the subtle signs of anxiety and depression that had eluded others—a hollow look in her eyes, laughter that seemed forced, and a facade of happiness masking inner turmoil.
Glancing at the calendar, Stan spotted an appointment for a three-week pottery class set to begin that day. He knew Rizzy had worked through the night to prepare, and teaching in her current state would be a daunting task. Stan made a decision and reached for the phone.
After a brief conversation, Stan approached Rizzy, his tone gentle yet concerned. "Rizzy, I called the person who signed up for the pottery class today. I explained there were some personal reasons, and we've rescheduled the start date for tomorrow."
Rizzy blinked in surprise, gratitude welling up within her. "You did that for me?"
Stan nodded, his worry evident. "I'm worried about you, Rizzy. You've been pushing yourself too hard, and it's taking a toll on you. Is there something bothering you?"
Confusion flickered across Rizzy's face as she tried to comprehend Stan's question. Why was he asking her this? Then, like a sudden revelation, the truth hit her. She wasn't the cheerful, optimistic person she once was. She was merely surviving, not truly living.
The realization washed over her, and she turned to Stan with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "You're right, Stan. There's something I need to confront."