The Art of Growing: Dialene’s Story
I was born in Cleveland, Ohio — a city of steel, lake winds, and hidden softness. I lived there until I was fifteen, quietly navigating life as a shy, observant child. The other kids often treated me differently — I wasn’t loud or flashy, and I wasn’t trying to be. I was simply me — gentle, thoughtful, curious. I found joy in simple things: collecting stamps, walking through parks,collecting rocks, and feeling at home in the arms of nature. I didn’t need a crowd — the breeze, the trees, and the quiet world around me were more than enough.
Just before I turned sixteen, we moved to Garfield Heights. It was a shift, but I brought myself along — soft edges, big heart, and all.
My teen years were filled with a love for camping, park picnics, and swimming in summer sunlight. Nature continued to be my escape, my recharge, my joy. My first job was as a cashier at Gold Circle. I felt proud to be earning my own money — a small step toward independence. But just one year after high school, life shifted again when I was in a bad car accident. It left a mark on me, one that took time to heal. I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 23 — not because I couldn’t, but because I had to rebuild the trust in myself to try again. And I did.
At 20, I became pregnant with my son. His father asked me to marry him — not out of love, but because it was “the right thing to do.” I said yes, believing maybe love would grow in the doing. We spent ten years together, had two beautiful children, and tried to make it work. I gave up working to raise our kids. But eventually, his true nature showed — controlling, rigid, and unwilling to accept a woman with a voice. He filed for divorce when I refused to "obey."
It broke me. And it freed me.
I still believed in love, so I tried again. And again. But what followed were two more marriages — both filled with verbal abuse, addiction, and heartbreak. I gave my heart to men who didn’t know how to hold it. The last one — the one I thought would be my safe haven — turned violent. He didn’t just hurt me with words. He hurt me with his hands.
That was my turning point.
No more shrinking.
No more surviving.
No more pouring from an empty cup.
Now is the time to take care of me — to return to my values, my joy, my art, and my truth.
It was during one of those hard seasons that a friend came over with a simple bag of beads. She had no idea what she was giving me — a lifeline. A way forward. I started stringing beads to quiet my thoughts, to heal my heart. But something inside me caught fire. This wasn’t just a craft. It was a calling.
I wore my handmade bracelets to work, and people started to notice. Compliments turned into custom orders. That spark turned into a business: Handmade Designs by Di — a creative sanctuary where I make jewelry that tells stories, uplifts spirits, and carries meaning.
From those early beaded bracelets, I expanded into earrings, necklaces, natural lip balms, and even digital AI art. I opened a Shopify store, brought my work to craft shows, and connected with people who didn’t just want jewelry — they wanted something real.
Along the way, I’ve worked as a nursing assistant — caring for others just as I’ve always done. I know what it means to be there for people in their hardest moments. I’ve done it in hospitals, in homes, in marriages, and now, through every piece I create.
Today, I am reclaiming my life.
I am choosing softness with strength.
Creativity with purpose.
Healing with joy.
I am no longer defined by the pain others caused — I am defined by how I rose anyway.
She Rose Anyway: A Creative Becoming.
This is not the end.
It’s the most beautiful beginning.
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