After a long and necessary silence, Kate is back - and she comes bearing something real.

In this tender welcome-back episode, Kate shares honestly about the months she spent unable to show up: the depression, the grief, the days she couldn't get out of bed, and the slow, quiet process of finding her way back to herself and to this work. She reflects on what it means to be a guide for others when you've temporarily lost your own footing — and why trusting the wisdom of stopping was, in fact, the most important creative act of all.

But this episode isn't just about the dark. Kate also shares the luminous knowing that's been growing in her even through the silence, a bone-deep sense that what we're living through right now, as painful and terrifying as it is, is nothing less than the birth of a new humanity. The ancient, tarry weight of old ways is rising to the surface to be burned away. And we - all of us, together - are the ones bringing something more beautiful into being.

She talks about the unexpected conversations she's been having at her jewelry kiosk at Granville Island, the messages from listeners that finally tugged her back, and what this next chapter of the podcast might hold.

This is a short episode. An outstretched hand. A hello. And an invitation to walk forward together.

In this episode:

Why Kate went quiet - and why she had to
The physical weight of depression and what it asked of her
What she's been witnessing in her daily conversations with people from around the world
The knowing underneath the fear: why she believes we are living through the birth of something magnificent
What's coming next for the Creative Genius Podcast

Mentioned:

Meredith Hite Estevez — Artists for Joy podcast
Tracy Mazuer — Trees Have Feelings, and her book about Ravina the Raven
Kate's jewelry and artwork at Granville Island Public Market, Vancouver

If this episode moved you, please share it with someone who needs it right now. One quiet recommendation can be the spark someone else has been waiting for.

Ep. 99 - On Grief, Rest, and Creative Return