Maybe some of you can relate. Is it what’s going on in the world? My life? My health? Honestly, I’m not really sure. I know this Substack is a little different than my others, but here’s the deal.

Yesterday was Sunday, and the plan was pretty straightforward. I had signed up to canvas for a local candidate here in Miami, Lucia Baez-Geller. I’ve been involved in campaigns since 2001. I’ve volunteered in local elections, presidential elections, and just about everything in between.

This isn’t a political story, though.

It’s a story about showing up.

The plan was to meet everyone at the park at 10:00 a.m., spend the morning knocking on doors, and then meet my real estate agent to look at five or six apartments.

Simple enough.

Except my body had other plans.

Last week it basically said, “No more.”

I spent most of the week in bed. I wrote. I worked on my computer. I answered emails. I even made my board meeting because, thankfully, Zoom only requires you to look good from the shoulders up. But anything physical—washing dishes, walking anywhere, showing up to an event—felt enormous. I even had to cancel a one Zoom meeting because I simply couldn’t do it.

At some point during the week, I sent an SOS message to a group of women here in Miami. I basically said, “I need help. I can’t do this by myself anymore.”

I don’t think anyone realizes how sick I really am.

Honestly, I don’t think I realized it either.

I also don’t want this story to become one about being sick. I don’t want to be identified by my illness.

I think I’ve been living under the delusion that I could just keep pushing through.

Apparently my body had a different opinion.

“No way.”

“If you don’t ask for help, we are done.”

So I asked.

One friend came over and tackled what felt impossible: laundry. I had almost two months’ worth piled up. She started washing clothes while I sat there thinking, thank you, thank you, thank you. I still have another five loads to go.

Sunday morning I showed up for Lucia anyway.

Because that’s what I do.

It was over ninety degrees in Miami with what felt like one hundred and twenty percent humidity. Walking there, I remember thinking:

What the hell am I doing?

This is horrible.

I don’t know if I’m going to make it.

Then I saw Lucia. She was there canvassing alongside everyone else. She’s amazing, and I adore her. The energy of being around people carried me for about an hour.

Then I had to admit something I almost never say.

“I can’t do this. I have to go home.”

She offered to call me a car. It was only four blocks away. I said no and walked home. Looking back, I probably should have taken the ride.

When I got home, I wrapped my head in ice packs and lay there thinking I was going to throw up.

A little while later, I somehow managed to meet my real estate agent and look at apartments. I think I found one. We even submitted an offer.

Later that afternoon she called with last-minute questions about my application. My first thought was, You’ve had this paperwork for a week and a half... But I never said it.

Halfway through the conversation, I realized I was going to vomit.

I literally hung up on her. About an hour later, I texted her back.

“If it works out, it works out. If they need anything else, I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

That’s where I am.

And that’s really why I’m writing this.

Not because I’ve stopped believing I’ll get better. I do.

Not because I’ve stopped working. I haven’t.

I’m still writing. I’m still building Jewelry One of a KIND. I’m still applying for consulting work. I’m still trying to contribute in every way I can.

But I’ve finally reached the point where I can’t do all of this alone anymore.

Maybe the bravest thing I can do right now isn’t showing up.

Maybe it’s finally admitting that I need other people to show up for me.

If you’ve followed my work, you’ve seen the projects. You’ve seen me secure grants, build Jewelry One of a KIND, write consistently, launch two Substacks, create partnerships across Miami, mentor young founders, help educate thousands of people through my public health work, speak at events, and continue showing up.

What you haven’t seen is what it has taken to keep showing up.

Social media captures the hours I’m able to work. It doesn’t capture the days spent in bed, the hours on the phone with doctors, pharmacies, insurance companies, and hospital administrators. It doesn’t show the biopsies, MRIs, blood work, specialist appointments, or the endless cycle of testing that’s consumed my life for the past five years.

This isn’t just about a headache.

For the past five years, I've been navigating a complex autoimmune illness that doctors are still trying to fully understand. The reality has been the same: trying to build a business, earn a living, and contribute to my community while my body has slowly become less and less reliable.

Some weeks I spend five hours managing my healthcare. Other weeks it’s closer to twenty. Being a patient has become a part-time job I never applied for.

Since October 2023, I’ve lived with a daily headache. Over the past two months it has settled into a relentless level-seven pain that simply doesn’t let up. Somewhere along the way, I stopped realizing just how much I was asking of myself.

But I’ve reached a point where not telling the truth has become harder than telling it.

I’m sharing this because I can no longer keep pretending everything is okay, and because I've finally realized that asking for help is part of the healing process, too.

I know this isn’t forever. I’m someone who has always packed a lot into a day. Even sick, I probably get more done in a day than some people do in a week, which is probably why it took me so long to realize how much I’d slowed down.

I fully expect to get back to creating, building, writing, teaching, partnering, and contributing in the ways I always have. But I also know I’ll get there much sooner if I stop pretending I can do this entirely on my own.

If my work has ever touched your life—through Jewelry One of a KIND, my writing, partnership work, overdose prevention efforts, mentoring, or simply a conversation we've shared—I hope you'll consider helping me through this chapter.

The studio is still open. I'm still making work. I'm still writing. And I'm going to get better

For now...

If you’re wondering how you can help, here are the ways that would make the biggest difference right now.

Here are the ways that would make the biggest difference right now.

1. Work With Me

I’m actively looking for fractional leadership and project-based work with founders, small and midsize businesses, museums, cultural organizations, hospitality groups, retailers, and mission-driven organizations.

I can help with strategic partnerships, business development, operations, AI workflow design, community engagement, experiential programming, event strategy, e-commerce, fundraising strategy, and special projects that need an experienced operator who can quickly connect ideas, people, and execution.

If you’re building something, solving a complex problem, or need someone who can jump in and get things moving, I’d love an introduction. You can learn more about my background on LinkedIn, or email me directly at amanda@partnr305.com with the subject line: Amanda – Substack Sent Me

LinkedIn

2. Subscribe to the Everything Doesn't Come With Me series here on Substack.

As I prepare to move, I’ll be sharing weekly stories from my personal archive. Every purchase gives one of these objects a new home while helping support this next chapter.

Follow along for the stories behind the objects I’m letting go. And if you know someone who loves vintage, design, collecting, or a good treasure hunt, I’d love it if you shared the series with them. There are some wonderful treasures waiting for new homes.

Everything Doesn't Come With Me

3. Collect Jewelry One of a KIND.

There are also a handful of new designs alongside a small number of limited-edition pieces that will soon retire from the collection. If you’ve been thinking about collecting one, now is the time.

And honestly... I couldn’t resist sneaking a few baubles into the conversation.

Shop the Collection

4. Make an introduction.

The greatest professional help you can offer is an introduction.

If you know a founder, museum contact, hospitality group, retailer, cultural organization, or business that could use someone with my background, I’d be incredibly grateful if you connected us.

And if this story resonates with you, sharing it is always appreciated too. (Sharing is caring. Yes, I know how corny that sounds.)

5. If you’d simply like to help...

Several people have asked if there’s a direct way to support me while I focus on getting healthy. If you’d like to help, I’ve included my Venmo below.

This season is about healing, but it isn’t the end of the story. The studio is still open. I’m still making jewelry. I’m still writing. And I’m committed to getting stronger.

My goal isn’t simply to recover—it’s to continue creating, building, and contributing the work I’ve devoted my life to.

Venmo

Thank you for reading, for believing in my work, and for walking with me through this season.

Every introduction, every share, every purchase, every project, and every note of encouragement genuinely helps more than you know.

Thank you for being here.

With gratitude,

Amanda

^{Every object in this collection has a story. I’ve shared those stories here. If one of these objects belongs in your next chapter, you’ll find it available through my Depop shop.}

I know I have to move, and I’ve started looking at apartments. I find one I like, and emotionally I begin moving myself in. I start measuring rooms in my head, seeing my things in the apartment, and imagining my life there before I’ve even signed a lease.

That’s where I am right now.

I’ve seen two apartments (Okay... maybe 949 online) that already felt like home—and I say home in air quotes because the first one literally took my breath away. Ocean view. Corner unit. Huge space. Fourteenth floor.

It had that old-school Miami feel, which is what I love. I’m in a modern building right now. It’s from 1965, but it has a much more modern feel, and I really miss walking into a building that immediately feels like you’re at the beach. That’s exactly what this one was.

Then you walked out onto the balcony and wondered if it was going to collapse.

There were two bathrooms with tubs—old-school, very vintage, absolutely gorgeous tubs. One was baby blue and one was yellow.

Oh my God, it was awesome.

I don’t have a tub in my current apartment, and I used to take baths every day. It’s very English, although I’m not English. I just love baths, and I really miss having one.

This apartment had two out of three.

No dishwasher.

Of course, we asked the woman showing the apartment all kinds of questions. There was a huge alcove with its own entryway that would have been perfect for my jewelry studio. There was literally a closet in the bedroom the size of a New York City apartment.

But the structure of the building was questionable.

I got home and did my due diligence. Sure enough, there were structural and elevator complaints on the city’s website—pretty much monthly—for the past ten years.

That one came off the list.

But you know what it’s like when you’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You start negotiating with yourself.

“But I want the view.”

“I’ll never find another one like this.”

“It’s such a great price.”

Then I found the second one.

It’s on a beautiful, quiet street, and quiet is the number one thing I need right now. At the moment, I’m living in a construction zone. They're scheduled to demolish the building next door. There's construction in the apartment above me, below me, in the hallway, outside my window, and they're about to start construction around the pool. Add the leaf blowers at seven in the morning, and I spend half my day wearing earplugs with noise-canceling headphones over them.

I have to get out of here.

The second apartment is on the National Register of Historic Places, and I was already emotionally married to it.

We were driving around looking for parking when I saw it. The negative voice in my head immediately said, “There’s no way that’s the building.”

Sure enough, it was.

It even has its own Instagram.

It's absolutely gorgeous—a classic 1948 Miami MiMo building. If you know, you know.

It’s a two-bedroom, which means I could finally have a proper jewelry studio. It doesn’t have a dishwasher. It doesn’t have a bathtub. It doesn’t have a balcony—which, honestly, Franklin needs more than I do.

But it does have a dock on the bay where I could launch the stand-up paddleboard I don’t own...yet.

It’s a beautiful historic building designed by a well-known architect, and I thought,

“I have to live here.”

I put in an offer.

So did everyone else.

I didn’t get it.

Which brings us to today.

I’m moving.

And as I prepare for whatever comes next, I’m opening my archive to all of you.

Over the years I’ve collected beautiful things that no longer serve this next chapter of my life. Rather than pack every one of them into another apartment, I’d love to invite you to browse them instead.

Each piece comes with a little story.

This is the first drop. Everyone gets this one.

Over the next few weeks, paid subscribers will receive first access to future archive releases and first dibs on some of my favorite pieces before they’re offered anywhere else.

This Substack is a little different than usual, but I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy it.

Everything in this collection is one of one.

Once an object finds its next home, it will be removed from the Archive. Paid subscribers will receive first access to future drops over the coming weeks.

Thanks for taking this journey with me.

—Amanda

Russell Wright and his wife, Mary, were original American designers.

They first became known for their textile patterns, but they’re really remembered for completely changing the way people entertained at home.

This was the 1950s, when many families of a certain socioeconomic background still had household staff. Russell Wright designed dinnerware for people who wanted to entertain beautifully without staff. It sounds very 1950s housewife, but it was actually revolutionary. They designed not just dishes—they designed community.

His work is highly collectible now, and I have a beautiful collection, some of which came from my grandmother. Chocolate is my favorite colorway. I actually have a few of these pitchers, and I’m only keeping one. That’s what happens when you become a collector and eventually realize you’re a minimalist maximalist.

I encourage you to read about Russell and Mary Wright. They were brilliant.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

My Grandmother's Shoes are magnificent. They’re chocolate velvet with grosgrain ribbon.

Back in the day, you would go to Bonwit Teller, Bergdorf Goodman, Henri Bendel, or Saks Fifth Avenue and have your shoes custom made. These were made specifically for my grandmother. And yes, she was that kind of woman, because she built that kind of life for herself. Almost everything I inherited from her is either custom-made or beautifully made.

These are for a teeny tiny foot. I don’t wear chocolate brown velvet shoes in Miami, but the woman with a tiny size 5 or very slender 5½ foot is going to love these.

But the real story isn’t the shoes.

It’s the woman who wore them.

She built, owned, and operated a stock car racetrack beginning in 1948, and she ran it for more than fifty years.

On the day she died, before she was buried, her final request was that her hearse take one last lap around the track.

That tells you just about everything you need to know about the kind of woman she was.

Whoever ends up wearing these shoes will be stepping into the shoes of an icon.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

This Brooks Brothers shirt is made from incredibly substantial cotton.

It is not for the faint of heart—and honestly, that’s one of the reasons I’m letting it go.

It’s beautifully made. It’s actually designed for women, but the cotton is so wonderfully thick that it’s simply too warm for Miami, where it’s humid almost all year long.

When I found it, I bought two.

No one needs two.

I hope one of you gives it a wonderful second life.

Mavrans is probably one of the coolest brands in Miami. It just isn’t my style.

Mavrans is iconic, and I know some of you hipsters in Los Angeles—or maybe New York—are going to absolutely love it. They designed womenswear for a hot minute before going back to what they do best: menswear. Because of that, this matching set is a little harder to find.

It was a gift to me, and I honestly tried. I even wore it around the apartment to see if it would grow on me.

It never did.

I love looking at it. I just don’t love wearing it. Not because it's uncomfortable—it isn't. It’s simply not me. We all know what that’s like, trying to wear something that doesn’t fit your style, even inside your own four walls.

It’s hopeless.

Enjoy.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

The Bee Necklace From the Tangled Necklace Series

This is one of my own creations.

I collected a boatload of vintage necklaces—many of them from my grandmother’s stash, including this one—and began making one-of-a-kind necklaces from them.

This piece is probably from around 2011. The bees are vintage hand-stamped brass, intertwined with freshwater pearls, a sterling silver chain, and gold vermeil woven throughout. The necklace itself is made from vintage components, semi-precious stones, and what I believe is a vintage necklace dating to the 1950s.

I called this series my Tangled Necklaces.

I love it.

I never wear it.

So it’s time for someone else to.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

These are Hudson Holly jeans, brand new with tags.

They have the most fantastic little baby pink paint details, and I absolutely fell for them.

Unfortunately, I’m a mini-person.

I convinced myself oversized, that these baggy jeans were going to look amazing on me. Even with a belt, these are still too big. They’re high-waisted, and the combination of the oversized fit and the belt gave me a very unfortunate silhouette—camel toe meets under my armpits.

Needless to say, they’re fabulous on someone else.

Enjoy them—and don’t miss the little pink paint accents.

They’re really fun.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

This Paris Perfume Bottle

I have to rethink my relationship with Paris.

It’s not a happy story, and today isn’t the day to tell it. If you’ve been reading along for a while, you’ve probably read that chapter already.

But this bottle is absolutely magnificent.

It appears to be a mid-century Italian Murano or German Lutz art glass perfume bottle. The cap is metal, the bottle is hand-blown and hand-painted with a beautiful metal overlay, and even the stopper is blown glass.

It’s tiny—only about two and a half inches tall—but it feels incredibly decadent.

It was a gift from my mother.

Every time I look at it, I think of Paris.

I think it’s time for someone with happier memories of Paris to continue its story.

Available through my Depop shop. Once it's gone, it's gone.

A quick note: Most items are already listed on Depop. A few will be added over the next day or two. Purchases are first come, first served, and I'm not able to hold items. If you'd like to purchase something before it's listed, you're welcome to Venmo me.

We also have a whole jewelry world happening over at Jewelry One of a KIND.

Subscribe for collector releases, museum-quality jewelry, and the object side of my brain.

Jewelry One of a KIND Journal

More photographs, fewer words