The First Time I Touched Clay, I Almost Didn’t Come Back

I was awkward. I was overthinking. My pot was a disaster. But I came back—and that decision changed everything.

I don’t know what I expected walking into my first pottery class at The Clay Hole, but I know I didn’t expect to feel that nervous. Everyone was friendly. The instructors were patient. But still—I felt like I didn’t belong. Like I’d missed some invisible rulebook everyone else had read.

My hands shook as I tried to center the clay. I had no idea how much pressure to apply. I kept looking around, convinced everyone could see I was an impostor. The wheel spun, and so did my anxiety.

What I didn’t know was... that was normal.

Turns out, almost everyone feels that way their first time. No one tells you that. We’re all just out here pretending we’re fine while quietly panicking inside.

But something beautiful happened by the end of class. I made something. It was hideous, sure. But it was mine. It came from me. And more than that—it survived.

One of the instructors told me, “It doesn’t have to be good. It just has to be yours.” And something inside me softened. I showed up the next week. And the week after that. And now? It’s hard to imagine my life without it.

“It doesn’t have to be good. It just has to be yours.”

Pottery didn’t care if I was good. It just welcomed me anyway.

There’s something radically healing about having a space where it’s okay to be new. To be messy. To make lopsided bowls and not apologize for them. The Clay Hole became that place for me. No pressure. No judgment. Just clay, people, and the slow unfolding of confidence.

If you’ve been considering trying pottery but you’re worried you won’t be “good” at it—good. That means you’re ready. Good means you’ll come with open hands and an open heart. That means you’re human.

Just show up. Let the clay surprise you. And if it’s anything like it was for me, it might just help you find something you didn’t even realize you’d lost.

Come try a class at The Clay Hole in Draper, Utah. We’ll save a wheel for you. Imperfections welcome.

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