Candy Fantastic shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Candy, really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
I haven’t considered myself a leader before, but more of a right-hand person—the one supporting from the sidelines. What I’m being called to do now is step into leadership, and that’s something I used to be afraid of. In my sobriety, I realized that being part of a community means showing up fully, and sometimes that means taking responsibility in ways I never thought I could. Early on, I was scared to speak up, to guide others, or to let myself be seen. But over time, I’ve found that my own journey can offer strength to others, and that leading doesn’t mean having all the answers—it means being honest, present, and willing to grow alongside the people around me.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Candy Fantastic, I’m a trauma recovery enthusiast and magical artistic being. My heart is in community. I manage a local sobriety club, where I get to help create a space that feels safe, welcoming, and full of possibility. What I love about this work is that it’s not just about keeping the lights on—it’s about building connections, making people feel like they belong, and watching transformation happen in real time.
Creativity plays a big part in how I show up for that work. Whether I’m designing something that brings color and hope into the clubhouse, co-hosting The Cloaked Tatters podcast where we talk about all things trauma, or writing my long-time novel project, I see all of it as an extension of service. My story is about blending creativity and community, and I believe that’s what makes the spaces I’m part of a little different—they’re rooted in both resilience and imagination.
Okay, so here’s a deep one: What did you believe about yourself as a child that you no longer believe?
As a child, I believed I had no voice or power, like I was meant to stay small and hidden. Over time, I’ve discovered that my voice is actually one of my greatest strengths—it can spark connection, bring healing, and even open doors to transformation. I don’t see myself as powerless anymore. Instead, I see my voice as something alive and magical, a tool I get to use in service of both creativity and community.
What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
The defining wounds of my life began with childhood trauma and were compounded when I survived a bus accident at age 11. Those experiences shaped the way I saw myself—I believed I had no voice, no safety, and no way to cope except by numbing the pain with substances and behaviors. But what I’ve learned is that those beliefs weren’t the truth.
Sobriety opened the door to healing. Through recovery, I found community, and through creativity, I found a way to transform my pain into something meaningful. Today, I see my story not as one defined by trauma, but as proof of resilience and transformation. My wounds are no longer just scars—they’re reminders of my strength and a source of connection to others who are still on their own healing path.
Alright, so if you are open to it, let’s explore some philosophical questions that touch on your values and worldview. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
The project I’m committed to, no matter how long it takes, is my novel. I’ve been writing it for decades, and in many ways it’s been my mirror—a place where I’ve worked through trauma, recovery, and transformation. The story itself is an allegory for healing, but it’s also a record of my own resilience. Every time I return to it, I see how far I’ve come, and how much more I have to say.
For me, it’s not just a book—it’s a living testament to the idea that our deepest wounds can be reshaped into something meaningful. Writing it has been part of my own healing, and I believe finishing it will be part of how I give back. Even if it takes me a lifetime, I’m committed to bringing it into the world, because I know the story carries the same hope and transformation that has carried me.
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: Could you give everything your best, even if no one ever praised you for it?
Yes, absolutely. I’ve worked hard at living my life for me, not for praise or recognition. For a long time, I thought my value depended on what others saw in me, but I’ve learned that real fulfillment comes from knowing I’ve given my best, regardless of who notices.
Now, when I pour myself into something—whether it’s a project, a relationship, or simply how I show up in the world—I do it because it aligns with who I am and what matters to me. The reward isn’t in the applause, it’s in the growth, the integrity, and the quiet pride of knowing I stayed true to myself.
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