Welcome to the Sad Broken Girls Club

In a world that rushes you to move on,
we choose to linger.
to sit with the ache, to name it,
to make art from the pieces left behind.

welcome to Sad Broken Girls Club —
a creative sanctuary for soft hearts, old souls,
and women who’ve learned to bloom through heartbreak.

we are more than a community —
we are a quiet rebellion.
born from heartbreak, built on honesty,
and held together by the kind of beauty
that only exists in things that have been broken once.


here, sadness isn’t weakness.
it’s an origin story.
and through every story told,
we find power in the parts we once hid.

Sign Up

Sad Broken Girls Club

Two young women at a social gathering, one with long dark hair, lipstick, and tattoos on her shoulder, is kissing the cheek of another woman with wavy dark hair, red lipstick, and wearing a floral dress. The background shows other people and colorful lighting.
VIP Member
$20.00
Every month

Unlock a higher level of access by upgrading to our VIP membership. Enjoy all the perks of a club member, plus additional content and 1-1 access.

✓ Monthly Newsletter
✓ Bonus content
✓ 1-1 appointments to chat
✓ Collab and Share your content
A young woman smiling and looking at herself in a mirror, touching the mirror with her hands. She has long dark hair and is wearing earrings, necklaces, and a sleeveless top.
Sad Broken Girls Club
$20.00
Every month
$160.00
Every year

As a member, you gain access to a wealth of exclusive content and chances to collaborate, you also get to help me with expenses such as app subscriptions.

✓ Access to the community chat
✓ Behind-the-scenes content

Why create the Sad Broken Girls Club?

The Sad Broken Girls Club was born from the quiet ache that lives in the spaces between heartbreak and healing.

It’s a sanctuary for those who carry their sadness like a hidden crown, who have learned that sorrow is not weakness, but a kind of fierce beauty.

We exist for the ones who feel deeply, for the women who have been shattered and are learning to piece themselves together on their own terms.

Here, pain is honored, grief is held, and the fragments of our broken selves are worn like jewelry—each scar a testament to survival, to resilience, to the quiet power of becoming.

— Bells