Am I Actually an Artist?

Sure I’ve been artistic my whole life. Peers at school would say that I was artistic, I would spend so much of my free time drawing or painting… But that didn’t mean I was an artist did it?

A beacon of terrible mental health

My Mental Reality

Even though people said I was artistic, I could never believe them. I had severe mental health issues and I was also surrounded by the sentiment that you could never be financially successful as an artist. I ignored my dreams to focus on the “practical” advice that parents, peers, and school administrators were harping on me.

This is a picture of my bedroom at 16. Chaos. Disorder. A cry for help.

I hadn’t lived with my mom for a few years because she was an abusive alcoholic. My dad truly did his best, but was also ready to reclaim his own independence once I could drive and wasn’t around a lot. I spent 14 hours a day on AIM and playing video games. I did have tons of awesome friends, and we did a lot of super fun activities.

But then I graduated…

My friends all went off to colleges in different towns. I went to the local university and dropped out after two quarters. I started smoking weed every day, hanging out with other people that had no support or future prospects, and I quickly felt abandoned by society. I went to college like you’re “supposed to” but had zero direction or support system and started failing academics for the first time in my life. My dad was yearning for his freedom and kicked me out of the house, so I moved in with my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. (So healthy.)

My mental health became impossible to ignore as I was having panic attacks, not eating, talking hour long walks at 3 am by myself, and perpetually feeling like the biggest failure in the world.

Getting Help

In my 20’s I went through a couple of therapists — some not so great, and some absolutely amazing. I learned about cPTSD and how trauma affects the mind and body. I learned about how narcissists manipulate everything and brainwashed me. And I learned to practice self care and create my own identity in the world.

One day my therapist suggested I try hypnotherapy to help me work through my body’s inability to not be in a constant state of fight-or-flight. It was life changing. It felt like I had truly relaxed for the first time in my entire life. I felt like I had been injected with the most powerful drug in the world, and couldn’t believe it was possible to feel different.

I naively didn’t go back for more sessions as I was on such a high, but did decide that I wanted to become a hypnotherapist so that I could help other people experience these dramatic shifts. I went through training and absorbed all the wonderful information to get certified and registered with the state.

I felt so much momentum and was able to help a few people. I got hired at a hypnosis center and met a lot of amazing hypnotists. But my cPTSD symptoms crept back in and I was struggling intensely with anxiety, self doubt, and so much more. I swallowed my pride and asked another hypnotist for help and went through the entire process.

It took five sessions, but I finally felt concrete changes taking place within me. I worked through years of trauma, and found a source of hope that I could really do whatever I wanted with my life. One of the sessions I was asked to picture myself five years in the future, and I saw myself as a successful artist.

Reconnecting with Art

I was determined to continue on this path of huge life shifts before I jumped forward with publicly sharing my dreams, so I found and worked through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I felt completely validated by this book and its exercises. It helped me understand how society beats us with the idea that art isn’t a practical living. How what we’re told as children sticks with us into adulthood. And how to take small steps towards nourishing the artist within.

I started making art simply because I loved it. I spent a couple of years doing this and monitoring my mental habits without sharing my art with other people. I still noticed myself yearning for perfection, obsessively sitting down to try and finish a piece in one sitting, or giving up half way through when I continuously told myself it wasn’t good enough.

But I had all the tools to work through these patterns, and slowly I got better at practicing self-compassion and being my own supportive parent through my internal voice. Art became fun again and I allowed myself to play and make mistakes just for the sake of exploring and trying new things. I took myself on “art dates” to buy a new pen, or go to a museum, or even just draw somewhere outside of my house. It took a lot of practice, but art became something that brought joy to my life. I reconnected with my inner child, and started dreaming again.

I am an artist.