Heal your Inner Child Artist

Creating this blog has been one of the scariest things of my life.  I am tossing my words out into the universe called the Internet, and I have no idea who is reading them, have no idea whether people like, love, hate or just don't care about my words.  That is a truly terrifying thing for someone who has struggled with low self-esteem her whole life.  To put myself and my creativity, the one thing I have guarded zealously, out into the world to who knows who, has been scary.  But you know what else it has been?  It has been incredibly freeing and joyous.  I love words.  Words flow from my fingertips and my mind so quickly, and when I don't write, I find myself getting closed in onto myself.  So I give this blog to you with the hopes that you too will find your own voice, will learn to nourish your soul, and will learn that you can free yourself from the grip of addiction and pain by learning to love yourself for yourself.  Is it going to happen overnight?  Nope.  Is it going to be painful? You bet.  Will it be worth it?  Absolutely. that I unequivocally promise to you.

So here's my thoughts for today:


Growing up I was surrounded by artistic people.  My mother, off kilter in so many other ways, was extremely talented with knitting and crochet.  She could look at a magazine photo and then create an identical sweater just by charting it out herself.  And I'm not talking basic sweaters and cardigans.  I'm talking Fair Isle sweaters, intarsia, complex colors and patterns.  She was also a ballerina before moving to the United States after WWII. 

So, she tried to teach me how to knit and crochet.  I learned okay enough for the basics, but I kept getting frustrated because I would add new stitches.  It's only now that I know why I did that, and have corrected my error on that, but when I was 14 years old and in the throes of hormonal out-of-wackness, all I could think about is that I failed at the one thing she was interested in teaching me.  So, as was my defense mechanism way, I shut down and stopped knitting.  One thing I had learned as a child from my parents---if you can't be instantly good at it, you're a failure at it.  There was no room for mistakes, no room for error.  I was terrified to make mistakes, so if I couldn't figure something new out quickly, I just wouldn't pursue it.

My sister, on the other hand, was a demon with a needle, and quickly started making her own sweaters, purses, hats, etc. 

My middle brother played the piano, the guitar, painted, wrote music.  I remember taking piano lessons when I was probably 7 years old, and hating it.  I did not want to learn to play the piano, I didn't want to compete with my 'artistic' brother.  If I couldn't be as good as he was, why would I bother?  And again, if I didn't become a concert pianist overnight, then I obviously wasn't any good.  And he was the "artist" of the family, and there didn't seem to be room for another one. 

My two older brothers had a way with drawing.  Me, I could draw stick figures and could sketch a cartoon horse and dog, but nothing else.  Again, why try, I was a 'failure'.

The one thing I was good at, and wanted desperately to be since the 4th grade, was a writer.  Running off to the library and immersing myself in the peace and solitude I found there, I was able to transport myself away from my insane family and lose myself in stories.  I felt truly alive when reading, and stories sailed me far away from reality. 

So I wrote.  I wrote poetry, short stories, essays.  Never showed them to anyone other than teachers, who always were very kind and gave me good marks for my writing.  So when I was a teenager, stuck alone in a house in Valencia, I started writing a novel.  A fully fantastical make believe story in which my alter-ego starred, where I was in control, where I saved the day.  Of course there was romance, and family who loved me, and tragedy and triumph.  I worked on that novel for 2 years, from when I was 14 to 16.  Friends read chapters of it and wanted more.

Then I made my mistake.  I desperately wanted my father's approval of the one thing in the world that mattered to me, the one thing that made me feel whole, and I asked him to read my novel.  Big mistake for a fearful young girl with self-esteem issues.  My father read the book.  His response?  "Not the kind of stuff I like to read."

I was crushed, mortified, and slunk off to lick my wounds.  I didn't write again for over 15 years, although the dream of being a writer continued to chase me in my dreams.  Again I had been rejected by my parent, again instead of love and encouragement there was dismissal and disdain.

Then, I went to Kaiser Permanente's Positive Choice program, and during one of my Optifast odysseys (more on that in another blog) I discovered in the workbook I was given a suggestion to a book that transformed my perspective on what it means to be an artist, and that truly we are all artists.

That book is "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron.

I started reading it, and discovered "Artist Dates".  Dates with you and you alone, to fill your well of creativity.  Now, my well had run dry a long time ago, and I had been too afraid to dig another well.  Julia Cameron in her book guided me through various exercises and taught me to journal for three pages every day.  Three pages of stream=of-consciousness writing, to clear my head, calm me down, and get the creative juices flowing.

I learned through reading that book that I really was an artist, and that being a best-selling author wasn't the point of writing; writing was the point of writing.  Writing is what fulfills my soul's aches and pains.  Writing completes me.  Writing lets me let loose the feelings inside of me that I cannot express verbally.  Writing flows from my fingers to the paper.  Writing for me is extremely cathartic.

So I have learned through this book (and this blog, which is stream=of=conscious for me, I just write from the heart) that everyone is an artist, that everyone has something to create and contribute.  I learned to stop judging my efforts, learned to stop picking myself apart and second-guessing myself. 

You too are an artist.  There is something that you love to do that you have been too afraid to do. You have been afraid to be ridiculed, mocked, belittled.  You have worried that your 'art' won't measure up.  Well, my question is, what is it measuring up to?  Just create.  I have learned that I have to create; that I am a child of God, and God is the ultimate artist.  Just look at all the creatures in the world, with their funny shapes and colors and patterns, and you know that God had a lot of fun creating the world, and didn't worry that people were going to judge the end result.

Let your inner artist out.  Learn to play with color, with fabric, with paint, with clay.  Try something you have always wanted to learn.  Do you like to dance?  Try Zumba, or tap dance, or belly dancing (I tried all three!)....you might not be good at it right away, but you're at least trying!  And you are nourishing your soul, which is one of the most important things you can do for yourself.

"God Laughs in Flowers"

Let your inner artist out.