I have struggled with calling myself an Artist. I've been creative my entire life with drawing, sketching, writing short stories & poetry and painting. Yet something has always stopped me from declaring for myself that I consider myself an artist. I feel like there is always some bar, qualification or certified way to be, and that I'm never "that good". I'm taking Art classes right now in the hopes of getting a Studio Arts Associates degree. Why? Because I want to learn these things with more skill. I really love the challenge and the skills & knowledge that I am gaining from the classes. Yet there is still that part of me that says that "I have to" get a degree, otherwise I'm "not good enough" to claim the description of artist. I'm working on that. 

As a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), I have always relied, escaped, to creativity as a coping skill. I write poems to process difficult emotions. I draw and sketch landscapes of places where my mind goes for peace. I have decided to return to college to pursue a degree (hopefully!) in Studio Arts (think drawing and design). Initially I decided to return to school, to take art classes, as a stress relief from my career. While I love to gobble up degrees (actually they are all a ton of work), this one will be special. I am learning to offer a safe and loving place for my Inner Child Artist. My inner critic has been at the helm long enough! I am currently reading "The Artist's Way" as well. It's time for my artist and creative self to come out of the shadows and express freely. 

My Dad died on October 26, 2020. It's hard to explain the impact that his death had because of the many layers involved. You see I was adopted. Chosen. Loved. Adored. That's what my parents told me. So then imagine one of my protectors, strength and love giving parents passes away. I was lost. Still am honestly. It's different navigating the world without my Dad physically in it. I didn't feel strong anymore. I felt like I needed to hide. That I would never be ok again. For me, this death was devastating in a way that is different. Being adopted has with it consistent and constant pain and loss. I joke with my therapist every time that I have an issue that it is because I was adopted. It's true. But it's not the adopted part. I was chosen, loved, adored. It's the giving away part. And then I was found. And then my Dad was gone. I found a fantastic therapist through the hospice center and she has helped me like I couldn't have imagined. I just passed 3 years that he has been gone. I do feel stronger, more powerful again. Like my voice is returning and I'm able to speak up. I had to learn to lean on myself and my energy and shift into a spiritual relationship with my Dad. I do believe he is still my Protector and strength. And so is my Mom. Thankfully she is doing fine and is managing her grief well. That's all we can do. Manage it and move ahead. Baby steps.