I have always known that I’ve been in survival mode since 1991, if we’re being technical. Then, in 2015, the second — and frankly harder — loss of my husband sent me reeling like nobody’s business, despite the strange feeling and thought of “I’m free” when I foolishly verified it was him on the table.
Numbing out and coasting on autopilot have become my constant state of being whenever I step outside my cute little apartment. My apartment has become both my safe place and a walled-in prison — not just because of my emotions or mental health, but also because of financial circumstances and my limited view into the world around me.
It wasn’t until I read these sections in The Artist’s Way that a light bulb went on. It clicked and registered with a resounding dong that seemed to echo through me. This Censor is my left brain — my survival gear — automatically switching on as my feet hit the ground each morning. It has worked extremely well for nearly thirty years and has become a life preserver over these past eleven years as I’ve been physically on my own… fighting the world and all its hurdles.
I now have proof of what I was feeling — written down and validated. And yet I’m drowning in it, trying to knock that gear from engaging each morning with a sledgehammer. You know how hard that is?! Well-laid plans, rituals even, govern how I do things — from what I drink first thing in the morning to what I have while out and with each meal. I’m sitting here writing this and realizing how insane this sounds, and yet I keep doing it.
These rules and beliefs must be stopped to free myself and my inner creative child.
I know, in fact, that a one-word vow I made in the early 2000s still lingers. After seeing one of my husband’s friends’ drawings — another person who took the same art course I did and still doesn’t have a career in the field — I overreacted out of my own emotions and jealousy. I remember, all too embarrassingly, crying and running out to the enclosed porch, declaring something to the effect of, I will never draw like that again! Little did I realize that my own way of drawing was a style — nothing to be ashamed of or belittle — but back then, I compared myself to other artists incessantly.
I believed I could make something of myself with my art, and that belief stayed with me until just after the pandemic. By then, it had formed into a sizable lump of anger and bitterness toward drawing and yarn crafts, removing most of the passion and love I once had for them.
With a healthy dose of stubbornness and the support of a few God-filled ladies, I am determined to break free from these unfounded rules and beliefs. I will lean on their encouragement, my big brother’s support, and the Spirit’s infilling. I like to dig to the root of issues, resolve them, and — hopefully — heal and grow in ways that improve who I am.
So I am thoroughly grateful for this part of the book, and for Jesus working the timing out as smoothly and slyly as He so often does with me.
I’m sure we can all learn from this — my missteps, at the very least, may be amusing. Stick around. You might find something worth trying for yourself.
❤ Tanya
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