I have this formative memory, and I bet you have a few like it too – a moment you can look back to and remember, damn. that changed me. That changed how I acted, how I related to the world, that changed what I thought of me. I was four years old and sitting in a swivel chair in […]
welcome to the journal -- a space for appreciating the process
I have this formative memory, and I bet you have a few like it too – a moment you can look back to and remember, damn. that changed me.
That changed how I acted, how I related to the world, that changed what I thought of me.
I was four years old and sitting in a swivel chair in my family’s study talking to one of my parents sharing vulnerably about an experience that broke my heart when the parent rebuked me for feeling that way.
I don’t blame them – they were doing the best they could and had no idea I would take their remarks the way that I did, but to my young mind, their response indicated that:
1) sharing those kind of feelings was not okay and
2) something was wrong with me for feeling that way in the first place.
I remember dropping my head and consciously choosing to here on out hide this aching part of me.
Almost thirty years later, my nervous system still gets a bit activated, a bit anxious, when I go to share a vulnerable truth with someone I love.
That ancient layer of my brain/body connection, even with years of therapy and healing, is still a part of me. Though fading all the time, there is still an ancient layer peaking through.
And TBH? I’m grateful for that.
Not grateful that the wound happened, but grateful that I get to be the one who cares for it, who cares for that little four-year-old part of me, sad and shamed by her sadness, crossed legged and droopy headed in the spinning chair.
Sometimes I imagine myself sitting and holding her, we speak back and forth, her worries and my soothing. Their questions and my knowing.
And I’m moved to tears at the thin-veil of time that allows the two of us to connect and slowly, surely, together, plant the seed of something new, something secure, rooted and loving, to one day emerge.
TBH, I witness its slow emergence within myself all the time.
One of my favorite things about painting as a medium is the unique way old and new layers of paint intermingle with each other to create something unique and beautiful.
To me, these earliest layers represent our formative experiences, and how even when covered up, even when buried or forgotten, they still shape who we are.
But with each new layer added, the promise of reinvention, transformation, and growth unfolds.
New layers don’t take away the foundation, but they can supplement its truth, transform its meaning and add the depth of understanding, care and love to the mix.
That’s what you see happening here with this piece.
Inspired by colors of spring and the archetypal shape of the seed, this painting is a talisman for growth rooted in radical self-acceptance, care and trust.
Much like a seedling breaking from its seed shell, its soft green head pushing up through the dirt, reaching for air and light; the process of our own emergence has its own intelligence and timing.
Shop this piece by clicking here and add a reminder of trust and transformation into your home or office today.