When I lost both my parents and husband within the year's time I was fortunate to have a spiritual program, supportive friends and health care professionals. However, time felt endless, hours dragged and nights, as you can imagine, were dark. Over the cycle of a year and especially a period of excruciating weeks I had to find ways to focus beyond my debilitating anxiety and depression.
I turned to art. While I have a background in art this may have been a natural place for me to turn. Yet I had to force myself to paint. I had to agree with myself that I would do at least one painting a day during the darkest weeks. This may seem like it was easy but don't be fooled. Anxiety and depression make everything hard. It was hard to see or find the point to anything. That was my experience.
Creativity became one of the strengtheners, courage builders, which carried me through panic and terror. At my kitchen counter I had a "care station" set up with my art supplies where I could paint at any moment standing up. (Part of the anxiety experience was that my back and legs shook, quaked, and standing while I painted seemed to help).
First I used a huge Sharpie then I moved to a large box of unused tubes of acrylic paints. The consistency reminded me of finger paint and the bold colors seemed appropriate somehow. Also, I decided I would only paint with my left hand, my non-dominant hand.* This was different than the art that I usually did which were small, detailed illustrations. My thinking was to access the child in me who was free and without concepts of how the painting (and life) should look. It wasn't about looking good. The paper was nothing special, a large 18" x 24" sketch pad. I needed room to scribble and move.
Each day I'd go to my art station whenever I needed to. I would say to my inner girl, "OK, I don't know what you want to paint today. . . you show me." I wouldn't think of anything really, maybe a question or wish, but no set idea. It felt good to quiet my mind. I just let my left hand choose the colors and then feel how the brush felt on the paper. I let the brush move where it seemed to want to go.
These painting moments brought me relief, if only for the time period I was actually painting. I was often surprised and delighted by the images that came out. It was as if my small, sweet inner-self was encouraging me to feel better. Grace was working through my inner child. I painted whatever I wanted and the innocent joy that came out was so contrary to how I felt, it gave me hope; hope that I would emerge from the desperate darkness.
As I said, the anxiety and depression lasted about a year. I did get through it, one day at a time, one painting at a time. The process was neither a spiritual crisis nor nervous breakdown, although the medical world may call it that, it was a spiritual breakthrough. Inside, I found resilience and resolve. You can too. May this article and paintings help those in need of hope.
Be well.
Disclaimer: No part of this article in any way suggests that you replace professional help with art. If you are anxious and/or depressed go see your doctor. The information is this article is an activity you can do as extra support for your wellbeing.
*Non-Dominant Painting© Susan Keale
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