Recently in my work with mentally ill and chemically addicted patients I aided a patient in a breakthrough of sorts. At work I am able to do three Art Therapy groups a week, where patients get to process and express all the things they are going through and learning in a different way. For those patients who respond well to the group art therapy I encourage them to keep a sketchbook and continue to draw, especially when they are feeling overwhelmed by emotions that they usually deal with by using heroin or percocet or (fill in the blank). Recently, one of my patients discovered that he not only loves to draw, but that he is also quite gifted at it. Being in a line of work where the arts are long forgotten, he had no previous opportunity to discover this gift. This patient has a myriad of mental health concerns and has admitted to the fact that he uses substances when he is overwhelmed with certain feelings or memories. He discovered that drawing not only makes him feel calm, but is the only thing that stops his hands from the constant shaking that has developed because of his traumas. I have been overwhelmed by gratitude for being able to be a part of such a discovery. Will this new discovered gift save my patient? Who knows. But to actually have a patient find a safe place for all the overwhelming crap in his head. That is why I do what I do.
Creativity and art making are certainly the outlet that I found for dealing with feelings and emotions that I couldn't quite get a handle on. It is curious that even though in my daily work I am always encouraging patients to try creativity as a coping mechanism that I often forget to do it for myself.
To be perfectly honest life has been a bit of a struggle lately. I am quickly approaching 30 and feel that I have very little to show for it. I regret sometimes the education that has placed me under a mountain of debt in a society that cannot compensate me for that education. Sometimes I think perhaps I am just not very capable. As the insecurities grow and escalate, the funny thing is that it always boils down to an insecurity about my appearance. Perhaps in my twisted mind my physical appearance is an easy scapegoat for how I am feeling about the world.
Then, while watching an episode of Mad Men last night, I realized that it is not just me. American women have always been in a position to somehow project their identities to their looks. If you are pretty you will be loved, find a man to marry you, get a good job, have people do nice things for you, etc., etc.. I would like to think that women have evolved since the sixties, but it seems to me we really have not come very far. Women still go to extreme lengths to modify their appearance so as to get a leg up in the world.
Watching Mad Men also reiterated the fact that even the most beautiful women still struggle with feeling insecure about their appearance. No matter what your aesthetic appeal to the world all women seem to feel inadequate at one point or another.
This past week I have been feeling especially insecure about how I look. If only I weighed less. If only my hair were blonde. If only my breasts were bigger. If only my legs were smaller. If only, if only, if only . . . then what? So, in an effort to practice what I preach I sat down with some paint to expel some of that anxious energy. I chose a small 3x3 canvas and just painted whatever that energy commanded to. The picture above is the result of that expulsion. And I have to say, it absolutely made me feel better. I am in awe of not only how well it releases some of the negative energy, but also how the perspective it gives me makes me realize how "silly" it is to feel the way I am feeling. Or rather, that it simply is not so bad as I may be feeling.
What an exceptional epiphany to have - that life is manageable. I get so stuck sometimes in feeling overwhelmed, or not knowing what to do. I am realizing more and more as I get older that just DOING is sometimes the best medicine. And for me, working on something creative is the best kind of doing.
