I’ve always been a creative person, but at some point, I lost touch with that part of myself. Life got serious and busy, and I started believing that making art was only worth doing if it was impressive or valued by someone else. But even when I drifted away from creating, there was always this pull. A feeling that creative work was part of my path somehow, even before I knew what that would look like.

Finding my way back to art has been pivotal for me. I started making things just for the sake of creating again, experimenting, trying new materials, and making messy things. I slowly realized that the process was the whole point.

That became even more meaningful after experiencing burnout. I had spent so much time pushing through, trying to keep up, and measuring my worth by how much I could handle that I became deeply disconnected from myself. I was also beginning to understand my late-diagnosed ADHD and the shame I had carried for years around productivity, consistency, unfinished ideas, and feeling like I should function differently than I do.

My brain is loud and fast and constantly pulling in different directions. While I do love traditional meditation sometimes, I often find it hard to sit still and quiet my mind. But I noticed that when I became completely absorbed in making art, something shifted. The noise quieted, and I was fully present with what I was doing. I discovered mindfulness through art. Messy, unstructured, no-expectations art gave me a way to access that sense of presence without forcing myself to be still, while also loosening some of the perfectionism I had carried for years.

That’s a big part of what led me to train as a Certified Therapeutic Arts Practitioner. I wanted to understand more about what I was experiencing firsthand and learn how to offer that kind of space to others too. A space to play, be present, let go of perfectionism for a little while, and reconnect through the creative process.

My background as a teacher shapes this work too. I care about making creativity feel accessible, especially for people who don’t think of themselves as “artistic.” You don’t need to be good at art. You don’t need to know what you’re doing. You’re allowed to just make something and see what happens.

The parts of me I used to question or shrink, like my sensitivity, my creativity, and the depth with which I feel things, have become some of the parts of myself I value most. They shape the art I make, the spaces I hold, and the way I connect with others.