What does one do when moving forward feels impossible?
For me, it came down to a choice: surrender to the weight of it all—or disappear. That might sound harsh, but in those moments, giving up felt easier than continuing to live in pain. Depression has a way of convincing you that no version of life is worth enduring.
I tried counseling. Slowly, I began to open myself to healing. I started to see that the weight I carried wasn’t just “in my head,” but rooted in years of unspoken trauma—much of it from a time before I even had a say in my own life. Still, I had to learn how to carry that past as an adult, and that meant facing not just what was done to me, but how I’d learned to survive it. The baggage was real—and it was heavy.
This blog began in 2009 as a quiet space to document my journey as a self-taught artist. It was never meant to be about trauma or struggle. It was meant to be about paint, color, light, and growth. I used this space to stay focused on the brighter side of creativity, while quietly managing the storms behind the scenes.
But the truth is, I didn’t start painting from a place of joy—I came to it from desperation. Art gave me an outlet, a way to process pain when words weren’t enough. Over time, I painted through the silence, using this blog as a record of creative progress, while leaving the deeper parts unsaid.
Now, I can’t keep those parts separate anymore. Life has brought me back to the source of it all—the ache that led me here in the first place. Family struggles, emotional exhaustion, and the slow unraveling of things I thought I’d buried have caught up with me. Continuing this journal without acknowledging that would feel false.
There isn’t an audience here. There never really has been. This blog has always been a space for me—to process, reflect, and document my path through art and life. And so, before I step away, I wanted to write this down as a way of honoring the truth: this pause is not failure. It’s survival.
I’m not sure if or when I’ll return. But for now, I need silence. I need space. I need time to tend to the life behind the canvas.
Maybe one day, I’ll come back with new work, shaped by what I’ve walked through. Or maybe this will simply mark the closing of a chapter.
Either way, I’ve said what I needed to say—for now. I painted my way toward something better, though not toward the perfection or excellence I once thought I had to reach. Healing doesn’t always look like triumph. Sometimes, it’s simply making it through.
The darkness is still there, waiting quietly in the shadows. And right now, that’s where I find myself—in the in-between, sitting with it, not fighting it.
That is where I am.
