The Weight of the Wave
Last year, grief, loss, guilt, fear, doubt, and shame hit me like a rogue wave. I was drowning, not in water, but in the lie that I had to “fix” myself to be worthy of air.
Patience felt impossible. I remember sitting on my bathroom floor one evening, clutching a stress ball so tightly my hand cramped. The world’s chaos—political distress, corruption, the endless scroll of bad news—amplified my fear until it was all I could hear. I abandoned my emotions, trusting my overworked mind to save me. But no amount of therapy appointments, doctor’s visits, or “self-care” checklists could outrun the truth: I wasn’t okay.
Drowning in the Current
Then came the night I’ll never forget: a Sunday in October, when I ended up in the hospital. The fluorescent lights buzzed and I felt helpless; in my body and in my mind. The nurse’s voice was gentle, but all I could focus on was going home and sleeping in my own bed. It was the first time in my life where I felt like I no longer had control over myself. I believed that night my world had collapsed in on itself because nothing made sense inside my head. There was a moment I believed loved ones had died, and that I was talking to my ex-best friend through another patient. It was a blessing in disguise—because it forced me to confront the chaos I’d been ignoring and finally ask for help in a way I never had before.
That night was my wake-up call. In the chaos, I found the pieces of myself I’d forgotten—the parts lost in the dark, now resurfacing to say, “Hello. We’re still here.”
Finding the Pieces
Healing hasn’t been about “getting better.” It’s been about seeing clearly: the disorder I’d been thriving in, the old skin I shed like a snake. Today, I hold space for all of me—even the parts that still doubt or fear. Because I’ve proven to myself that I’m capable of care. And so are you.
What I didn’t realize until after in therapy, was that I was in perpetual burnout. I desperately needed to step away from everything—no clients, no groups, no notes, no deadlines—just me. For the first time, I had to advocate for myself in ways I never had before.
My doctor initially dismissed my crisis, attributing it solely to stopping Ozempic without titration—a story for another post entirely—and refused to give me time off. But I knew my body and mind needed more than a quick fix. I also started seeing a psychiatrist, which sparked controversy in my family. They don’t believe in the pharmaceutical industry or mental health care, and their skepticism only made my journey harder. But I chose me anyway.
That choice—to prioritize myself despite the pushback—was the first step toward true healing. It taught me that recovery isn’t just about surviving; it’s about reclaiming agency, even when the world (or your own family) doesn’t understand.
Art as a Lifeline
In the months after that night, I turned to my iPad and Procreate not just as tools, but as lifelines. The piece above was born from a simple prompt: “How are you feeling in your body right now?”
The hand is mine—open, vulnerable, finally ready to hold space for whatever rose from the depths. The question marks aren’t just doubts; they’re invitations. A reminder that uncertainty doesn’t have to be scary. It can be where we begin.
Art used to be something I told myself I was only allowed to do in certain spaces, but never just for me. Art was a way to make money and to engage with others, but never for myself. The words that used to keep me away from art where: I’m not good enough, I’m not talented enough, I need to practice more, I need more time, no one will ever buy my art and so-on…
These words and thoughts held a choke-hold on me for the longest time, until this year. Fear is no longer the frequency I operate from, and I am grateful that art allows me to flow rather than to judge.
Now, I carry a sketchbook with me everywhere. I create constantly—and freely—no longer with trepidation, but with trust. My art is no longer confined to the margins of a notebook or the constraints of others’ expectations. It is a form of expression, not oppression. And that freedom is how I know I’m finally home.
Your Turn: A Prompt for Reflection
This week, I invite you to pause and ask yourself:
“How am I feeling in my body right now?”
Grab a notebook, a napkin, or your phone’s notes app. Draw, doodle, or write the first thing that comes to mind—no judgment, no “right” way.
If you’re comfortable, share your response in the comments or tag me on Instagram @Alma_Creativa_Studio. Let’s create a ripple of honesty together.