I remember the moment art became more than a hobby — it became my therapy. It was right before what I like to call the Flupocalypse of 2020. I had just gone through a tough breakup and finally got back on my feet in a new place. Around that same time, my mom was going through her own life transition, and I was happy to let her move in with me.
It had been at least fifteen years since we’d lived together, but it felt natural. We’ve always been so much alike — creative souls with a love for art and music. Growing up, she taught me the fundamentals of drawing, shading, and painting. She was always the better artist, but I definitely inherited her talent.
When we started doing art together again as adults, it was nostalgic — but it hit different this time. My mom had a stressful job as a pediatric nurse and carried the weight of raising nine daughters, one with mental challenges. When she picked up that paintbrush, I realized art was more than a pastime for her. It was her escape. A space to breathe, unwind, and just let creativity lead. That’s when I understood it was the same for me too.
For the first time in a long time, I could pour all my emotions into something and it didn’t matter how it turned out. I had created something that reflected me — a piece of peace anchored on canvas.
The Process That Brings Me Calm
Whether it’s crocheting, painting, or making resin home goods, the act of creating helps me process my emotions and find calm. Instead of worrying about health struggles, bills, or heartbreak from a ten-year relationship, I redirect that energy into my work.
- What do I want to make?
- How do I make it?
- What do I need to bring it to life?
By the time I gather my supplies and start, I’m already lost in my own world — the safe space art provides.
I’ve battled deep depression and anxiety for years, tried countless medications, and sat through endless therapy sessions. While those things helped, nothing grounded me quite like creating. As a Gay Black man who’s endured sexual abuse, loss, and the heavy expectations of the world, I needed something tangible to anchor my peace.
Art became that anchor. It’s my form of meditation — no pills, no alcohol, no substances — just me and my art. Through it, I found a sense of control and freedom I hadn’t felt in years.
The Painting That Changed Everything
One of my most meaningful pieces is a painting of Kobe Bryant. When he passed, my mom and I decided to paint him as a challenge — her version was realistic and textured, sweat beads and all. Mine was a color-pop portrait, black and white except for his jersey.
We were proud of both pieces, but I didn’t know that would be the last painting we’d ever create together. My mom passed away in December 2020. That painting became more than art — it became memory, legacy, and love frozen in time. I gave it to my father, so he could keep a piece of us close.
My Creative Ritual
When I create, I prefer solitude. There’s something about being alone at night with my favorite R&B music playing that lets me drift away. I’ll work for hours — sometimes all night — completely detached from the chaos of life. Maybe it’s my Aquarius energy, but I find peace in my own company.
After years of back-to-back relationships, I had to learn how to enjoy myself — by myself. Art helped me reclaim my identity and rediscover love for who I am, without needing validation or medication.
To Anyone Struggling
As a suicide survivor and mental health advocate, I’d never tell anyone how to feel. I can only share what I’ve learned: the art of letting go.
You have to recognize that what’s done is done — you’re not living in that old version of your life anymore. It doesn’t matter who hurt you or how many times you fell. You’ve survived things that only exist now as memories.When I feel those triggers creep up, I ask myself, “Is this real right now? Is this pain happening now, or am I reliving something I already survived?”
If I can’t find a tangible reason for that pain in the present, I let it go. Then I choose to create. Because creating something new gives me control over the moment I’m in. And art doesn’t have to mean painting or sculpting — it can be anything that brings you peace. Gardening, writing, cooking, dancing — whatever makes your soul exhale.
Find your happy and anchor your heart to it. The rest of the world will move around you.
Healing Through Sharing
Sharing my art — through my book, jewelry, and paintings — has been incredibly rewarding. I love hearing how people interpret my work, sometimes in ways I never imagined.
It reminds me that art isn’t just something we make — it’s something we share. Each piece becomes an exchange of emotion, energy, and healing. Sometimes the trade isn’t money — it’s understanding, connection, or perspective.
Through that exchange, I’ve learned that healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in creation — and in the moments when our art touches someone else’s soul.
Art saved me.
And every day I pick up a brush, a hook, or a handful of clay, I find another piece of myself waiting to be made whole again.
Comments ()