I used to believe that real connection for me was only possible with people who were different in some way—people who had endured trauma, hardship, or some kind of fracture in their lives that I could recognize in myself.

I felt most at ease with those who had been through struggle, whether in their upbringing or in the present moment.

I was instinctively drawn to the misfits and the outsiders: the bad girls and boys, the druggies in high school, the metal heads and punkers, the goth kids, the cholos, the alternative crowd—anyone who was a little rougher around the edges.

Around them, it felt safer to be myself, especially when alcohol or drugs softened the edges of self-consciousness.

The Circles We Keep

I moved through many social circles and knew a lot of people, but nearly every group I belonged to was quietly hurting—coping, surviving, trying to hold themselves together.

Everyone else seemed untouched by this kind of inner chaos.

They seemed confident, happy, at ease and safe in their lives and environments.

That sense of ease felt a bit foreign to me.

This pattern followed me through high school, into college, and beyond.

Taking the Leap

Years later, after spending a long time working in graphic design, I reached a point where the work felt hollow.

I was producing, but I wasn’t listening—to myself, to my intuition, or to the deeper questions that had always lived underneath the surface.

That restlessness eventually led me to take a risk: stepping away from stability to attend an atelier art school for one year.

Financially, it made no sense.

As a single mother, I was already stretched thin.

But the part of me that had always trusted the long arc of meaning over short-term security chose to move anyway—through loans, credit cards, and freelance graphic art work.

Before we can access depth, we often need safety. If you’re in that place, this piece may support you→

How Art Rewired My Understanding of Connection

What I didn’t expect was how much that year spent in the atelier would quietly rewire my understanding of connection.

The people in the school came from vastly different backgrounds—some with wealth, some without, all shaped by different life circumstances.

Yet beneath those differences was a shared devotion: to seeing more clearly, to learning slowly, to showing up day after day for a practice that asked for something quite deep and honest from us.

Art became the common language—not as self-expression alone, but as discipline, attention, and devotion.

Art asks us to slow down, to observe, to listen, and to stay with what reveals itself over time.

Depth Over Brokenness

It was there that I began to understand something essential about my relationship to people, and to art.

What I had been drawn to all along wasn’t brokenness—it was depth.

It was the willingness to sit with discomfort, to look beneath the surface, to engage with what is real rather than what is polished.

Art, at its core, asks the same thing.

It doesn’t require perfection; it requires presence.

A Quiet Meeting Place

Art remains that quiet meeting place for me still.

A space where different lives, histories, and inner worlds can touch through shared attention and meaning.

A reminder that what connects us most deeply is not sameness, but the courage to look at ourselves with honesty and to remain open.

Let me know in the comments where you have found inspiring connection within your life.

Creative practice is not just about making; it is a path to connection, belonging, and depth.
Continue reading:

When Everything Feels Like Too Much: Ways to Come Back to Yourself When the World Feels Dangerous→

What Art Taught Me About Depth and Belonging: How Creative Practice Deepens Connection

I used to believe that real connection for me was only possible with people who were different in some way—people who had endured trauma, hardship, or some kind of fracture in their lives that I could recognize in myself.

I felt most at ease with those who had been through struggle, whether in their upbringing or in the present moment.

I was instinctively drawn to the misfits and the outsiders: the bad girls and boys, the druggies in high school, the metal heads and punkers, the goth kids, the cholos, the alternative crowd—anyone who was a little rougher around the edges.

Around them, it felt safer to be myself, especially when alcohol or drugs softened the edges of self-consciousness.

The Circles We Keep

I moved through many social circles and knew a lot of people, but nearly every group I belonged to was quietly hurting—coping, surviving, trying to hold themselves together.

Everyone else seemed untouched by this kind of inner chaos.

They seemed confident, happy, at ease and safe in their lives and environments.

That sense of ease felt a bit foreign to me.

This pattern followed me through high school, into college, and beyond.

Taking the Leap

Years later, after spending a long time working in graphic design, I reached a point where the work felt hollow.

I was producing, but I wasn’t listening—to myself, to my intuition, or to the deeper questions that had always lived underneath the surface.

That restlessness eventually led me to take a risk: stepping away from stability to attend an atelier art school for one year.

Financially, it made no sense.

As a single mother, I was already stretched thin.

But the part of me that had always trusted the long arc of meaning over short-term security chose to move anyway—through loans, credit cards, and freelance graphic art work.

Before we can access depth, we often need safety. If you’re in that place, this piece may support you→

How Art Rewired My Understanding of Connection

What I didn’t expect was how much that year spent in the atelier would quietly rewire my understanding of connection.

The people in the school came from vastly different backgrounds—some with wealth, some without, all shaped by different life circumstances.

Yet beneath those differences was a shared devotion: to seeing more clearly, to learning slowly, to showing up day after day for a practice that asked for something quite deep and honest from us.

Art became the common language—not as self-expression alone, but as discipline, attention, and devotion.

Art asks us to slow down, to observe, to listen, and to stay with what reveals itself over time.

Depth Over Brokenness

It was there that I began to understand something essential about my relationship to people, and to art.

What I had been drawn to all along wasn’t brokenness—it was depth.

It was the willingness to sit with discomfort, to look beneath the surface, to engage with what is real rather than what is polished.

Art, at its core, asks the same thing.

It doesn’t require perfection; it requires presence.

A Quiet Meeting Place

Art remains that quiet meeting place for me still.

A space where different lives, histories, and inner worlds can touch through shared attention and meaning.

A reminder that what connects us most deeply is not sameness, but the courage to look at ourselves with honesty and to remain open.

Let me know in the comments where you have found inspiring connection within your life.

Creative practice is not just about making; it is a path to connection, belonging, and depth.

Continue reading:

When Everything Feels Like Too Much: Ways to Come Back to Yourself When the World Feels Dangerous→

When Everything Feels Like Too Much: Ways to Come Back to Yourself When the World Feels Dangerous

Full Super Moon and New Painting