Time continues to kerfuffle me. One moment I was ringing in the new year with friends, and the next I’m peering at my watch in disbelief that it’s the 23rd of January.
I’ve officially started my own therapy. It’s been a disgruntling venture to try and land a therapist for a therapist, especially for one as stubborn as I am. I resonated with Dorothy and her plight in finding the porridge that was ‘just right’. While it took a hot minute, I am happy to report your girl found her ‘just right’ therapist.
And let me tell you, she brings up some good stuff.
They’re encouraging me to read a book titled The Artist’s Way. I’ll admit, some of the contents lean toward the ‘fluffy’ side of mindfulness that I find myself chuckling at. However, we all know I’m not here to judge the ‘fluff’. There have been two major points so far that have stuck out. Mindless journaling and spending mindful time with oneself. Two seemingly simple tasks that fool you into thinking they will be easy-peasy.
Come to find out, my inner ‘artist’, otherwise known as my ‘creative side’ is quite lonely and all too tired. In one of my mindful journaling ventures my subconscious wrote “I hate how deeply I care for others, but only when it hurts or screws me over. Maybe that’s why I rest in the quiet. Noise threatens chaos. Quiet promises calm.”
Another time I quietly proclaimed “I used to love reading. I could get lost in a book for hours. Yet, I stare at a pile in my living room. When did my soul become so burnt out? Where did her flicker go? She’s antsy with idleness, yet unmotivated to move in the ways that promise a remedy. What would an ‘inner artist’ date look like anyways? “What’s the point?” is a very good point.”
Through my own therapeutic work, I am coming to realize that I have been locked into a mindless, anxiety-riddled space for far too long. I zealously march to the beat of traditional productivity’s drum. Yet, without the rhythmic repetition I am anything but comfortable. I have locked myself away from myself and the vulnerability that lies within. Somewhere along my journey I became disconnected to the part of myself I used to find solitude in. The ‘creative’ part that got lost in books, spent hours upon hours adventuring on horseback, and forgot about the constraints of time. The part that loved to draw. The wildness that had fire dancing in her eyes and sass perched on her tongue.
I am on a journey to reclaim that ‘artist’ that is locked away somewhere buried deep within my soul. I find myself looking around and wondering how many other lost ‘parts’ are locked away in the hearts of those I cherish. How many of us have forgotten how the hell to be there for ourselves?
When was the last time you thoroughly checked in with yourself?
My ‘homework’ is to spend mindful quality time on my own. A simple gesture in theory, yet the major task will be to sit with the discomfort of disconnection. The awkwardness of mindfully spending time with myself without the distractions of responsibilities or daunting task lists. Just me, a book, and somewhere novel to read it.
So, I challenge you to do the same. Plan a mindful ‘date’ with yourself and embrace the awkwardness of beginning to find your ‘inner artist’ again.