I grew up surrounded by love, yet I always felt somewhere else; like my body and mind lived in different worlds. I learned early to project happiness, to be what people needed, until I forgot who I was. By my 30s, with a family of my own, I realized I couldn’t lead from lies. Therapy cracked me open, it wasn’t clean or fast, just honest. It forced me to face what I’d buried and rebuild from nothing. Art became my language when words lost their meaning. Black and white gave me clarity; the brush let me breathe. I don’t paint to be understood, I paint to stop hiding. This isn’t about healing perfectly, it’s about standing still for once, not running. Creating is how I stay alive.