Author: afrozain

Wonderful things happened when I started allowing myself to indulge in decadent presence – shifts that were stuck in the cognitive realm finally became embodied, curiosity began to soothe my fears, I developed respect for my thoughts and rhythms, and I felt a lightness in my heart, independent of external circumstances.

What if I listened to myself respectfully, and took what my body was saying about it’s capacity and needs seriously? I had a breakthrough with this abstract concept when I started using art to talk to myself.

Thought loops became bright squiggly pastel smears, wounds expressed themselves in rhythm and movement, grief came through in song and strumming, reassurance wrapped itself into the softness of fabric, watercolour lent its ethereal charm to discerning reality amidst chaos, pottery highlighted where conflicts lived in my body, gardening encouraged me to notice gentle blossoming, in wood shavings and electric saws I felt an admission of power, poetry seduced shame out of its shadows, theatre pinpointed my regrets, and baking saved my life.

Wonderful things happened when I started allowing myself to indulge in decadent presence – shifts that were stuck in the cognitive realm finally became embodied, curiosity began to soothe my fears, I discovered my unique rhythms, and I felt a lightness in my heart, independent of external circumstances.

When I host art circles in community, I’m moved by the capacity of creation, regardless of medium, to spark self-confrontation and mutual connection even on unflattering thoughts and beliefs. What a solace to be witnessed in our entirety, and what a gift to be carried there by art.

Art is for everyone. We all deserve the benefits and growth that come from expressing and being witnessed.

I had misunderstood the goal of years of therapy – it wasn’t to erase all the “bad” parts, and never feel discomfort again, but to hold space for the incredible diversity and vastness of our existence. Art helped me witness my inner conflicts. I released my tight grip on the cerebral and descended frighteningly into my body.

It’s been a long journey winnowing my voice from the desires of others. As a child, I loved art, but I knew I wasn’t talented enough to claim the title of “artist”, so I sprinted away in pursuit of achievable excellence. I sliced away my slower-moving parts and learnt to collapse the breadth of artistic possibility into just one shade – how can this serve me in performing “goodness”? I focused on dutifully hitting the precise check-boxes that would get me into prestigious programs. This went on for twenty seven years until my body broke down.

The slow trickle of resentment, fear, insecurity, and uncertainty built up to a magnificent crescendo and engulfed me in darkness where, finally still, my artistic spirit found me. I serendipitously surrendered myself to the tactile pleasures of bread-making which coaxed my body out of shock. In what my mind and my entourage perceived as my lowest point, I found a certain lightness, clarity, and connection that I had no memory of experiencing before.

Art helped me witness my inner conflicts. Making art about my different “realities” gently exposed my paradoxes – I can be hurt, and also hurtful. I can be nurturing, and also unavailable. I can be selfless, and also transactional. I had misunderstood the goal of years of therapy – it wasn’t to erase all the “bad” parts, and never feel discomfort again, but to hold space for the incredible diversity and vastness of our existence. In sessions with my art therapist, I built havens to meet myself and others. I released my tight grip on the cerebral and descended frighteningly into my body. I discovered that my nervous system wasn’t in sync with the theoretical tsunami in my mind. But rather than feeling compassion for my survival stories, I was using my instagram-based conceptual knowledge of mental health topics as ideals to shame myself. Boundaries, attachment styles, co-dependency, narcissism, self-regulation, etc all became juicy sticks to hit myself with. One set of societal “shoulds” were simply replaced by another.

Thankfully, embracing non-verbal art-making allowed me to express my grief about my disconnection, of all that was now lost, all that will never be. And then, when that felt bearable, I could be present for what is.

Art offered me a mirror to experience living in the present, rather than being controlled by innumerable inner conflicts about the past and the future.

My work is to help people witness their complex selves without judgement or desire for constant improvement. I see that expanding individual nervous system capacity is essential for collective liberation.