My Personal Mental Health Journey and Relationship with Art

Art is a form of emotional release that gives satisfaction to the human soul. Art is a unique way of understanding insecurities and accepting imperfections. It’s a fascinating form of therapy that provides relief in the most stressful moments.

This illustrates my experience with art. When I say art, I don’t just mean painting, other forms like dancing, poetry and singing are also amazing sources of emotional relief. I think what attracts people to art is its ability to tell a story; to tell a personal story, to express what can’t be understood. It’s about a human soul connecting to another soul. That’s the beauty of art. The artist is an intuitive soul that finds peace in connecting with their intrinsic self, trying to reach the depth of human emotion. I find artists are great storytellers. They’re empathetic, and they genuinely listen to the feelings of another. Artists are intuitive, and because of that, they understand facial expressions and can see hidden emotions behind a canvas. Art is all about perception. Artists crave new perspectives. They want to comprehend what others can’t. Perception is deeply rooted in experience, intuitiveness and emotional understanding.

Growing up in a stressful and competitive environment made it challenging for me to be authentic. I felt like I couldn’t be myself because of the many expectations I burdened myself with. Being a Muslim, being a Hijabi and a young woman made it all too hard to feel confident. I found myself stuck in almost every activity during my high school years; extracurricular groups, science competitions, sports, leadership etc. At one point it all started to feel pointless. I had many insecurities with the way I looked, with my personality and my self-worth. I just never felt enough despite being known as an overachiever. As a child, I found myself craving acceptance from others. The more I grew older, the less I wanted to share my feelings with others. I felt this constant pressure of judgement, more of embarrassment perhaps. Maybe people wouldn’t understand? Coming from traumatic childhood experiences, I felt disconnected with my emotions. I found myself stuck in my own misery, that I had painted for myself. I consistently became weaker day by day. It came to the point where I wouldn’t want to get out of bed. I was angry. Very angry, but I didn’t know why or what I was angry at. It was one of those moments in my life where I dreaded being in my own body. I remember those worthless feelings, and that constant negative self-talk. I remember sulking in the depressive state I had caged myself to. Deep down, I just wanted someone to listen to me. I just wanted some comfort and understanding. I feared abandonment. I feared my loneliness yet continuously put myself in isolation. I found myself stuck in contradictions all the time. I felt empty and burdened at the same time. Yes, many of my feelings were at place rooting from childhood trauma. As much as I wanted to share this, I just didn’t feel important enough. Who would care to listen to me? My feelings were scattered, and I could never make sense of my emptiness. I felt spiritually, and emotionally disconnected. I also felt misunderstood. My source of relief was to cry, to dive deeper into my depression and self loathe. In front of others, I faked my happiness. The hypocrisy was painful to face but the truth had been that I didn’t want to change. I took on multiple stresses to please others and placed my own health at risk. It became a routine for me to be depressed. It felt as though life had always been like this. I became so accustomed to it, I just tried to survive with it. I thought about internal peace, but it felt like a distant memory.

And when I did come out about my mental health, I found a huge burden lift from me. I felt like that’s all I needed. Nonetheless, I was still a scattered emotional mess. Building myself to have an identity was like putting together shackled mirror pieces. However, I remained resilient through it all and I felt proud of that. I started finding the broken pieces of myself through art; choreography, mandalas, poetry, photography and in pursuing my creative passions. Art gave me a peace of mind, time to reevaluate the situation, understand my emotions, and accept my state of mind. I found myself in an experimental process – I failed, and I learned from each therapy lesson. I found myself building my lost confidence piece by piece. I found myself making sense of my childhood trauma. I found myself validating the broken soul I was. Art gave me an opportunity to find perfections in my imperfections. I began searching for the beauty in my broken soul. I found myself saying, “I was enough”. Art provided me with a perspective of my own; a new creative light.

I use this creative light every day to pursue what I love most; free expression. I think there’s a real spark in how art can be such a great form of communication. Humans are very visual creatures and art speaks to their mind and soul more than anything. It reconnects them to their own emotions. Art is a powerful way of expressing through a language everyone knows.