What I drew during a dark night of the soul

I was flipping through through a folder of things I drew last year and came across this series of illustrations I did.

It immediately transported me back to that one night where I felt compelled to draw each stage of my dance with my shadows and with darkness.

At the core of my work, a lot of my expression focuses around the light, the hope, the optimism because it’s what I needed to survive.

And I’m also learning to not shy away from sharing my shadows, because it’s what also in many ways, it's what gave my light it’s shapes and forms.

I hope it brings you some light on a dark day.

I drew this on a dark night of the soul last year.

It was a particular night where I can viscerally feel myself trapped again in a whirlpool of my own creation, and away from the love I know I want to choose.

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The funny thing about darkness is that it can not only feel familiar, but sometimes even comforting.

And I could sense the cold embrace inching itself closer to me.

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I've learned to not fight it. To sit with it.

And from it, I felt the flames of my anger burning around me. I sat with that.

And beneath and all around it, I felt the tidal waves of sadness and hurt crashing on me. I sat with that.

I've learned to trust that this too shall pass.

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The more I sat with it.

The more I acknowledged it without sinking into the tendencies of running away, distracting myself, disassociating, or following the tentacles of stories blaming others for how I'm feeling, the more the darkness dissolved.

And with each breath, with each stroke of the crayon, I felt myself coming back to the circle. To the place that welcomed me with warmth, coziness, love, and safety.

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What just hours ago felt like a stranded island with fire and crashing waves around me, was now a flower field during spring bloom.

And I am the tree where my trunk is solid and sturdy, my roots spreads deep into the ground.

And my branches stretched far and wide covered with lush green leaves of life and vitality.

~~~

When I finally arrive back to my apartment, my room in Brooklyn

I see myself, 33 and miles away from the "American Dream" of owning a house with a white picket fence and manicured lawn.

Instead, I'm miles in the distance running barefoot in the unkempt overgrown weeds still trying to find my way. But my heart is full of love and trust. I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

I'm okay.
And I'll be okay.

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