what happens when we stop abandoning ourselves

Hey, hope you’re doing well.

Have you ever been so overwhelmed that you stopped looking for answers and just wanted silence?

I know I have.

Looking back now, I realize that’s where all of this began.

I honestly don’t know exactly how I began painting this way. But when I look back now, I know it started during a time when I wasn’t doing well mentally. It probably sounds like one of those familiar stories about someone going through a difficult period and somehow finding something meaningful in the middle of it. But that is exactly what happened.

I was emotionally overwhelmed, physically exhausted, and under a lot of pressure. I was standing in front of a major change in my life. I was about to move to another city with my husband. We were getting married. My health wasn’t good, and there were simply too many things happening at once.

More than anything, I was afraid. I was afraid of everything that was coming. Afraid of change. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of what my life was going to become.

Usually, when I need clarity, I write. Writing helps me understand myself. It helps me organize my thoughts and make sense of what I’m feeling. But in that moment, I didn’t want clarity. I didn’t want to understand anything. I just wanted my mind to stop. So I picked up a pen and started making marks.

There was no plan. No intention. No image in my mind. I just began drawing whatever came through. It barely felt like I was the one doing it. It felt more like something inside me had reached for the pen and started moving before I had the chance to question it.

And then something happened that I had only experienced once before in my life.
Everything became quiet. Completely quiet.

It felt like meditation, except this time it actually worked. Almost like a prayer. Not in a formal or religious sense, but as a state of complete presence. For once, there was no noise inside me.

Later, when I told my sister about it, I started crying. Expressing my emotions has never come easily to me. I tend to carry things quietly. I keep a lot inside. But when I paint, it feels as though I am finally giving myself permission to exist.

That is exactly what it felt like. I was allowed to be.

I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to judge what I was doing. I didn’t have to create something beautiful, meaningful, or understandable.

Because the work was abstract and formless, there was nothing obvious for me to criticize. I had removed the possibility of failure before I had even begun. There was no right or wrong. I could simply move. I could simply feel. I could simply be.

I started with whatever materials I had around me. Most of the colors happened to be earthy and muted. I am very sensitive to color, and those natural tones seemed to calm my nervous system even more. Nothing felt too loud or overwhelming. I could use everything in front of me exactly as I wanted.

I chose colors intuitively. I made shapes without knowing what they were supposed to become. I blended one color into another and let the painting develop on its own. It felt like a dance. And eventually, this image appeared.

The studies will be available in my shop soon. If you don't want to miss the release, you're welcome to sign up for my newsletter here.

When I look at it, it feels like nothing and everything at the same time. It is nothing in the sense that there is no recognizable object. There is no figure, no landscape, no clear story for the mind to immediately hold on to.

And yet, there is so much inside it. There is emotion. There is strength. There is love, pain, joy, grief, and memory. There is history.

But most of all, there is energy. It feels like a current of energy that moved through me and found a physical form on the canvas.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop.

At the time, I was still living with my parents in a very small room. I barely had any space, but somehow I filled that room with paintings. They were everywhere. I kept making them because the act itself had become a refuge.

It wasn’t only about the finished work. It was about painting without needing to understand. Creating without questioning. Following an impulse without analyzing where it came from.

I am someone who analyzes everything. And I love that part of myself. I love thinking, writing, reading, searching for patterns, asking questions, and trying to understand how things connect. But that part of me can also become exhausting.

Painting gave me a place where I could let all of that go. I didn’t have to understand. I didn’t have to analyze. I didn’t have to question or judge. I could simply exist. And that felt like freedom.

I had experienced that feeling once before, many years earlier. I was sitting at home drawing while listening to an audiobook in the background. I must have been there for around three hours, but I didn’t notice the time passing at all.
I was completely absorbed.

And I remember thinking that if I were allowed to spend my life like this, it would be a fulfilled life.

Because I love the intellectual part of myself. I love words, ideas, thought, analysis, and understanding. But I also need a place where I can release all of it. A place where I don’t have to know. A place where I can simply feel.

That moment stayed with me. It became so deeply rooted in my memory that I can still feel it when I think about it now.

Over the years, I lost touch with it. I moved in other directions and followed different paths. But none of it was wasted. Everything I experienced eventually led me back to where I am now. And I am grateful for that.

For me, painting is about returning to that state. Being present. Feeling. Allowing something to move through me without demanding an explanation. And I want to remind you to begin, too.

Deep down, you already know what it is. We are incredibly good at finding detours. We keep ourselves busy with everything except the one thing we truly want to make. The thing that keeps returning. The thing that feels almost like a calling, or a quiet mission.

We circle around it. We delay it. We distract ourselves from it because we are afraid. And fear is not the enemy.

Fear is not something shameful. It is only trying to protect us from disappointment, rejection, failure, or uncertainty. But at some point, we have to learn to say: “I see you. I understand why you are here. It is okay. But I am going to do it anyway.” Because this is not about success.

It is not about making money. It is not about recognition, achievement, or proving anything to anyone. It does not have to become a career. It does not even have to become something you share.

It is about giving that part of yourself permission to exist. It is about no longer silencing it.

The studies will be available in my shop soon. If you don’t want to miss the release, you’re welcome to sign up for my newsletter here.

I deeply believe that the parts of ourselves we continually suppress do not simply disappear. They find other ways to speak. Sometimes through restlessness. Sometimes through emptiness. Sometimes through unhappiness or a feeling that something inside us is missing. Perhaps, at times, even through the body.

When we refuse to give an essential part of ourselves space, it does not stop existing. It remains there, waiting to be acknowledged. That is why it matters to create room for it. Whatever your form of art may be.

Maybe you want to compose a piano piece. Maybe you want to design a website. Maybe you want to write a book. Maybe you want to write poetry. Maybe you want to paint, make music, dance, build something, or create something that does not yet have a name.

It does not matter what form it takes. Let that part of you flow. Make space for it. Give it somewhere to exist. Let it live. Let it breathe. And stop measuring its value by the result.

The result is not the point. The point is that you allow this part of yourself to be real. The point is that you stop abandoning it. The point is that you give yourself permission to become more fully who you already are.

Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate you being here, and I hope you have a beautiful day. Until next time.

With Love,

Rania 🤍