by Kayla Myers, Family Peer Supporter

April 23, 2024

Forgiveness should be a journey, not a destination. What I mean by that is, whether we need to forgive ourselves, friends/family, or people who have wronged us in our lives, that can be a very difficult task. That physical pain we felt, the emotional toll we went through, and the way our bodies grasped those feelings and held onto them tight, can feel like something you will truly never get over. The old saying goes, “Time heals everything.” Well, it sure doesn’t. The reason I say this is because over time, life keeps throwing us curveballs, or as experts, unlike myself like to call it, trauma. It starts stacking inside of us and piling up like deskwork in our brains. When this happens, we are walking through life with unresolved hurt inside of us, and then turn around and project it onto others. So, the very things that hurt us in the beginning, we are now doing those same things to the ones we love, friends, our children, etc.

Counseling, self-reflection, trauma work, EMDR, and a self-wellness plan have been the steps that made a difference for me. Looking back on my journey with therapy, it does make me cringe a little. I was the patient for a long time who talked about the same things repeatedly, but in different forms and with different examples. I attended talk therapy on and off for about five years. While I went every week, to every session, I felt like I was getting nowhere. I was frustrated with myself. I remember vividly thinking, “I am putting in the work on myself and I still feel so stuck and lost.” I had a shift in me one day and knew I needed to get real with myself and dive as deep as I could, so I would move into the brighter days of my life story.

Everyone’s journey is different, so keep this in mind. Any effort we put into improving our overall mental health is going to make you a more forgiving person and add wellness to your life. I have learned so much about myself and been able to forgive the hurt others have caused me, that I never thought I could. I found that where forgiveness was given, whether it’s internally or externally, that’s when my healing truly began. When you can feel yourself not reacting in self-destructive ways, as a response to the doings of others, you start to feel and see the differences in yourself, and the way others perceive you. While navigating the world of forgiveness, it is also important to offer yourself an immense amount of grace. I must constantly remind myself, “I am doing the best job I know how. And if I don’t get it right, I will learn from it and not hang onto it for dear life.” At the end of the day, we are only in charge of ourselves, right? No one else is going to come save us, I mean they can try, but we aren’t learning any lesson in being saved. Self-work comes within and owning the parts I played in the situations that hurt me deeply was my ticket to the start of freedom. I had to remember what my core values were before life happened.  I had to reflect and forgive myself for abandoning myself for so long.

When we start to process, reflect, self-reflect, and forgive, we set an example and all we can do is hope others see the positive changes. In return, your resilience will radiate onto others and hopefully, it can inspire others to do the same. Offering forgiveness after hurt is heroic, takes strength, and gives us our power back. Forgiveness should be a journey, and offering ourselves grace while doing so, that’s the destination.

by Nikki Russell, Recovery Coach

January 30, 2024

Looking back, I can see how I made everyday objects extraordinary. I was eight years of age and getting ready for school; my mom had already left for work, trusting I could handle the task. With Scooby Doo in the background, I began my ascent to my mother's closet, choosing a black and white striped suit most appropriate for a night on the town, but today I would illustrate how casual chic it was, and wow, a third-grade class. Next, I went to the bathroom mirror with all my barrettes in tow and clipped them one at a time until both sides of my hair had an eclectic blend of yellow butterflies, purple ribbons, and pink hearts. The hairdo was stunning and practical, as it flattened my curls and added an element of wonder. I walked the block to school, and to my amazement, all the kids laughed at me. This event began my creative block; how could I have been so misunderstood by my peers? My mother would spend the next ten years investigating her wardrobe for little hands that craved sophistication, acceptance, and a creative license. Over the years, I learned to tame my eccentric style, balancing neutral colors with a wild personality. I was a closet creative, dreaming of how I would express myself if the world understood my art.

The artistic energy needs to flow somewhere; I would spend the next several decades bending and twisting with its current. My marriage was falling apart, and as I sat in a counselor's office attempting to figure out what went wrong, he said to me, you're very expressive; you present yourself artistically. I had never considered life like that, being a canvas of artistic expression. A new concept that tried to break through a wall of doubt and unworthiness, I looked down at my counselor's feet: Bugs Bunny socks? His business suit and textbook knowledge did not match his playful sock selection. My heart acknowledged something my mind could not comprehend; he witnessed the authentic me. At that moment, I connected to a part of myself that reflected acceptance, empowerment, and innocence. I was showing the world something I wanted it to see rather than the disgraceful unseen dark alleyway in my head. The counselor looked deeper and saw an artist, something I downgraded to an imposter.

Being immersed in the river of thoughts that absorbed every aspect of me felt like a fish in water, never knowing that the tainted water I was breathing was my atmosphere. I was a spiritual force full of light and love, but I would not allow myself the opportunity to shine. Stepping outside the water, beyond the river of thoughts, I sat on the bank of that river, watching thoughts flow by, feeling like a fish out of water. I am describing what I would later discover as a mental health condition that, when undiagnosed, creates a fractured life. All my life experiences were sifted through this veil of disillusionment that I thought was real. My thoughts told me, "You are not a writer, a poet, or an artist." The lens through which I viewed life had a gray filter; the bright light of my spirit pours through and dulls life experiences, blocking the sunlight of my spirit. My counselor threw me a lifebuoy that day, representing recovery, a process I would begin 20 years later, but without it, I may have never started.

Art was a beautiful painting on a wall, a graceful ballet dancer, or a best-selling book. It always felt unattainable, my life and mind too messy to create beauty. Early in recovery, I began painting with my daughter, and I observed her frustration as she attempted to paint like me. It would end in frustration and tears because she felt like she was not good enough. One day, she said, "Mom, I wish I was an artist like you." I began to tell her all the things I wish I would have believed about myself, "You are an artist," "I love your art," and "Do not let anybody steal your dreams." We painted and crafted our way through the next several years; I have filled color books, paintings on canvas, clay models, and collages of memories that create the most beautiful portrait of a mother and daughter bonding together through the messiness of life. Without realizing it, I was creating the most beautiful art of all, carving away the excessive beliefs, opinions, and assumptions that had convinced me my life was not beautiful.

I have learned to trust the artist who created me, giving me a blank canvas to paint a life. Every brush stroke adds depth and meaning, and each word breathes a reality into life. Life can be tremendously painful at moments, yet beauty can be found there. The artist takes all elements of life and molds them into a figure for those to admire and capture meaning from. Art is an honest reflection of a life lived and the potential it can become. Like life, art is only sometimes appreciated after the artist is gone. My mental health is undiagnosed, yet I have collected all those fractured pieces, collaged them into my life, and made my kind of artwork. The art I do today reflects healing my spirit and shining my wild colors for the whole world to see.

Some may not understand your art, but do not be discouraged, be true to yourself and know the artist’s work is never complete. Find your style and trust that it will captivate the world.

"That's one fish story no one will believe."

Scooby Dooby Doo

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