Making Room for Art, Making Room for Me

This is new for me… writing publicly about grief, healing, and hope.

While I’ve written in the past, I don’t know that I ever had very clear intentions or goals. This time feels different. It’s been one year since I lost my mother, and in that year, something in me went quiet. I didn’t draw much. That part of me—the part that found joy and fire in creativity—felt missing.

Instead, I focused on getting back to work. I’m now in education as a graphic design teacher. I tried to establish a fitness routine (and I fell off that too). Life kept moving, but I felt like I was just trying to catch my breath.

This post is me saying: I’m still here.
I’m slowly finding my way back to myself—through drawing, through faith, through small steps.

This space will be home to my sketches, stories, and spiritual reflections. Not for perfection, but for presence. And truly, in the last three days, I’ve been carving out time at my desk again. Drawing. Creating. Making space.

Over the past several months, I’ve also been sewing garments. That’s how I feel close to my mom. That was her thing. Stitching fabric is my way of keeping a thread of her with me.

I’m writing this not only to share my struggles, but to document my growth—to look back a year from now and see where I’ve come: mentally, physically, financially, and artistically.

Some people believe in manifestation. In curating a life they claim.
I believe God has a purpose for me.
I’m just uncertain how all these pieces will unfold.

I desire so much:

• To be a stay-at-home mom again

• To draw more freely

• To teach on my own terms

• To travel

• To have a second child

• To feel healthy and strong in my body

Sometimes, it feels like there’s no room for it all. But I trust there’s a way.

Today is Mother’s Day. I have nothing special planned. No expectations for bouquets or brunch.

Today, I’m simply working on being.
On making room for art between the chaos of life.

Today, I’m drawing back to basics. Literally.

I’ve restarted Amanda Oleander’s digital course on drawing anatomy—something familiar to guide my hand as I rebuild rhythm. I completed it once before, and returning to it feels grounding. Amanda inspires me so deeply. When I once shared my portfolio with her, she gasped—shocked that I wasn’t confident in the work I’d created.

But the truth is: my portfolio then was mostly paint parties. Fun, yes. But not the full expression of my voice. I wanted something different. Something uniquely mine.

So, at five months postpartum, I flew across the country to attend Amanda’s in-person workshop. I packed breast milk in storage bags, pumped before my flight, and we found a way to get it shipped home. I made new artist friends there. We still keep in touch on Instagram.

But whew—sometimes it feels like others are racing ahead, building empires while I’m still rebuilding belief.

Still, I dream of having an in-home studio. A space to host events and gatherings around art and healing.
And I’m committing here to something simple and bold:
To be consistent in my sketchbook.
To share a little bit each week.

If you’re navigating grief, art, or just finding your way again—know that you’re not alone.

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