The Secret Artist

The winds are changing as fall approaches and my heart is singing with the song I grew up believing. 

When I was little, I used to wander outside for hours during the craziest rainstorms. Yes, my mother let me. Yes, I’m fine.

Angsty and moody, I have always had the soul of an artist. My mind burns with wonder and imagination and during the days of my childhood, I found adventure in the smallest of places. The way a leaf would crunch beneath my feet, mixed in with the earthy, crisp air that burned my nostrils in the early mornings before school. I found life in the rain, the steady thrum of drips beating against the silken spiderwebs as I hid under a nearby bush, taking it all in. My heart danced with the wind as it howled fiercely, electric coursing through me as I too felt powerful, strong, capable even. The wind was my friend. The rain was my healer. And the Earth provided a steady diet of acceptance, love, and truth. Even as a child, God was speaking to me through his creation and so I spoke to him through mine.

Maybe you think that I am an off and on writer as I have only publicized my work during varying times, but writing has been with me from the beginning. I started keeping a journal when I was teeny, tiny…as soon as I my fingers could begin forming the letters that echoed my raging thoughts. And it progressed from there. I have been writing stories and poems and songs and eulogies and blogs and whatever else I could possibly come up with, finding truth and inspiration through the end of a pencil or the tap, tap of a keyboard. 

But not only writing; I am a singer. I sing in the morning. I sing during the day. I sing songs of hope, songs of great emotions, songs of adventure, of praise. I sing because the one who fills my heart with creativity and adventure taught me that I too am a creator. Singing is mostly mine and His now and for my kids, but what feels like a life time ago, I used to sing at a local theatre, at fairs and carnivals, at school events, in choir and competitions. I used to sing in a band and I had dreams of singing for the world. But, those dreams have quieted some as I have learned that singing brings me such joy, especially when I am alone or helping a certain little drift off to sleep. 

Yesterday, I had a quiet moment by myself, and as I cleaned, I sang away remembering who I was as a child. I was so adventurous and alive, my heart wild and independent before everything fell apart…

And I sometimes think I have lost her…me. When I get so consumed by the day to day stresses, the never ending house cleaning, the responsibility of keeping my three littles alive and all of the things that go into being an adult…sometimes I think I have lost the me that creates wild, elaborate creations, but then I see her and I know she is still there.

Maybe when you look at me, you see rough edges. You see shyness and possibly an over tired, introverted woman, attempting to manage a family . But the me that I know…the me that I grew up with is the person I am to the very core and she’s still there; sometimes hidden to others and once upon a time, she was hidden even from me…but I have found her again.

So, if you happen to hear me singing in a thunderstorm, or drifting away from our conversation for a minute as I disappear into a secret place within myself, you’ll know that I am free.

Childhood trauma hurts. It destroys lives. It keeps us from who we were meant to be. But it can also be healed and our true selves can be restored and brought back to life so that one day, the scared, hidden you can find her wild once more, singing again through the darkness with the words of hope that so daringly set you free.

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