Living between Art and Multiple sclerosis
Less than two years after I finished one of my paintings, I picked up my brushes and painted over it. I never imagined I would.
When Becoming Through Courage was first completed, she felt whole. Every layer, every texture, and every detail reflected exactly what I wanted to express at that point in my creative journey. Stepping away from my easel, I believed our story had reached its natural ending.
Time passed, life moved forward, and so did I.
Then one day, I found myself standing quietly in front of the painting.
Nothing about her seemed out of place. The composition still worked. The textures still caught the light. Even the colors felt as intentional as the day I had painted them.
Yet something had changed.
Instead of admiring the finished piece, I caught myself searching for a feeling I couldn’t quite name. The connection we once shared was no longer there.
That realization wasn’t dramatic. No single moment told me the painting needed to change. Rather, a quiet awareness settled in as I continued looking.
For the first time, I couldn’t find myself reflected in my own artwork. Looking back, I realize that moment wasn’t really about the painting.
It was about me.
Without realizing it, my art had become a mirror. The woman who painted Becoming Through Courage was no longer the same woman standing in front of her. The painting hadn’t changed.
I had.
When the connection fell quiet
At first, I couldn’t explain why I kept returning to Becoming Through Courage. Each time I stood in front of her, I expected to feel the same connection we had shared when I first completed the painting.
Instead, I was met with a silence I couldn’t explain. Every brushstroke still felt intentional, and every layer still carried the care, intention, and love I had poured into the canvas. Yet something between us had shifted.
I wasn’t questioning the painting. I was beginning to question why she no longer reflected the artist and the woman I had become.
Accepting that wasn’t easy.
We often hear artists talk about finding their voice, but we rarely speak about what happens after that. We continue growing. Our experiences reshape us. The way we see the world changes, and sometimes our art quietly reveals those changes before we fully recognize them ourselves.
Standing in front of Becoming Through Courage, I realized she wasn’t asking to be corrected. She was inviting me to listen. Not to what was missing from the painting…
But to what had changed within me.
Trusting the Process Again
Choosing to return to Becoming Through Courage wasn’t an easy decision. For a while, I simply sat with the idea.
She was finished, or at least I had believed she was. Altering her felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory, and I couldn’t help wondering if I was about to lose something that mattered.
What if I changed the very thing that had made her meaningful?
The question stayed with me until the day I finally picked up my brushes. Then something unexpected happened.
As soon as I placed the first layer of paint on the canvas, the hesitation gave way to curiosity. Instead of worrying about the outcome, I became absorbed in the process.
One brushstroke led to another. One decision opened the door to the next. Little by little, I stopped trying to control where the painting was going and allowed myself to discover it.
That has always been the way I create.
Working in layers means trusting that every layer has something to contribute, even before I fully understand its purpose. This time was no different.
The layers beneath the surface weren’t obstacles to paint over. They became part of the new story.
Rather than hiding them, I allowed them to remain, giving texture, depth, and history to everything that came next.
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t painting over the past. I was painting with it.
Finding my voice again
As the painting began to evolve, I noticed something I hadn’t expected. The changes weren’t only happening on the canvas. They were revealing how much my own artistic voice had changed.
Some of the elements that had once felt right no longer belonged to the language my art speaks today. The blue hair and the metallic leaf were part of that earlier chapter.
Neither of them was a mistake. Both had been an honest expression of where I was when I first painted Becoming Through Courage.
But honesty changes as we grow. In time, new symbols began to emerge: butterflies and hummingbirds. They hadn’t appeared because I needed to fill empty spaces. They appeared because they had become part of who I am as an artist.
Over the years, these small details found their way into my work again and again. Bringing them into this painting didn’t erase her history. It allowed her to speak the same language as the rest of my work.
Looking at her, I realized something that surprised me. I hadn’t been searching for a new painting. I had been searching for my own voice within her again.
What the painting taught me
When I stepped back from the easel for the last time, I didn’t see a perfect painting. Perfection had never been the goal.
What I saw was a painting that felt honest again. For the first time in a long while, she was speaking to me. Not because she had become someone different. But because she reflected the artist and the woman I had become.
That experience changed the way I think about creativity.
For a long time, I believed growth meant moving forward and leaving certain things behind. Now I see it differently.
Growth isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about recognizing when we’ve changed and having the courage to let our lives, and sometimes our art, reflect that change.
The earlier version of Becoming Through Courage wasn’t wrong. She told the truth about who I was at that moment. The painting you see today tells the truth about a different chapter.
Neither version is more valuable than the other. Perhaps our own lives are built in much the same way. Every experience leaves a layer behind. Some remain visible. Others quietly become part of the foundation beneath the surface.
None of them are lost. Together, they shape the person we continue becoming.
Sometimes I wonder if that is one of the gifts art can offer us.
Not answers.
But the courage to look again.
A gentle invitation
If this story made you pause and reflect on your own journey, I created something for moments like this.
The Blooming Through Change Toolkit is a gentle space for reflection, creativity, and reconnecting with yourself. It was created as an invitation to slow down, listen to yourself, and explore the person you are becoming.
Just like a painting, we are shaped by layers.
The experiences we carry, the moments that transform us, and the versions of ourselves we have been along the way all become part of our story. They don’t need to be erased. They become part of the depth, texture, and beauty of who we are.
If you are moving through a season of change, I would love to share this free toolkit with you.
And I would love to hear from you:
