I love to paint. For me, it is therapy. With all the things in life that are beyond my control, I can paint. I know how to take a room and, in a matter of hours, transform it with paint. At certain times in my life it has been especially therapeutic. I have painted hundreds of gallons [my own homes, pro-bono work, friends' homes, for-hire jobs]. Processing life and all its complexities over that much paint has got to have moved me closer to emotional health. [I hope.]
We traveled to Africa in December 2010 and met our [soon-to-be] daughter. We then left her, came back to the states, and waited for our adoption case to pass court. We didn't pass court in December. Or January. Meanwhile, we were receiving concerning reports about her health. I felt like banging my head against the wall. I remember my sister inviting me to come and paint her kitchen with her. She knew.
I couldn't do a single thing to move things along in the adoption process but I could have a fantastic day with my sister transforming her kitchen. We worked on it all day. I remember her scrubbing the top of her cabinets with her Norwex cleaning cloths. I hogged the edging task. And we painted. When I drove the hours home that night, I was happy. There was still life. Waiting. Difficulties. Uncertainties.
But my sister had a lovely new putty colored kitchen.
But my sister had a lovely new putty colored kitchen.
What is your therapy?
~Kate
2 comments:
Kate, I can so relate! Painting is also my therapy. Not painting houses or rooms but pictures. I can get discouraged or frustrated and getting out my paints and canvas take me to another place, another attitude and I come out of it feeling whole. I am glad to find your blog. Glad to see pics of your family!
Ginger Johnson
Love this post. I know you and love your therapy. Thanks for my putty kitchen!
Post a Comment