Composition
I notice a lot of self judgment. My ‘Perfectionist’ swiftly assures me they are there and stepping up. “You’re not doing it right”. “You’re going to fail the assignment”. I see the lines I draw but they are tainted with criticism and disgust and look ugly. I want to throw away my pen and give up. I begin to blame the pen. I can feel the fountain of tension rise in my body. I grip the pen a little tighter, maybe that might help ‘get it right’. I feel everyone watching me. But nobody is. My body becomes inflammable dead weight, waiting for ignition; maybe with this heat from my skin I can scorch the piece of paper so I no longer have to see how incorrect my drawing is. ‘Anxiety’ does victory laps through my veins, using my stomach as a bouncy castle and makes me feel sick.
I draw a circle and it is more like an egg. Yuck. “I told you you’d get it wrong”. “You’re useless”. I feel those words in my blood like it’s something my body needs to survive. I must be a masochist because I continue to draw two more eggs. I feel desperate and my body wants to flail wildly as my skin tightens. I need to make them rounder. I breathe. I breathe again. It’s ok. You’re just learning. This is the first class. You’re amazing. Look at you showing up for you. I’m really proud of you. I breathe again. ‘Anxiety’ slows down and sits motionless, gathering their breath, allowing my body to dissolve into stillness. My blood cleanses itself from the words clinging to its cells. Firefighters begin to deflame my skin and I feel calmer. The egg shapes look appetising and unique. Different. Similar to how I feel about myself. But shhh, don’t tell anyone I said that.
Conjoining
This feels nice. Like kindness. Like self-care. Like removing the sting from my throbbing skin. My parts are peaceful; sleeping soundly. No anxiety. No panic. I enjoy the calm challenge to find all the joins. Suddenly my ‘mistake’ of a drawing glides into intrigue and wonder which feels warm in my belly and I feel my heart open. I feel excited and my body feels receptive.
Integration (colouring)
I dislike the lack of planning. It feels unfamiliar and prickly. I panic slightly. Why am I choosing these colours? My mind needs order and reason and it finds planet Earth. Urgh. I begin to feel annoyed. My neck tightens and I stretch it loose. “Calm down, it’s ok”. “Let’s see where this goes”. I put the pencil to the paper and allow myself to feel the discomfort in my belly. I begin to like the colour, though I’m not sure why. It feels welcoming to my eyes. My inner child loves the freedom from my need for control, though I don’t mirror their delight. I breathe and try to embrace their joy and allow its warmth to subdue the ‘perfectionist’. It works momentarily. I leave it there and begin the next part of the algorithm.
Field Lines
“No no no”. Where are the nuances of my lines going? My mind yells. I feel ‘Sadness’; a part of me who wishes to be seen to be good. I check in with Alina and everything is ok. I breathe out fear and inhale the reassurance ‘Sadness’ so desperately needs. My heart warms. I get to please my own sadness and sit comfortably in a space of not needing to be good, and just needing to allow myself to ‘be’. No judgement. I like what my field line looks like. It looks meaningful. Important. Strong. All the things I am yet often fail to see, or believe. All my parts are resting. But not ‘Joy’. We are very much in conversation with one another. ‘Joy’ feels nice. Exciting. I feel it fizzing under my skin.
Affixing/Fixing (resolution)
‘Anxiety’ buzzes awake. “You mean I have to choose?” ‘Anxiety’ wakes ‘Perfectionist’ who begins to stab my brain with each syllable they speak; “You – could – get – this – wrong, make – sure – you – choose – the – right – one!”. Ouch! I close my eyes and breathe and allow them the space to be what they need to be, just for a moment. I open my eyes and look at the circles and egg. I ask both ‘Anxiety’ and ‘Perfectionist’ which one feels best. They are both stunned into silence as my body feels their calm. They look at each other as if I spoke a language they don’t understand. Maybe they don’t. I don’t usually ask for their opinion. I tell them they’re important to me and what they think matters. I feel love rush through my body which wells in my eyes. We are unanimous with our decision. We become a team for the first time and celebrate with a prideful glance at my drawing. I smile. They smile with me. I leave it here for today because my eyes are starting to disfigure what I’ve drawn. It’s been a good day.
Stylisation
It takes me two days to complete this stage. The ‘Perfectionist’ sabotages my optical nerves and disallows them to see with honesty. With fresh eyes I feel pride. Accomplished. I continue to colour further out into the page. The unknown is quite exhilarating. Exciting. Even the unfamiliarity of the unknown. The unknown of the unknown. Unknown squared. I laugh to myself. I enjoy how my brain computes. My drawing becomes something I did not envision at the beginning. I applaud my subconscious and the part of me called ‘Creativity’. I thank ‘Perfectionist’ and ‘Anxiety’ and ‘Panic’ and ‘Love’. I also thank ‘Joy’, a long forgotten member of the family. They are all a part of who I am right now and they are protecting me the best way they know how. My body feels fuller. My children delight in my drawing and in my heart I feel excited and seen. Tension is nowhere to be felt, a wanderer so far in the distance it’s an itch on my skin. My heart beats a little harder. My eyes like what they see. My body feels the beauty in my art. I feel embodied within my drawing. It’s a part of me yet separate. A tangible expression from my subconscious. I feel connected.