Catharsis or Cure for Boredom?

I know we often think about why we did or began something, but I wonder why I ever stopped. I used to draw. Art was my love and my passion. I loved creative writing, and I was an honors English student throughout my entire school career. And then,…… life.

The choices we make shape our trajectory. I know most believe others do that to us or for us, but in the end, it’s all about choices. We choose to allow or disallow everything in life through the choices we make. Even as a child, though somewhat limited because you are still under someone else’s guidance, you still have some choice in the matter. You can choose obedience or not. You can choose to be lazy or not. The same goes for how we look, who we befriend, and so on.

I was an empty nester. My son, at nineteen, was hired as a lineman right out of school and moved to Colorado. I thought he would be at home for at least a few more years, and I was unprepared for the dullness that follows when your child moves out.

I sat day after day, watching that series. I must have seen every episode at least seven times. I am not proud of that, but it is still my favorite series, aside from C.S.I. Yes, I have gorged on that series, too.

After I grew so bored with the series that I could probably recite the script for each episode, I started reading profusely. I read a book every day. Yes, an entire book each day. I’d wake up to the book of the day, get my coffee, and start reading. I often went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, having read all day and night to finish a book. On to the next one the next morning. And so on….

I did get some stuff around the house done because, ya, I am a multitasker. But in the end, I did nothing more than read every day.

One day, after a visit from our son, my husband asked me why I didn’t return to my art. I had stopped drawing for many years and had not written a single word in as long. I had a sketchbook he had purchased for me, along with some pencils, and I got to work. I also began a blog that no one read, which still lingers in the ether to this day.

The blog went nowhere because people don’t like to hear about life’s ugliness, even though it warrants telling. It got half a dozen reads from people I asked to read and critique it. The critiques were all good, surprisingly, but one marked the beginning of my adventure as a writer. A friend of a church friend read it and told me I needed to be writing. She happened to be a published writer with several books under her belt, including contributions to Chicken Soup for the Soul editions. So I got some pointers and got to it.

It seems I have a never-ending supply of rants and stories to share. I have a lot to say.

More importantly, I have a lot to work through in life. My writing allows me to take those things hidden in my heart and mine, unpack them into a box of words, and send them out of my psyche. It is cathartic for me in many ways. It also lets me put life on paper for the possible years when I forget things long left behind.

I began this journey a year ago, in April. We are now in June. I also started drawing and painting again. My first short story and my first poem were published in May 2025, a month into this crazy merry-go-round. And the bug hit.

I kept writing. I began writing every day. Then I began taking it seriously and treated it like a job, an unsaying job, but a job all the same. To this day, I write for 8 hours a day, in some form or another. After writing, I would draw the rest of the day until midnight or later.

Most of the time, writing comes from a dark place in my heart and soul. When I draw, that darkness becomes light. I write about some of life's ugliness and draw what I find beautiful or intriguing. The irony is that the cycle of day and night is the opposite of writing: darkness during the light hours and light during the dark hours.

My computer was filling up with document after document, and my office/studio with art. By December, I had finished over 500 pieces of art and sent off over 250 submissions, for a total of 300 written pieces (multiple entries counted as one). This is when the question hit me.

The question was not about why I started, but about why I had let go of my writing and art. These two things had always been my passions. I was in love again. I realized how much I wanted to do them and how deeply I needed to. I had given up the two things in life that made me, me, the two things that were the foundation of my identity. Why?

I made choices in life that sent me down a path I never expected to take. I had my life all planned out, and then I derailed myself. I made bad decisions, married the wrong man, suffered, and lost it all.

I won’t blame anyone else. I am a big girl, and I take responsibility for my role in the demise of my passions. I will not regret anything I did or didn’t do because it has shaped me into who I am, and I like her.

I had a beautiful son, and I have a beautiful, caring, and encouraging husband, and my marriage has healed much of the trauma in my life. None of these things might have happened if I had made other choices. So no, I don’t want to, nor do I ever think about redoing it all. Wisdom comes from much living, good and bad.

I will continue to write and create art until my fingers are riddled with arthritis and I can’t do it anymore. The same goes for my art. If I don’t get arthritis, I will go to my end with a drawing pencil in my hand or at a keyboard. This is my life. I have many years to make up for, and I am making them up.

I can’t go a day without drawing or writing. I force myself to take two days off each week because I would never see the light of day or other people if I didn’t. On those days, it feels like something is off or missing, and it was missing for far too long. I won’t miss it any longer.

I hope to earn income someday, especially in my senior years, and I imagine that by then I will have amassed a large collection of my artwork and a substantial body of writing. I keep all of my pieces, whether in portfolios or in computer files.

They are my life spelled out in words and images, my soul laid bare. These are the tiny pieces of me I share with the world, fragments of the story of one woman who passed through a dark tunnel and emerged into the sun. My words paint pictures, and my art speaks.

#writing #art #life #lifelessons #selflove

(Published Activated Thinker on Medium, June 2026)

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