My Self-portrait

While writing yesterday's post, I remembered one of my first appointments with my therapist. The memory popped up when I wrote about scheduling today as a paper-work day, a day of filing the pile of paid bills, bank statements, lab test results, and all the other clutter on the counter. I should probably throw most of it away, but I won't. I will file it all neatly away like I always do, each month in its own folder--in case I ever need to check out what has happened in my life. Tax related items are safely stored in its separate file. Everything is very orderly and easy to find.

Now, back to my memory of that appointment. My first assignment was to draw a self-portrait. "Show me how you see yourself?" Dr. B. requested. Since I had started taking a watercolor class, I got out my paints, a sheet of paper, and sat at the table to think before creating my masterpiece.  

I sketched my physical being on the left side of the paper. I was about eight inches tall, wore wide-legged pants,a  long-sleeved, baggy shirt, and tennis shoes. I added glasses to my face and short, curly hair to my head. Then came the color. Light blue pants, dark blue shirt, gray shoes, gray hair, black frames, and peachy skin. My exterior was finished.

But what about the inside? I created two large circles on the right side of my masterpiece. One would contain my mind, the other my heart. What did I find in those secret places? In my mind I discovered a row of filing cabinets that had the drawers pulled out and the contents dumped all over the floor. Papers and photos were mixed together and scattered everywhere. I didn't know where they belonged. It was total confusion. Nothing made sense. How would I ever put it back together?

My heart was quite different. It was almost black, wrapped in barbed wire, and bleeding. But part of the barbed wire was beginning to unwind. In that area, my heart was no longer black. That was where I drew flowers and children. Those were the things that brought me joy.

I had never before given any thought to what I felt, what I thought,or why I did either. I had made this very clear when my therapist gave me the assignment. Needless to say, the finished portrait surprised me, and brought some clarity to what was going on in my mind and the healing that was starting in my heart. Dr. B. was extremely pleased with the insights my masterpiece brought.

That was almost five years ago. If I decided to paint a self-portrait today, my exterior will be the same except for the hair. It is no longer curly. I am sporting a short bob these days. The inside picture will be entirely different, though. The clutter in my mind is pretty well cleaned up. Items might be filed in a different place now, but they are filed where they make sense to me. As for my heart, there are still wounds that haven"t entirely healed. Although they are quite small, they occasionally cause pain, and will bleed at times. Thankfully, most of my heart is filled with: sights of flowers, trees and sunsets; aromas of food, ocean and fresh air; sounds of birds, music and happy voices; the company of people; and the desire to live life as fully as I can.

Did my feeble attempt at portrait painting create a masterpiece? No. We, you and I, are the masterpieces--created by God.

Celebrating that I am a work of art,
Jan