Coming Home to Myself in Art, Part 1: The Foundation

Standing Before the Blank Wall

This year, I took a leap—I went out on my own in private practice.

That choice felt big. Bigger than I’d ever allowed myself to be. For so much of my life, I was told, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that I needed to be small. Quiet. Contained.

But in art, I’ve always found freedom. A few years ago, I started painting larger pieces, and something inside me cracked open. Working on big surfaces felt expansive, rejuvenating, alive. When I gave myself space to create, it felt like my whole being exhaled.

So this summer, I decided to go even bigger: I would paint a mural on the wall in my backyard.

The first time I stood before that wall, it felt massive.

The wall before I began—blank, full of possibility, and a little intimidating.

Beneath my fingertips, the textured surface carried a pulse of possibility—filling me with both hope and fear in the same breath. That blank wall became its own kind of liminal space, holding the tension of beginnings, transitions, and change. And as I stood there, I recognized how much this process echoed my leap into private practice—thrilling, daunting, and filled with uncertainty.

The Primer Layer

Before I could paint the mural (the fun part), I had to prepare the wall. First, I washed away the dust and grime, clearing the surface so it could hold something new. Then came the primer—a flat, neutral coat that gets painted over once the colors go up.

It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was necessary.

Scrubbing and priming felt like its own ritual—clearing away the old, making space for what was to come. There was something grounding about those steady motions: water, soap, roller, brush. As I worked, I thought about how often we need these quiet, hidden rituals in our lives—moments of clearing space, tending to what lies beneath, and preparing ourselves for the boldness ahead.

I even filmed a little time-lapse of the process:

Before the colors could come, the wall needed care—washing, scrubbing, priming. This was the behind-the-scenes work that held everything else in place. My son even popped in and out along the way, a reminder that creating can be playful and full of joy, even in the messy beginning stages.

Laying My Own Foundation

When I launched my private practice, I felt a lot like that wall before the mural—open, but full of fear and “what-ifs.” Who was I to go out on my own? Who was I to take up that much space?

Before I could dive into the “colorful” parts—like creating a welcoming space for clients, building my brand, or writing blog posts like this—I had to lay down my own foundation.

For me, that foundation has looked like:

·       Setting intentions for how I want my work to feel, both for myself and for my clients.

·       Rooting into my values of authenticity, compassion, empowerment, creativity, and justice.

·       Reminding myself that growth doesn’t happen overnight—it begins with slow, steady groundwork.

·       Reaching out for guidance instead of trying to figure it all out alone.

Just like primer, these steps might not be flashy or immediately visible. But they matter. And they hold everything else I’m creating.

Living Big Intention

I set the intention before starting the mural that this would be more than paint on a wall. It would be a way to explore what it looks like to live big.

This mural became a kind of metamorphosis—a birthing of something new in both my personal life and my career. Each stroke was permission: permission to go big, to be bold, to take creative risks, to push my own limits.

For so long, I was taught to shrink, to play small. This mural was my refusal of that. With it, I gave myself full permission:

• To take up a massive amount of space in the world.

• To be revolutionary in simply showing up as myself.

• To live not as half of me, but as all of me.

To be me at all times. Fully me. Artfully me.

Reflection & Closing

👉 What foundation are you creating that will allow you not just to keep going, but to thrive?
👉 Where might you be invited to live bigger, take up more space, or honor your own needs while still carrying the work you care about?

This mural is teaching me that the beginning matters more than we think. Next time, I’ll talk about the first layers—the awkward, imperfect beginnings that became the groundwork for everything bold and beautiful still to come.

If this spoke to your heart, know that healing is possible. Therapy can be a place to untangle what feels heavy and reconnect with who you really are. Schedule a free consultation and let’s explore the next step together.