A Rhythm Reset: Rediscover Your True Path

Sometimes, you realize that something in your life isn’t quite working, but you’re not exactly sure what to do about it. Maybe you’ve been feeling disconnected, like the life you’re living is no longer in alignment with who you truly are. Or perhaps you feel like an imposter? It’s easy to ignore this feeling, to keep going through the motions, telling yourself that this is just how it is. Eventually, you’ll either choose to listen to that quiet ache that tells you something’s not right, or you’ll grow resentful of your life, placing blame on yourself or others with the belief that there’s no way out. But I’m telling you, there is. We are creatures of choice. And we can choose to reset.

It’s easy to think that a reset means you should immediately have all the answers—knowing exactly what you want or where you’re headed. But here’s the truth: sometimes the reset doesn’t come with instant clarity. It definitely doesn’t come with a roadmap. What it does come with is uncertainty. It comes with a blank page, and that can feel both freeing and overwhelming at the same time. So, where do you even begin?

For me, the reset wasn’t just about leaving behind old habits or routines—it was about giving myself permission to pause, to question, and to reassess. I had spent so much of my life focused on what I should be doing that I didn’t always stop to ask myself what I really wanted. In today’s world, there’s a lot of pressure to keep moving forward, to always be productive, and to do “the right thing.” But sometimes, it’s that very pressure that leaves us feeling disconnected from ourselves. The “right thing” for you may not be the “right thing” for those around you. Keep in mind that the people you surround yourself with can greatly influence how you view your life and your place in the world. Whether or not your “right thing” is good enough is often shaped by their standards. It’s okay to expand your social circle to include people who push you in the direction you want to go.

I get it. There’s guilt in the pause. There’s this voice that says, But you can’t just stop. You can’t just let go of everything you’ve worked for. And that voice can be deafening. It can keep us stuck in jobs, relationships, and patterns that no longer align with our hearts. But here’s the truth I’ve come to realize: sometimes, the most important thing we can do is press pause. Even if we don’t know exactly where it’s going to lead. Maybe this doesn’t have to look radical. This doesn’t have to mean quitting your job tomorrow, breaking up with your boyfriend, and moving across the country.

For example, maybe you live in the city working a corporate job and feel nature calling you, but your life doesn’t allow enough time to commute to the forest for some much-needed therapy. Should you quit your job, find land, buy a camper, and move? Maybe. If you’re privileged enough to have that option. But for most of us, that’s not realistic. Another option could be to lower your bills so you can work one day less, and on your three-day weekends, commute to the country, camp, and explore. Take a nature survival course. Start following people on YouTube who are living the life you want. Make friends with people who are doing what you dream of and ask them questions. It’s not impossible. It may not be instant, but you can take that first step.

The reset, even when it’s messy and uncertain, is still worth it. In that space of uncertainty, you start to hear your own rhythm again. Amidst all the noise of hustle and bustle—living a life you don’t want—it can be hard to listen to your inner voice. But if you pause, if you get quiet, you may just hear it. And maybe for the first time, you’ll be ready to follow it—without needing to justify it or have all the answers.

Do you feel that gnawing sense that something needs to change, but you’re not sure what the next step is? Maybe you’re unsure of what you want or where to even begin. That’s okay. You are not alone in this! But if you take a step toward your dreams—no matter how small—you’ll find yourself among a minority. We are all dreamers. But we aren’t all doers.

The truth is, the reset isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about giving yourself permission to explore and play. To ask questions without the pressure of having all the answers right away. It’s about creating space for yourself to discover what truly sparks joy and what aligns with who you are.

If you’re struggling to figure out what you want after the reset, there are ways to begin finding your rhythm again.

One thing that’s helped me is a simple brain dump. When I’m feeling overwhelmed or stuck, I grab a notebook and just let all the thoughts pour out—no editing, no filtering. I write everything that comes to mind, from big dreams to daily frustrations. Sometimes, I’ll spend 10 minutes jotting down anything that comes to mind, and in that chaos, patterns and desires begin to emerge. The brain dump helps me clear the mental clutter and get closer to what I really want—without the pressure to have it all neatly packaged.

There’s a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It’s not just for artists. One of the suggestions in this book is to do a brain dump every morning before you start your day. I did this for a few years, and through that exercise, I discovered how unhappy I was. I hadn’t even realized how deep my discontent went until I started this exercise. In the book, she calls it “morning pages.”

It took years before I really started living the way I wanted to. It wasn’t easy. But it started with small steps. And the more small steps I took, the braver I got. I started to make even bigger changes. Some of them crashed and burned. But overall I started to head in the direction that felt right. And here I am today still taking steps. But overall feeling much more satisfied with my life. 

Another idea is to think about what excited you as a child. What lit you up from the inside? Children are the most authentic beings—they haven’t conformed to the societal “grow up” mentality yet. Reconnect with that child in yourself. Talk to them. Ask them what they want.

Sometimes, it’s just about giving yourself permission to experiment. It doesn’t need to be a huge commitment right away. Start small. Take a class. Try something new. See where it leads. The point isn’t to find the “perfect” passion—it’s to allow yourself to try. Experimenting can help you rediscover what feels aligned with your soul, without the pressure of needing it to be “the one.”

Educating yourself is never a waste. And with the internet and youtube, educating yourself has never been easier. I’d start there. 

I get it—change can feel daunting. But when we resist the call to reset, we risk living a life that’s out of sync with who we are. Suddenly, time slips away, and you’re left wondering where it went and whether you spent it wisely.

I’ve spent so much of my life letting guilt get in the way. The guilt of not being productive enough. The idea that productivity had to come in certain forms, like how much money I made or how clean my house was. The guilt of not following a traditional path. But I’ve come to understand something crucial: there’s no “right” way to live. The reset is your journey, and you don’t need anyone else’s permission to pursue it. It’s not selfish to take time to find your rhythm. In fact, it’s essential. When we take the time to nurture what makes us feel alive, we show up better for those we love. We become more present, more authentic, and more aligned with our own purpose.

So, if you’re feeling uncertain about what comes after your reset, remember: it’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. What matters is that you’ve made the space to ask the questions, reflect, and give yourself permission to explore. It’s in that exploration that you’ll start to uncover what truly aligns with who you are and what you’re meant to do. Stop waiting. Stop overthinking. Stop making excuses. Just take one step forward.

Letting Go of Guilt and Living Authentically

Guilt has a way of sneaking in—especially when we dare to make space for something that’s healthy and fulfilling. It hovers in the back of our minds, lecturing that we don’t deserve the time we carve out for ourselves. As a mother, partner, caregiver, and a nurse I know this feeling all too well. There’s always something to be done—whether it’s caring for my 11-year-old daughter, chasing after my almost-2-year-old son, or giving my husband some well-deserved attention. And somewhere in all that, there’s… me. The woman who has an ever-growing love for painting, for creating, for losing herself in the brushstrokes of an oil painting. But somehow, I’ve convinced myself that I don’t deserve that time unless I’ve “earned” it.

Looking back, I think some of this stems from growing up with parents who really did have to earn their time off to enjoy anything. They had to grind to just get food on the table and they didn’t really have the luxury of leisure time or hobbies with 8 kids while living in poverty. So, they raised my siblings and I to work hard and earn our fun. And even then, did we really deserve it? Was our room clean? The dishes washed? Were the cows milked or our father properly fed? Their own trauma affected the way they parented us. And while I inherited a good work ethic that would serve me in my nursing career, I also inherited a sense of guilt any time I indulged myself. I’ve come to understand that while our upbringing shapes us, it doesn’t define us. I take responsibility for how I respond to the patterns I inherited—and I’m doing the work to change the ones that don’t serve me and my purpose. 

Art has been a lifelong calling. I’ve always been drawn to art, always had a creative spark, but it wasn’t until recently that I finally started picking up a brush. In 2023, I realized it was more than an inclination. The problem is, as much as I’ve fallen in love with the act of creating, there’s still this nagging voice in my head that tells me my passion needs to make money for it to be worthy of my time or that I have to have earned it by being extremely productive in other areas of my life. That voice makes me question whether it’s okay to just create, for the simple joy of it, without some “practical” end result. That being said, I am pursuing a career in art. But I have to remind myself that it is not about the dollars and cents. It's about the passion and calling to create. 

But here’s the thing: passion doesn’t have to justify itself.

Let me say that again. Passion doesn’t have to justify itself.

I talked about this in a previous blog, but the turning point came after I had my son. I began reflecting on what I wanted for my children, and I realized that I want them to follow their passions, not be bound by what’s “practical” or expected. But I wasn’t leading by example. I wasn’t pursuing my own passions the way I hoped they would one day pursue theirs. I decided to be true to myself and my passions. I also decided to be true to my personal convictions. From an objective point of view my life may look relatively the same. But subjectively, my world has been drastically transformed because of the changes in my mental health since making this decision to truly lean into who I am and who I want to be.

Of course, the guilt still shows up, uninvited. It tells me that I’m being selfish, that my time is better spent elsewhere. But I’ve learned to respond differently. I’ve learned that I don’t have to justify my creative time with the promise of financial gain or that I’ve checked enough things off my list from my other responsibilities or roles. The act of creation, in and of itself, is enough. I’ve come to realize that when I take time for myself—to paint, to dream, to nurture my creativity—I become a more authentic version of myself. I’m a better mother, a better wife, a better human. Maybe I am not a better nurse. To be honest, the further into my art career I venture, the more distance I create between my heart and my career in nursing. I value the experience I have had. I have touched people’s lives and they’ve touched mine in my nursing career. That chapter of my life feels almost ready to close. I still want to affect people and share my heart but with my art as the tool. I’m trading a stethoscope for a set of brushes and paint. And my soul says, “It’s about damn time.” My mental health has suffered long enough. 

So, now, when I step into my studio, I don’t feel the need to “earn” my time. I no longer feel guilty about putting my passion first for even a few hours. I’ve stopped measuring the worth of my creativity by its financial return or what I did to deserve creating. Instead, I measure it by the joy it brings me, by the peace I feel when I’m lost in the process. Art is a part of who I am. As a nurse I enjoyed the reward of helping someone but the process didn’t feed me. It drained me. With art, I enjoy the reward of blessing someone with something beautiful and meaningful to them and I get to enjoy the process too. 

We all deserve time to nurture the things that make us feel alive. And sometimes, the best gift we can give those we love is the gift of a fulfilled, happy version of ourselves. So take the time. Paint the picture. Write the poem. Carve wood. Get mud on your hands. Whatever it is that truly fuels you—don’t wait for permission ...and…Don’t wait at all. It's time. 

Totem

***This is a true story in my life. I thought from time to time, I’d share a story from my life to let you all get to know me and what has made me into who I am. All these experiences bleed out into my art in one way or another. Currently, I am working on a painting of a bear and so this story came to mind.***

The night before I turned seventeen, I sleepwalked into the woods—and into a story I’d carry for the rest of my life.

Some time in the middle of the night, I sleepwalked away from camp. When I woke, the forest was silent and pitch-black. The cold of a March night crept into my bones, and fear wrapped itself around me. I had no idea where I was. No shoes. No flashlight. Just me, lost among unfamiliar trees.

I walked for hours in the wrong direction, the chill and damp clinging to my clothes. At some point, my jeans began to chafe my thighs raw. Welts formed, and the stinging pain forced me to take them off and tie them around my waist. I hiked in my underwear with the legs of my pants tied about my waist. My feet were already bruised and raw, and I would carry the blackened spots for two weeks after.

By the next day—my birthday—I was still lost. It was warmer but a chill still hung in the air amidst the shafts of sunlight that speckled the forest floor. I had walked for so long my feet ached and I had yet to recognize my surroundings. My focus narrowed to the crunching of dry leaves beneath my bare feet as I walked up a slope. I suddenly felt a shift in the air, a presence, a shadow blocking the light. I looked up.

Standing on a large boulder just above me was a mother black bear—only she wasn’t black. Her fur was tinted with the reddish hue of cinnamon. I would later learn that’s what they’re called: cinnamon black bears. Behind her, two cubs peeked out cautiously. Her muscles tensed, ready to protect. I was standing in the perfect landing spot if she decided to jump down from her rocky perch. 

Everything in me froze. But something deeper rose to the surface—something calm and ancient, a knowing, a stillness. I raised my hands slowly and met her gaze.

"I'm your friend," I spoke calmly but surely. "I'm not here to hurt you."

We locked eyes. Her body shifted. Her eyes softened. And in a huff of breath, she retreated back a step.  She saw me—not as a threat, but as another soul, lost in her woods. 

I backed away, palms open, never breaking eye contact until I knew I was a safe distance away. With my heart pounding against my ribs, I turned and followed the sound of water until I found a creek. I walked beside it the rest of the day, eating sour flowers, creeping Charlie, and pine needles. I drank the water. My stomach ached and my legs cramped in protest. My birthday had come with no cake, no candles—just hunger, fading light, and diminishing hope.

As dusk settled in, panic clawed at my chest. How could I survive another night? Wet, barefoot, alone, and cold. Maybe this will be my last birthday, I thought.

About twenty minutes later—I broke through the trees into a clearing. A river, wild and uncrossable, roared in front of me. I collapsed onto the rocks, tears mingling with defeat.

Then, up the hill across the river, I spotted a fence. A tractor rolled alongside it. I screamed, jumped, waved my arms, pants still tied around my waist, underwear clinging to me. The man on the tractor saw me. He couldn’t hear my words, but I knew he understood.

Help was on the way.

Soon, an old man arrived, talking on a phone. And not long after, a tugboat came to rescue me. Turns out, my entire community had been searching. I was embarrassed. As time passed, and I reflected on the whole experience, my perspective changed.

That bear became my totem. A symbol of strength, protection, and quiet understanding. In some Native American cultures, they say young people are sent into the wild to return changed—to return as adults. I wasn’t sent. But I came back different.

That forest stripped away everything I thought I needed—comfort, direction, even clothing. And what remained was something stronger. Wiser. More whole. Something that would prepare me for future trials and tribulations.

Years later, I became a nurse. One day, while chatting with a patient, he asked where I was from. I told him. His face lit up.

“Years ago,” he said, “a girl showed up on my land across the river. She’d been lost in the woods. I helped her out. We had to get a tugboat to get her across the river, ‘cus it was so high. Crazy.”

“I was that girl!” I told him. “ Thank you for saving me!” 

“Huh.” he huffed. “I helped you then and you are helping me now. Life is funny, ain’t it?”

We sat there, smiling—two people connected by a moment that had stayed with both of us, the surrealness of it all suspended in the air between us. 

Surround yourself with dreamers, not doubters

As an artist, I often face skepticism about the path I’ve chosen. “At least you always have your nursing career to fall back on,” people say. “It’s good to have something stable, just in case.” While these words come from a place of care, they carry an unspoken message: Your dreams might not be enough. Honestly, I may be reading into these comments more than they’re actually said. Perhaps my own doubts have influenced how I perceive what others think about my artistic journey. There was a time when I let those doubts settle in, convincing myself that pursuing art wasn’t practical. I didn’t know anyone who was making a living from their art. It felt like a distant dream, something that only the incredibly lucky could achieve.

I don’t recall ever saying out loud that I wanted to be an artist, mostly because I believed, like many others, that it was more of a hobby than a viable career. I loved the feeling of admiration when I sang in church or when classmates asked me to take on the creative part of a school project. But that was where it stopped—art was something for my free time, a way to pass the hours and claim a little bragging rights, but not something with a future.

However, I soon realized that the reason I didn’t know anyone living that dream wasn’t because it was impossible—it was because I hadn’t sought those people out. What a simple yet profound revelation. Just because I didn’t know anyone making a living with their art didn’t mean they weren’t out there beyond my tiny social circle in the sticks and red clay of rural Oklahoma. Imagine that! (insert southern drawl here.) 

One significant change I made was intentionally surrounding myself with others who were actively pursuing their dreams. I started following successful artists on social media—not just to admire their work, but to learn from their stories. I joined an art school to connect with instructors and peers who shared my passion. But perhaps the most pivotal step was creating my own community—a group of like-minded artists on Discord, where we gather twice a week to share our progress, challenges, and victories. Real life people I could talk to. We encourage each other and hold each other accountable, pushing one another to keep going even when the road feels tough. This group has become an essential part of my journey, reminding me that I am not the only ambitious dreamer in this world of those who settle for mediocrity. 

In addition to these connections, I’ve also immersed myself in books and podcasts by artists who have turned their passion into a sustainable career. Listening to their stories has been a source of inspiration, especially when the inevitable challenges arise. Their experiences guide me and offer valuable lessons, helping me overcome obstacles and stay focused on my goals.

I’ve also been following financial gurus who emphasize the importance of surrounding yourself with people who encourage growth and possibility. They often mention that if you’re surrounded by those who are constantly living beyond their means—chasing material success and “keeping up with the Joneses,”—it can be difficult to break free from the rat race. This idea applies to dreams too. If you’re surrounded by people who settle for mediocrity and believe that dreams are unrealistic, it can become harder to hold onto your own vision. But as I’ve learned, those voices often stem from others’ limitations, not my own. 

The key is to be intentional about the people you spend time with. Who is truly encouraging your growth? Who is supporting your dreams and pushing you to grow? This is not about surrounding yourself with people who only take or offer something tangible—it’s about connecting with those whose energy and beliefs resonate with your vision. Creating a community of support is about building something together, sharing ideas, and uplifting each other along the way. The keyword is community. 

Not everyone in your life will understand your dreams. There are people I deeply care about who don’t fully grasp what it means to pursue art or who think my path is too uncertain. This doesn’t mean I have to distance myself from them. Instead, it’s about seeking out and nurturing the relationships which support my dreams.  It’s not about closing all doors; although I might offer that if the person really doesn’t mean that much to you in the first place and the relationship does not support your growth, it’s time to let it go. It’s also important to remind yourself when their doubts become your own, that dreaming isn’t impractical. It's the execution of your goals that needs to be practical. You can approach the path to your dreams with a practical mindset. 

One day, when my success is evident in my work, I won’t need to say, “I told you so.” It will be clear. Until then, I’ll continue building, learning, and creating alongside those who share my vision, knowing that each step forward, no matter how small, is progress. Every effort, every piece of art, and every conversation is a part of the world I am creating–the community I am nurturing. 

Your dreams are worth your effort. Surround yourself with those who believe in possibility and let their encouragement fuel your journey. Build your community and nurture those relationships—these connections will help you reach your destination. Don’t forget to support other dreamers too. Be the person you needed when you dared to dream. Share your own journey and listen to their stories. Be invested in the happiness of your neighbor. Success is measured differently by everyone. I chose to measure it in smiles, support, and friendships. Surround yourself with dreamers, not doubters, and together create something extraordinary.

The Prophet’s Palette: Creating your Path to Peace

This blog is not an attempt to recount every experience that led to my mental health struggles, but rather a chance to open up and share what it’s like to battle depression and anxiety as both an artist and a mother. My hope is that by sharing, someone out there will feel seen and gain some hope. 

Let’s start by reflecting on some of the greatest artists in history who faced their own battles with mental illness. Painters like Vincent van Gogh, who struggled with bipolar disorder and hallucinations, poured his emotions into his hauntingly beautiful and often tormented works. Edvard Munch, who wrestled with anxiety and depression, explored the depths of human fear and isolation in paintings like The Scream. Yayoi Kusama, diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder and hallucinatory experiences, expressed her inner world through vibrant, infinite patterns. These are a few extreme examples of how mental health shapes art. 

A survey by The Creative Independent revealed that 62% of artists have experienced anxiety, and 44% have struggled with depression. While financial instability and the pressures of the creative world are often seen as contributing factors, I believe there’s another, more hopeful perspective to consider. Art, in many ways, can become a form of therapy, a healing practice for those who are struggling. And it’s important to note that although not all artists wear their mental health battles on their canvas—the quiet, internal struggles can be just as real.

I once heard the artist Elli Milan say that artists should “paint on the other side of their pain.” That statement resonated deeply with me. As an artist who has known the weight of depression and anxiety, it’s easy to get caught up in painting what you feel in the moment—the heavy, difficult emotions. But I’ve discovered that the more I focus on painting beauty and joy, the more I invite peace and happiness into my own life. I become a prophet. I am creating a vision of the world I want to live in, one brushstroke at a time. I sometimes wonder if the artists who painted scenes of chaos and violence—whose works were fueled by inner turmoil—might have found healing if they had painted instead what they longed to feel: peace, serenity, hope. I also think that what we put out into the world does not just affect the inner workings of our minds but also the world around us. We affect change in a positive way when we create things that inspire hope, peace, and beauty. 

This is not to undermine the incredible value of art that explores the darker sides of the human experience, but rather to highlight that art’s true power lies in its ability to help us transform, heal, and manifest something beautiful into existence.

The therapeutic value of art goes beyond the subject matter—it’s in the process. When we create, we engage the right hemisphere of our brain, the part responsible for creativity, emotional processing, and spatial reasoning. In our fast-paced, left-brain-dominant world—full of spreadsheets, meetings, and multitasking—our left brain gets overworked. Taking time to engage in creative activities like painting, gardening, or cooking helps us tap into the flow of the right brain, and it’s there that healing can take place. 

Have you ever lost track of time while painting, cooking, or working on a craft? That’s the right brain at work. In those moments, it’s like meditating. Time slows down, and there’s no room for stress or worry—just creation and presence.

I remember watching a TED Talk by Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, who shared her experience after having a stroke on the left side of her brain. What she discovered was that the right brain is capable of incredible beauty and insight. Of course, the left brain is essential for daily life, but the right brain offers a healing, restorative space that can bring us back to ourselves. I highly recommend watching her talk—it's a life-changing perspective on the power of the brain.

For me, when I stand in front of a blank canvas, with fresh paint on my palette, I know I’m about to step into a creative space that takes me out of the realms of time, anxiety, and depression. Yes, those challenges still appear along the way, but as I paint, I push through, allowing myself to return to that peaceful, flowing place where joy and beauty reside.

I’ve come to accept my diagnosis of depression and anxiety, and I’ve worked hard to manage my mental health, seeking therapy and support along the way. But I’ve found that through painting—by visualizing the world I want to create, the feelings I wish to manifest—I can slowly bring that vision into reality. Depression and anxiety are still with me, like old companions in my mind. But with a paintbrush in hand, I take control. I shape the world around me. I create art.

I encourage you to discover your own "right-brain" activity—whatever helps you tap into that flow of creativity and peace. Use it as a tool to manifest beauty, healing, and joy in your life and in the world around you. With every act of creation, you hold the power to shape the future you envision. Remember, you are the architect of your own peace, joy, and contentment. So, go forth and create the world you want to see—within yourself and beyond.

Big Dreamer

This marks the beginning of my blogging journey, and I want to share a glimpse into my life as an artist. My passion for drawing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. As a teenager, I dabbled in painting, though I never considered myself particularly skilled. What set me apart was my unwavering desire to create. I didn’t possess any innate talent; I simply had a burning desire to express myself, so I did.

A couple of years ago, I attended a ladies' night event where we painted with Bob Ross. This experience reignited a long-dormant artistic passion within me. I discovered how much I could achieve with guidance, and I was amazed by the talent of the other women there, even if they believed they couldn’t draw a stick figure. The key difference was that I had the drive to create art. It all comes down to desire and determination.

Alongside the experience that ignited my artistic spirit, I had recently become a mother through marriage. My daughter sadly lost her mother, which allowed me to step in and embrace the role when I married her dad. Her dad and I also had a baby. This journey of motherhood profoundly shifted my perspective on what truly matters in life. It prompted me to reflect on questions like, “What do I want for my children?” and “How can I equip them for the journey ahead?”

I believe these are common questions for many parents, though our answers may vary. It took me some time to arrive at my conclusions, but ultimately, I decided that I want my children to chase their passions and seek happiness. I realized that I must lead by example and support them in every way I can.

However, I still grappled with an external voice that instilled doubt in me. This voice whispered discouraging thoughts like, “Artists struggle to make a living. Pursuing art isn’t a legitimate career. You can’t have it all.” It also suggested that I would be an irresponsible adult and mother if I didn’t pursue a traditional corporate path, insisting that children need stability, which can only be achieved through conventional means; clock-in and clock-out, pay the bills.

I found myself in a state of unease. After seven years as a registered nurse, I felt a deep sense of unfulfillment. While I had the comfort of job security, I was also in the process of overcoming significant debt. How could I possibly trade that security for my ambitious dreams? I often scrolled through Instagram, captivated by the lives of artists, imagining the enchanting existence I could lead if I were in their position. People frequently labeled me “a big dreamer,” a term I often perceived as invalidating. Yet, perhaps it was my own insecurities about my aspirations that colored my perception.

As I navigated social media, I began to encounter advertisements for art courses, one of which was for the Milan Art Institute. These ads promised to prepare individuals for a career as a professional artist, outlining strategies to achieve that goal. I took the time to research and reflect. A mix of nerves and excitement washed over me, but there was also a glimmer of hope. The self-paced course was priced at $3,600, which I deemed reasonable. Even if it only enhanced my artistic skills, it would be a worthwhile investment. So, I decided to take the leap.

Currently, I am still in the first part of the program, and I am already creating art that surpasses my wildest expectations. Remarkably, I’ve even started earning some income from my work without much effort. Encouraged by the interest in my creations, I chose to take my art more seriously, even while continuing my studies. I established a Facebook page, launched a website, and began exploring advertising and entrepreneurship.

And here I am today, still on my journey of learning and growth. My confidence has soared to new heights. I continue to work two days a week as a registered nurse, with plans to transition to a PRN role in the next 2-3 years. This means I would only need to work one shift every six weeks, while still having the flexibility to pick up extra shifts if I choose. I am not relinquishing my security, but more importantly, I am not letting go of my hope. I believe in myself and draw inspiration from artists who thrive solely on their craft. I aspire to be a role model for my children, encouraging them to pursue their passions and discover true happiness in their lives.