I unintentionally isolated myself from the people I needed the most

Ever since I can remember, I loved creating things.

I started with scribbles of wolves with a short story about their life, usually ending in having a ton of wolf pups. Then I recorded stories into my tape recorder on road trips and on the long visit to my grandpa who passed away during that time. For a school project, I made a two-page newspaper with the best Word Art offered. As I transitioned into middle school, I began drawing comics, some of which only I found funny.

But, as I got older, what I drew and how I drew were criticized.

My young mind loved dinosaurs, which my mom didn’t mind, and dragons, which my mom did mind. On top of that, my age suddenly garnished critique after critique of my drawing. I’d bring out a drawing I knew wasn’t perfect, but I had spent hours on.

My mom would start with a generic comment of “it’s good,” only to flood me with critiques of how I could do better.

The anatomy was off.

The neck was too long.

The perspective was off.

It needed color.

I hadn’t gone to consistent drawing classes, only pop up classes that would last a few hours. Once every few months, I’d lock myself in my room, draw, and show it to my mother. As high school progressed, I showed her less and less. I’d post my drawings, poorly edited and scanned, onto Facebook with some hope of becoming good.

One year, I received a how to sketch mythological creatures book for Christmas. My cousin Maria and I took over one bedroom, put on music, and chatted while drawing. Maria was drawing in her cartoon-y style, which she’d gotten superb at. I drew a Sphinx. While some features slanted, most notably the headpiece, it was one of the best drawings I’d ever made.

Best of all, it didn’t take me three or more hours!

Maria finished hers first, showing it to her mom and mine. After a few finishing touches, I trailed behind, walking up the stairway to see my mom and her mom talking. I paused when I heard Maria’s mom talking about her artistic talent. Her mom raved about how good she was doing. My mom didn’t say a word about me.

I don’t know why this stuck with me so much. Looking back, I can see Maria’s mom was doing it more for bragging rights. Yet I remember standing there, waiting for my mother to say something about my art. I didn’t care if it was a sentence or a passing comment.

She never did that day, at least that I heard.

I don’t remember if I showed her my Sphinx that day or if she said anything to me about it when I ended up showing her. I know she liked my Facebook post of it, however.

While I kept drawing, I ignored the art teacher’s encouragement for me to join the art class. I denied when my mom suggested I sign up. I told her I wasn’t good enough and was afraid of judgement. If she responded, I don’t remember. It’s not that my mother never supported my art, and I know she tried to support what she didn’t like (mostly dragons).

Despite this, I took the criticism to heart. I believed I wasn’t good enough. Therefore, when I dipped into art years later, I didn’t apply myself. I filled my drawing sketchbook with only assignments during my college years. There weren’t the occasional, for fun, sketches, not until after my drawing class.

Silly cat doodles stayed, though.

I grew in my skills, but I wasn’t growing at the same pace as my peers. I grew slower. When I asked how to do shading, I was told to just imagine it. When I did a one-on-one novel writing study, my teacher had me just writing the first draft. Unfortunately, my perfectionist mind didn’t do more than I needed to in that class. I think my professor could tell, but said nothing.

After graduation, I still didn’t feel like I quite fit in with other creatives that, at my age, were already much farther ahead. So, I’d sit in my house, made my own things, and rarely shared them with others except for random strangers on the internet.

On the plus side, I dipped my feet into many things like aesthetics, shorts, novel covers, and the like! This stage helped me in non-traditional ways.

Sure, I’d go to art events and coo over artists’ creations. Yes, I had times I shared my work with friends. I even joined a Discord, and for a long stint of time, started creating again. Activity died one day and, soon after, I quit making things.

Last year, I did five art markets and started creating art again. My husband and I also frequented other art pop ups, making friends with a few of our favorites. This sparked so much joy, I continued into this year. Because of my connections to our favorite artists, I found info to join a smaller art pop up with those people.

While there, I overheard other artists talking about going to a local creatives meet up the following day. I’d known about this monthly gathering, but never prioritized it. Peer pressure strong-armed my hand. By that I mean, one artist there asked.

I got out of church early, grabbed a matcha, and joined the group.

Words can’t express my joy when other artists talked about the same struggles with their craft, their emotions, their job. I nearly cried on the ride home. I’d found my people—the people that had been right under my nose that I didn’t have the guts to pursue years ago.

I looked back on the chance I had to join art classes in high school, make other artist friends, connect with other creative people, that I didn’t. I cherish the friends I made on both Amino and Discord. They helped me get to where I’m at now. Without them, I wouldn’t be here.* Yet, I hadn’t truly seen all the ways I’d self-sabotaged until that moment.

Don’t be like past me.

Prioritize what you love and stick with the people who encourage that.

Don’t let your self-esteem hold you back. It’s not worth it.

With love,
Ada

*Huge shoutout to Jimmy who I met on the Discord & any other friends I met there reading this!

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