“I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler.” This is what I told myself for 30 years. I believed that I was incapable of what it takes to be an artist. I wasn’t built that way. I believed I couldn’t think outside the box. That mentality is exactly what kept me in the box. Obviously, I’ve grown in so many ways since then. I didn’t recognize my authentic self until I was 36 when I allowed myself to get a glimpse of who I might be. 

Growing up in foster care, I didn’t have the encouragement  I needed. In the 80s, foster kids were very stigmatized. We were seen as bad/troubled kids. We were seen as damaged, and therefore not capable of the same potential as “normal kids” with “normal parents.” What is “normal,” anyway? One of my former colleagues described “normal” as “a setting on a dryer.” Normal is a term that applies to home appliances, not people. 

Another “perk” of being a foster kid was learning how to people please. I have described myself as a “professional people pleaser” in the past. I had to become whatever people wanted me to be so I wouldn’t be labeled a bad kid and be tossed out. My deepest need was to belong, so I did whatever was necessary to not be what everyone said foster kids were. I was passed around to a couple of different foster homes from age 7-9, until I landed with my permanent foster home. They are my parents to this day and the grandparents to my kids. I learned a lot of valuable lessons from them. They tried their best to raise me to be a good human. They succeeded in a lot of ways. However, one of the things that kept me in the box was my parents’ expectations. The messages I received from them about who I was in society were extremely limiting. They communicated a lot of don’t(s) like; “don’t make waves,” “don’t ask questions,” “don’t be loud,” “don’t be messy,” “don’t impose,” “don’t dream too big,” and “never, ever toot your own horn.” Any time I would present some accomplishment I had achieved in school and feel proud of myself, my mother would say “let another praise thee and not thine own lips, Roberta.”  There were also some not so helpful do(s) like; “be realistic,” “be a lady,” “keep your head out of the clouds,” “get a practical job,” and “always wait to be called or invited to things instead of asking to be invited.”

 I used to tell my mom what I wanted to be when I grew up. One time I told her I wanted to be a singer, because I was actually good at it and sang solos in church and people would praise me for my voice and how touched they were hearing me sing. When I approached my mother with the notion of me becoming a singer, she said, “Roberta, that’s not realistic. You have to be very good and it is very hard to get into that industry.” I thought, “Well, what’s the point of my piano and voice lessons, then?”  I stopped practicing piano and didn’t go to lessons anymore. I still sang in church, but didn’t have the same excitement about it. I felt defeated. People would also comment on my height and say how pretty I was. I thought, “Well, maybe I could become a model.” I told my mom. She said, “Roberta, you have to be really pretty to be a model.” Another defeat.  

I took art one year in school and learned that I was really good at sculpting. I showed my mom and dad. No response. No encouragement. My parents responded by asking, “But, are you making good grades? You have to make good grades” Defeated again. 

In the 6th grade I wrote a short fiction story about a dog. I thought it was really good and was very proud of it. My teacher accused me of plagiarizing, which was not true. But, all the teacher could see was a little foster kid that “couldn’t possibly be that good of a writer.” Yet again, defeated. In high school, I took chemistry and anatomy. I was very good at both and loved learning about the human body. I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I told my mother. She said, “Roberta, you have to be really smart and have straight A’s to do that. That’s not realistic.” Defeated. 

Countless times, people have tried to cram me into this tiny box that fit their worldview. They tried to sculpt and mold me into something I was not. I had no idea how gifted and creative a child I was until I started my own inner child healing work. I didn’t know who I was because I was forced to be who people wanted me to be. 

So at 18, when I became a mom, I leaned hard into that identity because that was an identity that no one, not even my parents, could take away from me. I relied on my motherhood to tell me who I was for the next 18 years, until my oldest child left home. Then, I realized I didn’t know who I was outside of being a mom. I started asking myself, “What is going to happen when they are all gone? Who will I be then?” It was at that point I began a journey to find my authentic self. 

Over the years, I kept in touch with my biological mother. We didn’t have the relationship I wanted, but I loved her deeply. She was an artist, something I was not. I decided to try art again for the first time since middle school. I opened my mind to the possibility that I had been told lies and I could be whomever I wanted to be. I pushed myself out of the box. In doing so, I discovered that I actually had drawing abilities. To tell you the truth, I had been pushing the boundaries of that box for a while. I didn’t think I was smart enough to go to college. My husband encouraged me to apply and I got into college and got my undergraduate degree and graduated with honors. I didn’t think I was smart enough to get a graduate degree. My undergraduate professors and my husband pushed me to apply. I got in and graduated again with a 3.6 GPA. The final message left to conquer was, “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler. I’m not creative.” I learned that I was very creative and had a natural ability. I was shocked! I spent the next 10 years building my skill. My husband pushed me to reach out to galleries and that is when the box exploded and disintegrated. My artistic pursuits have held a microscope over my soul, peeled back layers of old messages, and revealed all the ways I had hidden who I truly was from everyone around me, including myself. I discovered, down to the way I dressed and the way I carried myself, that I was living a life that wasn’t truly mine. I started leaning into my own interests instead of banging my head against the wall of conformity. Art has given me what all the people in my childhood should have given me; belief in myself. It has encouraged me to keep my head in the clouds, to dream big, to ask questions, to make waves, to impose, to ask to come instead of wait to be invited. It has shown me the beauty of my soul that has been hidden for decades. All the don’t(s) of my past are now do(s). Presently, the don’t(s) are “Don’t ever make yourself small to make people comfortable,” “Don’t ever hide your gifts from the world, you have something valuable to share,” “Don’t ever silence your voice to keep people happy, you’re not responsible for anyone’s happiness but your own.” 

I often think about my childhood and how things might have been different if my giftings would have been encouraged. What would have happened if I had been allowed to dream big? What might have happened if I had been allowed to be proud of myself? Looking back, I see that little girl, that teenager, that young adult, and I see a very gifted and talented person. I see someone who had so much potential and hope inside her. As I follow her through the years, I see her light dimming with each criticism and with each discouraging comment. I see it flicker and eventually go out. I hear the silence of the darkness and I mourn for her and the years she spent in silence. I also have a lot of gratitude in knowing that her story did not end in darkness. I have worked very hard to rewrite her story and bring the light inside of her back to life. 

Friend, my hope is that you read this and it helps you to break free of whatever box you find yourself being shoved into. People don’t belong in boxes. People deserve to be seen, heard and valued. The light of your soul deserves to shine brightly and loudly. My hope is that you never settle for a dim or flickering light. Don’t allow anyone to extinguish your light, box it up, or keep it silent. Get curious about yourself. Ask questions. Find out all the ways you have been silenced and rip the tape off your mouth. Breathe deep, take up space, and speak your truth. Find a way to rewrite the stories of the years of your youth and give those small parts of you a renewed flame. 

Image credit: Photo by Javardh on Unsplash