Self-Care for Anxiety Through Art and Passion

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The Four Daughters of Eve By Tanya Torres (2003) — I painted *The Four Daughters of Eve (2003)* before and after undergoing a stem-cell transplant in the hospital. It helped so much!

When I came out of the hospital after cancer treatment, I felt like a newborn. Except I couldn’t cry for being held or grow up slowly while viewing life with an empty mind. I was fragile, but also carried within the fears that we all learn as we grow.

After recovering enough to face the world again, I started observing in myself the way anxiety blocked my motivation. I still did things, but everything took great effort. I was too raw, too sensitive for the world. I had always been the same, but this extra sensitivity magnified every feeling, and made me fearful of things I had never thought about much.

I had so much to learn. And one of those things was that, in order to teach myself to survive, I needed to find within myself what would carry me beyond those persistent anxious feelings.

At the time, I had discovered Mary Magdalene. Her fascinating presence took me through the process I would need to use in order to do my work. Although I didn’t know it, the process gave me a template for being able to do what I needed to do while at the same time keeping my fear in check.

Why fear? Besides my newly discovered sense of mortality, I learned to fear people, especially friends. I also unconsciously feared presenting myself to the world in my travels with my art. And I feared loneliness, abandonment and the feeling that my life had changed and that the veil of innocence was lost forever.

I feared friends because, at the time, it was hard for me to understand that people have to deal with their own feelings of loss when a friend is facing death. People have different ways of expressing this. Some of my friends became closer, others left angry. It hurt so much, and I could never tell who would hurt me next. In time, and with maturity, I understood better. The reactions of people to their fear are always different and unexpected. But it’s all about fear, and it’s all about themselves, not necessarily about the subject of their anger. This situation left scars in me, but also a valuable lesson. Letting go is a part of life.

I feared facing the world. But I was clear that this was the only way to make my dream of sharing my art a reality.

I feared feeling abandoned, and within the internal commotion that brusque change had caused in me, I understood that I only had myself.

There was only one way for me to find the space to understand all these things and aleviate the anxious feelings: immerse myself in an artwork and be in the glorious moment where all illness is a far away dream, and my being did not depend on anyone else to exist and thrive.

I complemented these moments of inner peace with learning, and with giving myself time to prepare when I had a presentation or event. This time of quiet and mental rehearsal covered me with a veil of protection and glamour that got me through anything in front of an audience.

In time, I felt strong and prepared for anything… until the second fall, when my home and life collapsed. In my mind, the two times are equivalent. One had to do with the body and learning strategies to disconnect my mental wars with my physical reality. And the second one had to do with the mind, and the test of fire where I would need to prove to myself that I had learned something.

In both cases I used a similar method to deal with anxiety. Read, learn, create, write. In any order and proportion. But if I had to summarize further, I would say I cultivated my passion to overcome the obstacles.

The first time, I discovered Mary Magdalene, and I read and learned everything I could about her. I painted her prayerfully, and wrote blog posts and presentations that later turned into Painting Mary Magdalene: Little Miracles and Transformations Along the Creative Path. I relied on my passion in order to focus on something greater and a way to serve through my art.

The second time, my mind proved to be so much weaker than my body. It took me a long time to regain control and start designing my life instead of letting in go on autopilot. In the beginning I fought hard, but at a low moment I allowed the programs of my childhood to take over, and this took me right back to where I had started, with a job and a routine that deflated passion, art, poetry and friendship.

I mean it literally when I say that the patterns implanted in me during early childhood overcame my mind. My grandmother used to tell me that she wanted me to be a teacher or a secretary. And today, that would be an exact description of my job behind the title of “Community School Director”. But what could cause in me more anxiety than being among people all day, supervising a team, preparing big budgets and working closely with authority figures?! I was about to collapse with the weight of anxiety until...

With a great gesture of reclaiming my life, I started again. I wrote “self help” in YouTube and ended up listening to Unfuck Yourself by Gary Bishop.

This is not language that has ever left my lips (or my typing fingers), but in that moment, it seemed like the perfect term and mandate for what I needed to do. But it was just a little push in the right direction, because for me, the road to freedom requires beauty and lyricism, softness, and joy.

So I continued reading many books, of which I only remember Joe Dispenza’s Becoming Supernatural: How Common People are Doing the Uncommon. And somehow it reminded me that I had always had the tools to make my life a work of art.

So I started drawing and painting and writing and little by little, there was light.

These tools, which for different people are different, were the same tools that reminded me of myself. And for each person, their tools have that same potential.

How do I know what my tools are? I can only ask myself: What comes natural? What creates liminal space and joy in my heart?

I have a friend whose light I have seen most clearly on the day someone asked him for help in finding gifts for Three Kings Day for a group of children in a group home. He called me and every other friend he could think of, and asked for a donation. Then, before taking me to the airport, he asked me to go with him to buy the toys. We purchased two toys for each child and went home and wrapped them. My friend was glowing as we wrapped each gift. He would not even be there, but it didn’t matter. This was a secret place where children were kept safe. He was already there, in his heart.

A person can only ask: dear heart, what makes me glow, what ignites my passion and my imagination, my self love, my greatest version of myself? And our heart knows. We will soon hear.

Life is a work in progress, never as perfect as we would like it to be. But when we look back and look ahead, we can continue fine-tuning our lives toward beauty and harmony. Anxiety may still visit us, but passion and purpose can keep it from taking over.

My art and my passion helped me find release from anxiety during two profound moments of change. They required me to take the first step in this great act of self-care for anxiety through art and passion. That same invitation is open to anyone whose heart has lived, suffered, and continued to hope.