I like feeling I’m not ready, it means I’m out of my comfort zone. That’s supposed to be good right?
At least that’s what all the lifestyle gurus and coaches on the internet say nowadays.
Okay, this one will be a bit heavy so if you’re not in a good place mentally now maybe skip it for another time.
I woke up today and chose violence — I’m kidding. I chose “let’s share your personal life with hundreds of unknown people”.
Which is better!
Last time we left off at the part where I was designated to draw a cloudy background for my dead grandmother’s funeral photo. Indeed, a full-on Black Mirror vibe in 2018.
But I want to circle back a bit because I feel I left out some important details. I want to share with you my formation years. Why did I choose to work with emotions and trauma in my present work?
Well, the answer is: I have loads of both. Enough trauma to give to others too — hopefully, I don’t. But at some point in my life recently I decided I have to break this generational cycle of trauma.
My formation years are filled with blurry memories, to be honest. For me, it’s a real effort to grasp my memories from back then. All my life I struggled with bad memory. And all my life I thought that I’m dumb because I couldn’t remember much.
Later on, I discovered that this was my brain’s way of coping with unpleasant, traumatic contexts.
I used to say that I am a “daydreamer” but now I realize now I was actually dissociating. I didn’t want to be there and acknowledge what was happening. This happened a lot and here I am today with a foggy memory.
It’s hard to build on a shaky foundation. Not impossible. You might build for a while but as the weight adds up — it will collapse eventually. And although you are left with nothing it’s a good time to start from scratch.
My first years were filled with just a lot. My parents were young and didn’t know how to raise me properly. They were still children themselves. They did the best they could with what they had in their hands. And what they had in their hands was so little honestly. It was the time of a post-communist revolution, people were poor and they didn’t have access to much information. They were preoccupied with surviving, let alone knowing how to raise a child properly. They did their best.
So very early on I realized I needed to be my own parent because they didn’t have the necessary tools to be. This made me mature much sooner than a person should.
My friends used to say I was a “granny” and without any political correctness (because it was the year 2000 in Romania) that I was an “autist” for not remembering anything and not being able to focus on anything from the frequent dissociative state I was in.
In primary school, the teachers used to beat us up. So from 6 years old, I got beat up and humiliated regularly on a daily basis at school. It was normal, sometimes even encouraged by the (sick) parents. They pulled our hair, slapped us, beat us up with our school books/manuals and throw chalk at us.
Every day I woke up in terror. Every day I had to wake up at 6, get out of my warm bed to dress in a cold, starched uniform, and go and endure the nightmare called school. Even if they didn’t beat you up, they made sure to humiliate you.
I still remember something vividly though.
We were learning the multiplication tables. My teacher asked me to come to the chalkboard in front of the class and write up the multiplication table with 7.
I didn’t know all of it so she said:
“Kids, let’s laugh at Livia for not knowing this.”
She kept me in front of the class while everyone was laughing. Those moments felt like the longest ever. It was shattering. My self-esteem got destroyed and I didn’t even begin my life yet.
This is how you get a cracked foundation on which you build all your life and it eventually collapses.
Two years ago I decided to start therapy when my life was not making any sense at all. For the first time in my life, it felt like I couldn’t handle the situation on my own. But I was this hyper-independent girl-boss — how could that be possible? I was dreading the situation. My carefully constructed facade was crumbling and everything was in shambles - personal life, friendships, work, health.
Fast forward to 2020.
Don’t get me wrong — a lot of shit happened until this year but I’ll make this into other parts.
I was in major depression but functioning perfectly. I always managed to be very functional even in the lowest points of my life. I guess the independency I acquired from my parents not managing to act like adults actually helped with something after all.
My anxiety was up the roof and it eventually gave me problems with my stomach. So my mental and physical health were deteriorating fast and I needed to act.
Later on, I discovered that the independent woman persona was partly a defense mechanism. It was hard to accept that a big chunk of my personality was actually a coping mechanism. A vast majority of humans tend to identify with their work, and make it part of their personality. I did the same, especially when my work was extremely personal.
I decided to make my work about emotion and use it as a catalyst for conversation about unspoken feelings. I believe we are finally entering an era where it’s much more acceptable to be vulnerable. Unfortunately, a lot of people take advantage of this. It is a lesson I’m still learning — creating and enforcing boundaries.
My work was all along about personal experiences and heavy feelings. It was my way of getting out the bad stuff but in a constructive way.
Without my art, I would have probably ended up dead or a psychopath by this point in my life. And no, I am not kidding.
It was healing for me to find out from some of you that my work helped you feel better in rough times or simply relate and ease up a bit.
I know it’s a luxury to be able to get this feeling and I’m completely enjoying it. I’m not gonna lie though, it feeds my ego too. I guess it’s one of the nicest and most non-destructive ways to feed your ego. I prefer to say it like it is. Nobody’s all cute.