I can say, with a good bit of confidence, that I like who I am as a person right now more than I have since before middle school. I feel like me. Not only do I know who I am, but I feel comfortable enough to be her. There are still moments where I fall short sometimes, but so goes life. Overall, I am doing so well.

A chunk of this living-my-best-life-sort-of-feeling has come with the freedom that I’ve given myself creatively.

I bounce around on projects a lot. All the time, I tell myself you need to pick one thing that you’re going to focus on and get really good at, and everything else can come second. But, the “problem” is that I love doing it all and can’t make up my mind what I even fully want my “thing,” to be, so I keep doing whatever I feel like in the moment.

On a surface level, I feel like that’s fine. I have time to figure it out. I have time to hone my passions and discover the path I’m meant to take. It’s not required of me to give up my dreams of writing a book so I can paint a few extra pictures. Or I shouldn’t have to stop pursuing art commissions because I hope to publish a book.

Internally, I’ve always given myself a hard time because I often don’t feel like I’m very talented at anything. Instead of being five steps ahead in one thing, I’m one step ahead in five things.

It’s a battle of Pride for Where I’m At and Shame for Where I’m Not, and at some point, I started giving all the victories to shame. I didn’t want to show all my cards in painting or cinematography or writing or picture ideas or whatnot because I was terrified of a that’s all you got? sort of reaction. That I’d be taken less seriously as a creative because I’m not talented enough to be cut out for it.

I was terrified that not only was my work not enough, but I wasn’t enough.

Lies beget lies, and instead of building confidence in my efforts, I became increasingly ashamed of them. Everything I did stopped being worthy. I lost sight of the value in anything I created to the point of questioning if art as a whole was even valuable. The aspiration to write novels started sounding petty and frivolous, especially compared to life goals with a more concrete potential to make a significant difference, such as doctors and soldiers and missionaries and firefighters.

I went to a church event somewhat recently and initiated conversation with the girl sitting next to me. After talking for a little while, the topic fell on our childhoods and how religion affected our upbringings. She mentioned how thankful she was for the people surrounding us and the genuineness of faith that we, as a believing community, let guide our lives. “I was raised Catholic and it wasn’t anything like this.”

I went out on a limb and asked her if she wouldn’t mind sharing how she converted from Catholicism to a more evangelical Protestant belief, and I’m so thankful that I did, because it’s had a profound affect on me ever since, and I truly believe God pushed me to this event for the sole purpose of this conversation.

This girl grew up out-of-state in an almost exclusively Catholic community, attended a Catholic school, and often went to mass. The “religious” people around her would be at church every Sunday and claim to believe in the Bible, but behave however they wanted the other six days of the week.

In her teenage years, she gave up religion altogether. “I thought Catholicism was the only type of Christian, and the hypocrisy I saw every day in others didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t want to be a part of that.”

One day, a few years into her self-chosen path as an atheist, she picked up the first book in the Left Behind series from the library and her life changed after reading it. The characters in the book behaved how she thought Christians should. “I wasn’t even sure real-life people like that existed, but I wanted to be one of them.” The book pushed her to pray about it and she retook up her faith.

God sent a few people her way soon after to further nurture her relationship with God, and now here she was, years later, thriving in her faith and giving credit to the Lord, as well as the Left Behind books.

In that moment, I felt my own relationship with art as a whole being mended. It felt as if God Himself was telling me, “See? You can use the passions I instilled in you to serve Me. Your place in the story is just as uniquely important as the doctors and missionaries.”

After years and years of questioning if my creativity was a useless waste of time and wishful thinking, I began feeling confident that this is what I’m supposed to use in my life, and I can love every second without the shadow of shame.

God wasn’t done with me yet though. Through other believers with inspiring levels of faith, it was put on my heart to really contemplate the concept of if God were to show up for me right now with the best, most life-changing opportunity that I’ve always claimed to want, would I be ready to pursue it? Would I emotionally have the capacity to allow Him to give me the confidence? Would I be trusting enough for Him to lead me through it? Would I feel comfortable advocating for my own creativity? Am I ready to put in the work?

Would I have the guts to follow my passion?

I really didn’t know the answer then, and I suppose I still don’t, but I’m working really hard to make the answer to that be a resounding yes.

I’ve dropped the shame in my work. My eyes are critical to it, but with the aim of improvement, as opposed to self-destruction. I’m alright with showing all my cards, and I’ve found that instead of being taken less seriously, people are honoring my creative spirit even more, and filling me with nothing but love and support and acceptance. I’ve gotten art commissions and business propositions and people I respect coming to me for creative advice.

In putting myself out there, I’m learning lessons in trust and hard work and unconditional pursuit. Through God, my own creativity has taught me lessons in life and relationships and hopes and dreams and truth and faith and growth. What once felt like a fragile pressed weed is now a meadow full of flowers gently swaying in the wind.

I’m sorry I’ve ever been ashamed of what I’ve been given. But I’m not anymore. And it feels really good.