When Art Heals

Photo by   Nathan Fertig   on   Unsplash I was twelve years old when I left my childhood home for the first time. I was starting an adventure at a new boarding school, in the mountains of North Carolina. My "home" would be amongst friends and faculty there for the next three years. While I missed my childhood home, I knew that one day, I'd return to it.  I left home, once more, when I was fifteen. This time, to a boarding school tucked away into a mountainside in Pennsylvania. Again, I missed my childhood home, but I knew it was a place I'd always return to. When the holidays came, I went home. When summertime came, I went home. That little house in the center of the cul de sac was a staple in my life. No matter how cluttered it got, or how unkempt the yard was going to be, that little place is where I grew up.  The brown brick home, surrounded by tall trees, and a rolling green grass yard, was the place where I took my first steps, said my first words, and made...

Photo by   Katrina Wright   on   Unsplash Grief can mean something different for each person. What one person may grieve about, another person may not.  As noted by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (Kübler-Ross E & Kessler D, 2014) the five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. This does not mean that the grieving must go in this order. Just like how everyone grieves about different things, the grief process can look different for one person versus another.  So, why am I talking to you about grief? Since I started my undergrad program, I knew that I wanted to help people. At first, I thought I wanted to become an elementary school teacher, but my path went in a different way when I decided that teaching was not for me. Little did I know, at the time, that I was in a grieving process of my own from having to extend time at school.  After changing majors, I continued on in the field of Human Development and Family Studies. I did ...

Photo by   Jachan DeVol   on   Unsplash GUEST WRITER SPOTLIGHT.  The psychiatric nurse handed me my patient garb, lead me through the laundry policies, and was showing me to the bathroom where I was going to shower. I got into the bathroom where I nervously finicked with the door for a few minutes to make sure it was locked. It made me nervous. The whole room was covered in blue tiles and looked very lived in.  I stripped down and got into the shower, reflecting on how the day started, and how I ended up here, inside the walls of a mental institution.  The day started off as most of my days use too, with the shrilling voices of my chaotic mind, telling me I wasn't worth loving, that the people I loved were going to abandon me, accompanied by the symphony of other confusing, negative, and irrational thoughts. I texted my sponsor telling her I was in a real crisis, and she called me. After a few minutes of me sobbing, she drove over as fast as she could so sh...