I’ve written about this before, but each time I process something, it has a new twist, a different flavor, and a different potency. That is why it is important for me (us) not to fall asleep when it comes to growth.

When I was in high school, I could not see beauty. I wrote a lot about pain and feeling trapped. Sometime in 12th grade, someone I respected told me I needed to stop writing because they felt it was making my depression worse; they felt I was focusing too much on the agony I felt in being me. So, I threw away my notebooks and bought a drawing pad. I couldn’t write beautiful words, but I was certain I could draw beauty. With my pencil on paper, I drew scenery. They were imaginary places I would go, away from people and industrialization. I drew a waterfall, a log cabin, a mountain face, an empty room except for one chair with a spiderweb on it, and an expansive space with nothing but a dead tree and an empty door frame. They were lonely places, some of them, but they were also beautiful and expressive. They were mine to escape to no matter the mood, feelings, thoughts, or chaos.

Poetry disappeared altogether. Drawing stagnated and only reappeared here and there, usually when I was stuck in hospitals with nothing else to do. A few years ago, words returned in the form of this blog. At the time, I was starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps I wouldn’t die by suicide. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps I would have a future characterized by contentment. I needed words to remind me of how far I had come and to continue to encourage me in where I was going.

Over the past three-ish years, I have returned to visual arts. I don’t draw anymore; I was never good enough to feel like I fully captured what I was visualizing in my imagination. Instead, I take pictures. Pictures capture what I see–most of the time. My photos don’t always capture the light the way I see it. They don’t always pick up the subtle details unless I zoom in on those details, missing out on the larger scene. But, pictures capture something I don’t always notice.

When I started to look up and see the beauty, it was as if I had retrained my eyes to see ONLY the beauty. I often snap a photo, captivated by what I see and fully lost in the moment, and when I look at my picture, I realize there is more to the scene. My mind captures a picture of trees captured in fog. The picture captures that AND a road, power lines, and road signs. My mind captures a picture of the creek by my house, along the walking trail, with the sun rising but still low on the horizon. The picture captures that AND the elementary school and nearby home.

There is nothing wrong with my brain. Nope. Instead, my perception has changed. I see beauty rather than what may, to some, ruin that beauty. I often feel dismayed when I get home and look at my pictures, but I never feel disappointed by the beauty I was able to take in. And, oddly, I find if I edit the “ugly” out of the photo, it feels incomplete. It isn’t genuine. It lacks integrity. Part of what makes something beautiful is the imperfection.

Here is where the rubber meets the road. My therapist recently told me I identify as a victim. I sat with that for a good long time. My gut reaction was to argue, but I didn’t want to dismiss it. I needed to be curious about what it was she was saying. After analyzing it from every angle, I asked a question. I wasn’t sure I understood her definition. She clarified by saying a victim is one who identifies as hurt. In other words, “I am hurt” rather than “I was hurt.” My identity is tied up. “This is my life” vs. “That happened to me.” There is a big difference there. My ability to see beauty has slowly evolved. My perception has changed. And when I suddenly see things that aren’t so beautiful, I see their purpose. Maybe if I can shift my perspective a little, I will start to see my life and personhood as I see picture-perfect beauty, with all its flaws. That starts with the lies I tell myself. It starts with looking past the manmade to see the natural.

What I am doing: I downloaded a voice recorder app to verbalize contrary thoughts to the ugly things I tell myself. This was a challenge from my therapist, and it comes from Peter Attia, a longevity expert who struggles with the same inner critic.