Reading about your experience with your father hurts my heart. Bribery has no place in patient care, I'm angry for you that you had to do that. Perhaps it isn't my place to feel so, but I do. When my Babci was diagnosed with the reemergence of her cancer, and that it had spread throughout her spine and skull, brain and liver. I was devastated but prepared to take care of her. We were set up with hospice. She said she didn't want to know what was wrong with her. But either someone told her anyway or the hospice was a giveaway. It was Thanksgiving week and the first caregiver sent to us was rude and handled her roughly. Complaining about how tangled her hair was. She was dismissive and spoke gruffly. Pulling the comb through my Babci's hair without a care to whether she was causing pain or not. I was beyond shocked at her behavior. If you can't come in with care and compassion for the dying, you don't belong in that line of work. Holiday or no, day off or not, this is the job you chose to do. Treating someone so horribly in their final days is worse than disgusting. I'm sorry...I'm ranting. In the end, the doctor told me I had at best 3 months with her...I got a week. She died Thanksgiving day.
I had just started exploring the possibility of writing a novel. When all this happened, I couldn't find the words to write. All my ideas left me. To this day, almost 19 years later, I still struggle. It didn't help that my narcissist spouse belittled my story ideas and told me what he thought I should be writing instead.
A few years later, I found mixed media art with one particular artist and another artist about painting big. that was maybe 15 years ago now?! I still struggle with art and writing. I hear and feel the silent judgement of those from my past all the time. I struggle with the idea that all other things must be done first before I can even allow myself to be creative. But I am trying.
Your posts, dear Karina, are beacon of hope. Thank you for sharing and for being a light in the dark.
Oh, your words — your words! I feel them deeply, my friend. We’ve known each other for so many years now, quietly witnessing one another’s posts, words, and occasional art. And now, reading your story, I see it as a powerful testament to the state of the world today.
Your experience may be 15 years old, mine 20, but I still remember almost every day of those eight horrendous months — the people I encountered, the words they said, the tears I had to hide, the rudeness, the aggression of doctors, nurses… everyone. It was soul-destroying, not just for me but for all involved. This is not a way to live — and certainly not a way to die.
We, as humans, must do better.
The trauma inflicted on your beloved Babci, and on you, must have been unbearable. Why? Where has our humanity gone? I honestly believe we are lost as a species. So many walk around like robots, repeating behavior that feels subhuman.
And yet… writing. Writing is such a powerful tool — not just to reclaim parts of ourselves, but to validate our feelings, to express what may have never been spoken, to hold space for our truth. Through writing, we acknowledge, nurture, and extend empathy to ourselves, to our traumas, and our pain. In doing so, we also begin to see how brave we were. How compassionate and loving we remained even when our hearts were breaking.
Your narcissistic husband tried to silence your voice, and I know exactly how that feels. I mean it: exactly. Please, don’t share your creative intentions with him or any other narc. Their words and energy are like vines — wrapping around you, holding you hostage in silence.
STOP BEING SILENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.
It is not you who struggles to express yourself, Lisa. It’s the residue of their energy — but that energy is not yours. You are here, capable, powerful.
I am writing. Sometimes painting. Because I want to finally scream my truth in these dark times. I’m writing and sharing for every version of me that was silenced.
NO MORE, my friend. NO MORE — no matter what. Big hug and thank you for being here! Karina
Dearest Karina, thank you for this. I’m in a season of healing and transition, and have been painting and poeming a LOT lately, after years of not being able to. In my journey as an artist I have known painting as prayer…. but trauma closed me off from it. I am grateful for the return. 🩷 Also, does touch art have to be done with oil?
My dear Verse thank you so much for your message! I feel your words! I understand so well the inability to express yourself due to trauma. You gave me an idea for a future blog because I have a lot to say about it and I can feel you will resonate with it! Coming back to your question. Yes touch drawing requires an acetate sheet, oil paints ( only one is enough) and very very thin papers. It is an extraordinary process especially when it is done in a ceremonial form! I look forward to seeing your posts!
Reading about your experience with your father hurts my heart. Bribery has no place in patient care, I'm angry for you that you had to do that. Perhaps it isn't my place to feel so, but I do. When my Babci was diagnosed with the reemergence of her cancer, and that it had spread throughout her spine and skull, brain and liver. I was devastated but prepared to take care of her. We were set up with hospice. She said she didn't want to know what was wrong with her. But either someone told her anyway or the hospice was a giveaway. It was Thanksgiving week and the first caregiver sent to us was rude and handled her roughly. Complaining about how tangled her hair was. She was dismissive and spoke gruffly. Pulling the comb through my Babci's hair without a care to whether she was causing pain or not. I was beyond shocked at her behavior. If you can't come in with care and compassion for the dying, you don't belong in that line of work. Holiday or no, day off or not, this is the job you chose to do. Treating someone so horribly in their final days is worse than disgusting. I'm sorry...I'm ranting. In the end, the doctor told me I had at best 3 months with her...I got a week. She died Thanksgiving day.
I had just started exploring the possibility of writing a novel. When all this happened, I couldn't find the words to write. All my ideas left me. To this day, almost 19 years later, I still struggle. It didn't help that my narcissist spouse belittled my story ideas and told me what he thought I should be writing instead.
A few years later, I found mixed media art with one particular artist and another artist about painting big. that was maybe 15 years ago now?! I still struggle with art and writing. I hear and feel the silent judgement of those from my past all the time. I struggle with the idea that all other things must be done first before I can even allow myself to be creative. But I am trying.
Your posts, dear Karina, are beacon of hope. Thank you for sharing and for being a light in the dark.
Much love to you ❤
My dear Lisa,
Oh, your words — your words! I feel them deeply, my friend. We’ve known each other for so many years now, quietly witnessing one another’s posts, words, and occasional art. And now, reading your story, I see it as a powerful testament to the state of the world today.
Your experience may be 15 years old, mine 20, but I still remember almost every day of those eight horrendous months — the people I encountered, the words they said, the tears I had to hide, the rudeness, the aggression of doctors, nurses… everyone. It was soul-destroying, not just for me but for all involved. This is not a way to live — and certainly not a way to die.
We, as humans, must do better.
The trauma inflicted on your beloved Babci, and on you, must have been unbearable. Why? Where has our humanity gone? I honestly believe we are lost as a species. So many walk around like robots, repeating behavior that feels subhuman.
And yet… writing. Writing is such a powerful tool — not just to reclaim parts of ourselves, but to validate our feelings, to express what may have never been spoken, to hold space for our truth. Through writing, we acknowledge, nurture, and extend empathy to ourselves, to our traumas, and our pain. In doing so, we also begin to see how brave we were. How compassionate and loving we remained even when our hearts were breaking.
Your narcissistic husband tried to silence your voice, and I know exactly how that feels. I mean it: exactly. Please, don’t share your creative intentions with him or any other narc. Their words and energy are like vines — wrapping around you, holding you hostage in silence.
STOP BEING SILENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.
It is not you who struggles to express yourself, Lisa. It’s the residue of their energy — but that energy is not yours. You are here, capable, powerful.
I am writing. Sometimes painting. Because I want to finally scream my truth in these dark times. I’m writing and sharing for every version of me that was silenced.
NO MORE, my friend. NO MORE — no matter what. Big hug and thank you for being here! Karina
Dearest Karina, thank you for this. I’m in a season of healing and transition, and have been painting and poeming a LOT lately, after years of not being able to. In my journey as an artist I have known painting as prayer…. but trauma closed me off from it. I am grateful for the return. 🩷 Also, does touch art have to be done with oil?
My dear Verse thank you so much for your message! I feel your words! I understand so well the inability to express yourself due to trauma. You gave me an idea for a future blog because I have a lot to say about it and I can feel you will resonate with it! Coming back to your question. Yes touch drawing requires an acetate sheet, oil paints ( only one is enough) and very very thin papers. It is an extraordinary process especially when it is done in a ceremonial form! I look forward to seeing your posts!
Oooh can’t wait to read your post!! 🙌🏾