I have been feeling so stagnant lately.
Painting makes me feel pressured.
Sometimes I feel like I want to write paragraphs and stories but whenever I try to hold a pen, I feel like there isn't any word in the world that would perfectly describe my thoughts.
Have I lost my passion? I often ask myself that question. Somehow I could not find joy in doing the things that I loved doing.
Most of the times, I force myself. I force myself to write, draw, paint, or do something productive just for the sake of telling myself that I'm being productive. And whenever I do that, 90% of the time I end up loathing the outcome.
I realized I'm developing a very toxic relationship with myself.
Why am I punishing "me" for the things I have no complete control over? Why am I treating myself this way?
And so over time, I learned to not pressure myself. There will always be days where I don't have any motivation. There will always gonna be dull days. And that's okay.
I learned to be more patient with myself... To treat "ME" kinder......
Two nights ago, a sudden wave of inspiration hit me. And so I found myself holding a brush once again. Playing with colors. Experimenting.
And though the finished piece has it's own fair share of imperfections, still I feel a tiny ounce of pride for pulling it off after such a long time of not touching my brushes nor holding a pencil.
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