I went though a goth faze in my teens (like most) and I wanted more than anything to paint my room black. My mom was supportive of my personal expression in terms of my clothes and hair and accessories but she was genuinely concerned about the toll a black room would take on my mental health (I was already prone to recurring depression at that point and still am). I begged for months to repaint my room, but she wouldn’t budge.
One weekend i spent with my dad and when I came back she had repainted my room. A beautiful deep blue on three walls (my favourite colour), lovely sky blue on the ceiling,and one wall was black. The black wall had been sanded smooth and painted with several coats of chalkboard paint. She gave me a couple boxes of chalk and told me to have at it. I LOVED that black wall and wrote on it every day. I drew on it, I doodled, I wrote out my favourite emo song lyrics, wrote reminders for myself, anything I wanted. It was my favourite part of my room and was something that it would have never occurred to me to ask for. It was something only my very creative and clever mom could have come up with and I’m still grateful to her for it.
In retrospect, a room of black walls would indeed have been encouraging a reacurrence of my depression and my moms answer was the perfect compromise. That black wall ended up being the most colourful part of my room.
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