She Heals In Hues

There’s something quietly powerful about starting again — not with a grand plan or a polished vision, but with a small list scribbled on paper and the decision to just begin.

A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with depression. Hearing those words felt like a strange mixture of relief and fear — relief, because finally there was a name for the heaviness I’d been carrying and because I now could finally stop pretending everything was alright; fear, because now it felt undeniably real. My therapist suggested I start journaling, to put words to what I was feeling. But I’ve always struggled with that. Emotions are messy and slippery, and sometimes the right words never come.

Somewhere in the middle of that silence, I felt the urge to paint again. I used to do it all the time when I was younger, but life got busy, and the brushes gathered dust. Painting was always different from journaling — it let me speak without having to speak, to feel without having to explain.

Today, I’m heading out to buy paints.
Nothing fancy. No high-end brands or expensive brushes — just what I need to start experimenting, to let my hands and heart remember what it feels like to create without pressure.

I’m not thinking about selling or perfection. I want to give myself a practice period, time to find my way of painting — to explore colour, texture, and emotion until something begins to feel like me again.

Lately, I’ve been drawn to acrylics. They dry quickly, forgive mistakes, and let me build layer upon layer — just like healing itself. I also want to play with texture paste, to let the paint rise from the surface, imperfect and tactile, like a small act of defiance against the need to stay flat and composed.

I wrote myself a simple shopping list — my first “starter kit” for this next chapter:

🎨 My Acrylic Starter Kit

• Student-grade acrylic paints (Liquitex Basics or Amsterdam Standard Series)
• A few synthetic brushes (flat, round, and small detail)
• A palette knife
• Canvas boards or thick acrylic paper
• Modeling paste for texture
• A palette, spray bottle, jar for water, and a few old rags
• And, most importantly: the patience to make a mess

I don’t expect masterpieces. There’s no perfection here.
I expect hesitation, probably a few muddy colours, and a lot of quiet learning. But maybe that’s the beauty of it — letting the process heal something small each time I pick up the brush.

This isn’t just about painting.
It’s about allowing myself to begin without needing to know where it’s all heading. It’s about giving my emotions a place to exist, without having to explain or justify them. It’s about speaking in colour when words won’t do.

So, here’s to first strokes, unsteady lines, and finding colour again — so I can heal in hues.