The fear of my own darkness used to be a constant companion, a gnawing shadow at the edges of my joy. Especially amplified by the external judgement I use to not be able to ignore. Like a cracked teacup, I felt I leaked darkness, staining the pristine white tablecloth of life. It all started with a childhood fascination with monsters under the bed – not in the playful, “boo!” sense, but in a deeply unsettling way. The darkness became a tangible entity, a lurking threat that whispered fears and uncertainties.
Growing up, I chased light with a manic fervor. I excelled in academics, built an image of the sunshine girl, always smiling, always positive. I was a gloomy girl. But the darkness festered beneath the surface, whispering insidious doubts. “You’re not good enough,” it hissed, “a fraud in your own sunshine.” In my late twenties, the dam broke. A brutal betrayal threw me into a black hole of depression. The light I’d so desperately clung to evaporated, leaving me raw and exposed in the abyss of my own shadows.
It was in that darkness, however, that I found the embers of a different kind of strength. I didn’t fight the darkness, but sat with it, explored its labyrinthine corridors. Mine has been an existence of transmutation of the dark stuff up until now. I found my monsters hiding in corners, their faces distorted by my fear. As I faced them, they shrunk, morphing into whispers of insecurity and shame. I learned to talk to them, to acknowledge their presence without letting them control me.
My artistic soul, hidden at the deepest depths of the dark ocean, long suppressed in the pursuit of sunshine, found fertile ground in the shadows. I began writing and painting that bled onto the page, raw and unfiltered, expressing the pain and the darkness, but also the resilience and the quiet beauty that bloomed in the midst of it. My art became a bridge between the light and the dark, a tapestry woven with threads of both.
Through this journey, I realized that the pinprick of darkness within me wasn’t a flaw, but a vital part of who I am. It allows me to see the nuances of the world, to empathize with those who live in the shadows. To hold paradox. It gives my light depth, texture, and a story to tell. Now, when I stand in the sunshine, I don’t forget the darkness that birthed my strength. I carry it with me, a hidden ember, a reminder that the full spectrum of our being, light and shadow, is what makes us whole.
My story is just one thread in the grand tapestry of human experiences. Every one of us, in our own ways, dances with the light and the dark. The trick isn’t to vilify or banish the darkness, but to find the melody it holds, the story it whispers.It too is valid and valuable, if you can recognize it without being devoured. For in acknowledging and embracing both light and shadow, we become weavers of our own destinies, co-creators in the divine tapestry of existence.