During the Covid-19 pandemic, I lost someone close to me and found myself feeling hopeless and often, suicidal. It took nearly three years for me to weather that storm and find my footing again. Part of that journey led me to writing and making art, and ultimately, this personal blog.

The Foundation Crumbles

My brother died of Covid. He was only 42, healthy, and had two young children. It took the medical examiner months to give us a final report because she was baffled by his death. My brother had contracted Covid and died only a few days later with no other severe illnesses to explain the severity of how it affected him. My aunt, also passed away a few months before him also by Covid. My brother carried her casket, only to follow in her footsteps less than a year later.

I remember going to see my mother after I found out the news. I still find myself dissociating a little when I think about that day. Her anguished wails are etched into my brain and I stood there quietly, taking it in, bearing witness, holding space, and holding everything I was experiencing inside. And while I’d been painfully doing that my whole life, this was the first time I realized just how much I was capable of holding.

About a month later I went to see the only therapist I had ever worked with six or seven years ago. I wasn’t even sure he had experience with grief, but I needed the support, badly. It didn’t take long for me to cling to his compassion and kindness. He offered the warmth and consistency I needed, and so I spent the next three (and counting) years on a journey of both heartbreak and healing with him.

I felt fractured after the death of my brother. I didn’t realize how much his support, protection, and love were critical in forming the foundation of my identity. I struggled to express these feelings and felt constantly torn between wanting to be strong and stoic and wanting to melt into a void of nothing.

Early on, my therapist realized that I enjoyed drawing and creating art. For the most part, I considered this a largely useless skill. Growing up in an immigrant family, things like art, weren’t considered useful in building an economically stable livelihood. But I was desperate to find ways to communicate the complexity and anguish I was feeling and my therapist encouraged me to do so with something that came naturally – art.

I worked to improve my skills and I experimented with different mediums so I could better express myself. I grew tremendously over span of three years (and continue to learn) in my ability to illustrate and capture my ideas and feelings.

As I learned about myself, grew as an artist, and let time lessen the pain of grief, I slowly started to heal. I had uncovered massive pockets of trauma in trying to better understand myself and my grief which made the journey even more challenging. I even received a few significant mental health diagnoses that I had to contend with on top of all the grief and trauma work. Suffice to say, the support of my amazing therapist and loved ones was critical in my recovery.

Eventually I found myself with more emotional capacity to consider my life and career and I decided that I wanted to pay it forward. I am now working towards becoming a counselor and I hope to help others like me.

Heart and Hues is a continuation of my journey and I welcome you to walk with me on my journey. There will still be plenty of ups and downs, but I hope my experiences help inspire and encourage you to follow your dreams too, no matter the challenges that lie ahead.