I Remember That Time When I Was An Artist 👩‍🎨

7-20 Blog
I remember that time when I let myself create.

Free from fear. From expectation. From judgment.

Free from wondering what you might think of me.

What you might say about me.

What you might believe about me.

I remember all-nighters in the print studio with Brian.

You know...Brian.

The long-haired. Recovered heroin addict. Dreamy eyed. Creator.

The one you couldn’t help but love.

The one you knew was bad for you.

But your soul deeply longed for anyway.

The one you would stay up all night with.

Drinking Starbucks. Talking about the future. The world. The art.

The everything.

The one you loved.

Who loved you back.

But only as a friend.

As the one who could hold his deep dark secrets. The one who understood him. Accepted him.

Loved him.

The one who could never love you back.

Not the way you deserved. Not the way you wanted.

The one you would do anything for.

Until he was gone.

Yeah. You know. Brian.

The one who looked deep into your soul. Knew you better than you knew yourself.

But would never tell you.

Yep. Brian.

And the art.

Let’s get back to the art.

The feeling. Deep down inside. That you’re doing the thing you’re here to do.

Sharing the thing you’re here to share.

Making the thing you’re here to make.

And not giving two fucks what anyone else thinks.

Not even Brian.

And then you made a decision. To box it up. To put it away. To hide it from the world.

The light. The love. The art.

The soul.

The fucking reason for being here.


Because you got hurt.

Because they said you were too much. Too bold. Too loud.

Too...what the fuck ever.

So you put your dreams away.

And got a job.

Built a life.

Checked all the boxes.

Did the things.

Just not the things you’re here to do. Not the life you’re here to live.

But you went all-in on being her.

The one who does things right. The one who doesn’t make mistakes. The one who doesn’t get hurt.

But it did hurt. It does hurt.

Your heart breaks every day.

For the artist buried deep down inside. The creator dying to get out. The messenger begging to let her fucking light shine.

She’s done hiding in the dark.

Under the big beautiful life you’ve built. The one that isn’t yours.

The one where you do all the things. Are all the things.

But not the actual thing.

Not the actual work.

Not the actual fucking reason you’re here.

Not that part.


Because what if you take the art out. From that place you hid it away so many years ago.

The magic. The mystery. The vulnerability.

What if you let them see it. See you.

And they laugh. And they hate you. And they tear you down.

Just like they’ve always done.

Just like you knew they would.

And it swallows you up whole.

What if you find out they were right all along?

You are too big. Too bold. Too loud. Too audacious. Too fucking much.

That you really are unlovable.

That you never can be truly happy.

Unless you fit into their little box.

Or maybe.

Just maybe.

Those bitches were wrong.

Maybe. Just maybe.

You’re exactly what the world needs.

Maybe. Just maybe.

You have a people assigned to your life. A mission. A message. A purpose. A passion.

A reason for fucking being here.

And maybe. Just maybe.

You’re done sitting around. Hiding those parts of you. Waiting for them to think you’re enough.

When the truth is. You are too big. Too bold. Too loud.

Too fucking much.

For them.

But not for me.

Not for the magical fucking unicorns assigned to your life.

Not for the ones you’re here to serve.

So baby girl.

Fuck what they think. Fuck what they say. Fuck what they do.

Fuck Brian.

It’s your time to shine.

To take your art back out. To shout it loud and proud. From the tallest rooftop.

To shake them and make them fucking listen.

To be the light you were put here to be. To do the thing you were put here to do.

To make the money you were put here to make.

Just as you. All of you. And not more than you.

Just that.

No more.

No less.

Just you. Your art. And the people whose lives you’re here to change.

What if. Maybe just maybe.

The time is now.

I see you. I believe in you. And you do not have to do this alone.

Xo! Mindy

PS. The time is now.

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Time to make fuck tons of money doing it.

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I’ll see you on the other side.



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