What Kind of Visuals Am I Using…and Why

Painting by the author of the author as an infant in a pink snow suit sitting on the hood of her parents' 1954 Chevy Belair sedan — Painting by author – Author as an infant on hood of her father’s car

Driven to paint

Before I share below a sampling of the visual elements I am using in my book, I thought I would share the “WHY” I not only used them, but HAD to use them.

Rebuilding my life

The book incorporates the story not only of the abuse I endured, but also of my journey from my parents’ house—the depression and despair—to my rebuilding, and my creating of a meaningful life.

Even after the initial crises of my escape and recovery with the help of good therapists and friends, I would return for rounds of therapy off and on throughout adulthood. Given all of the life lessons I had missed out on during my early phases of life, I looked at it as “preventive maintenance.” Why “wing something” when I wasn’t sure how to handle it and risk messing it up, then have to fix it? Better to learn as I went along.

The traumas of life

This approach worked well, and I thought I had finally put the past to rest…until midlife. Menopause hit. My husband almost died. The dog did die. My son left for college. All at once. But even worse, those new traumas blasted open a well of trapped emotions I never realized were even there. Like opening Pandora’s box, it unleashed a flood of unresolved depression, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares…severe PTSD. At the time, I had no idea what was going on. Desperate and having major anxiety, I began working with a skilled trauma specialist who was and remains a godsend in my life.

This was fortunate because, in addition to everything that I was dealing with, I also began navigating the last chapters of my parents’ lives and their deaths. It was then that I realized just how much work I still had to do.

The past comes calling to claim its due

Those first decades of adulthood had been about building a life. Now, it was about returning to the past to address the well of unfinished business and unresolved pain that had come forward to claim its due. It had patiently waited a lifetime…my son came first all those years. But now, it was time for me…and that long-suffering child.

However, I had no tools to reach the pain, to know how much was there, or to express it. I only knew its presence through the agony of body memories and nightmares. That was when I made the discovery that art heals.

Making the past physically real

You don’t have to be an “artist.” Proficiency is not required, though I had been fortunate to have had art lessons in childhood. It was something I enjoyed, so it was a tool I could access easily. Another person might have used music, sports, or crafts. For me, paint saved my life.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how much a paintbrush on canvas could bring to life the images trapped in my head since childhood while unleashing the emotions that accompanied those images. The paintings gave my memories a physical reality. Where before, I had nothing but emotional chaos in my gut, on canvas, the memories became concrete scenes—like a photograph. I was able to SEE what my past had been like, and this time through the vantage point of an ADULT.

Learning to see my younger abused self as a hero

Where I had hated my younger self all my life, I now saw on canvas how small and vulnerable I was and what it looked like when my father hit or molested me. I saw how truly courageous I had been in the face of impossible odds, and I began to understand how unfairly I had judged my younger self.

In the three years since my mother died, I have done over 100 paintings, as well as sketched out maps of childhood locations. I have dug out photographs and journals I hadn’t looked at in years. And just touching some of the items from my past allowed memories, emotions, and insights to pour out of them. I am so grateful because of the healing they bring.

The framework for my book

Below, I will share a few paintings that will be in the book. Some are more primitive, childlike ones to capture a particular moment of the abuse. Others are more expressive to demonstrate what being “groped and assaulted” for years feels like. All of these visuals form the backbone of my memoir. They are the structure I am using to weave the text around as I “show” my way to answers and healing.

Painting of author as child expressing the wish her father wouldn't come home, to her mother who is cooking supper — Painting by author – Dreading Dad coming home

Painting of yet another childhood supper time where dad lost his temper and pinned me to a wall by my throat — Painting by author – Suppertime

Photo of my father's ham radio receiver and Morse code key - my favorite thing to play with when he wasn't home — Photo by author – My favorite “toy” – Dad’s ham radio set

Some of the Scholastic book club books from grade school that I loved and escaped into to avoid abuse — Photo by author – Books saved me

A painting of me in the office with a therapist the first time I finally said out loud to someone, that I was sexually abused — Painting by author – The first time I ever said out loud “what was done to me”

Painting of what a normal body anatomy looks like vs someone stressed out with PTSD. The anatomy of the normal person is fine; the PTSD person is a shattered and shuddering — Painting by author – What PTSD does to a normal body

Painting of the author as a child being groped by many "amorphous" men and their hands. What it felt like to endure decades of sexual assaults — Painting by author – Decades of groping and orifices invaded

Tags: 1954 Chevy Belair sedan, abuse, agony, anxiety, art therapy, book structure, books, child sexual abuse, crayon drawings, depression, despair, flashbacks, ham radio set, healing, insights, journals, maps, memories, mental-health, multiple invasions of orifices, nightmares, oil paintings, Pandora's box, past comes to claim its due, photographs, poetry, PTSD, sexual assault, therapist, therapy, trapped emotions, trauma, trauma specialist

This entry was posted on January 11, 2025 at 12:47 pm and is filed under Broken Bits, Memoir - sexual abuse trauma recovery. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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