Can we talk about this, in the words of the great Samantha Jones, coloring for a moment? Are we even allowed to talk about coloring in the United States anymore? I’m not entirely sure. However, conversations like this need to be happening. If nobody talks about it, then things will never change. After experiencing trauma, humiliation, and pain inflicted by others who discovered your love for coloring differently, I often feel uncertain.
I’ve learned that many people know what and how I color. I’ve accepted that people who don’t even know who I am still know my name. They know the things about coloring that give me happiness. They often find humor or become disgusted. The things that make me happiest about my style of coloring include the choice of medium. I showcase the variations of the same piece of art. I use colored pencils, crayons, or maybe even paint from time to time.
I’m no stranger to coloring either. In fact, when I used to color, I would color outside the lines. I would also color inside the lines. Sometimes, I even colored onto the next page. Some people thought my artwork would reach the level of a Sistine Chapel display. It would show Michelangelo’s finesse and grandeur. Are those days gone?
Can it become fun again? Is it possible to enjoy it once more? Can I overcome hearing how disgusting my coloring is compared to everyone else. Every single day, for years, from the people I loved the most until I finally broke away and escaped? When I sought refuge in my loved ones, their response was upsetting. After someone colored in my coloring book without my permission, they said I deserved it. I never deserved anyone to color in my coloring book. I didn’t deserve it to happen repeatedly. I didn’t deserve to be forced into allowing it to happen until every page was full of other people’s drawings. I didn’t deserve to not know it was happening until my coloring book was completely covered. I didn’t deserve that. Nobody does. I didn’t deserve waking up alone with someone else’s artwork. I didn’t deserve the people I love telling me that it was my fault, that I let it happen, that I didn’t deserve their help afterwards.
They made me internalize my feelings in a harmful way. It was as if my choice of who to love coloring with, made me unworthy of their love and support. I was not considered a part of their family. It also depended on where I colored or how many pages. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve had the books or how well I know the pages inside those coloring books.
When can I find joy in my artwork again? When will I find happiness in the way I look when coloring again? When I look at myself when will I understand like I want instead? How beautiful I am even without having to color pages and pages. When do the final they use to write the words that express my feelings become powerful again. I don’t know how to use stripes or polkadots. I don’t know how to color a brown or green house blue, or make a rainbow flamingo. However, I just want to understand when I can start doing that again and be proud of myself. I know my coloring isn’t disgusting. I’ve always known that. However, I was manipulated into believing it may be or should be. That thought stuck with me for the rest of my life. I just wanna know when that memory will pass. Then I can continue coloring in any way I choose. Life’s not just about coloring alone.
Does anyone else realize how dumb this conversation sounds? Conversations like this don’t need to be displayed like this because the reality is, a conversation like this in its true context could prevent it from happening to someone else.
