she wasn't alone : : Healing He[art]s


I'm honored to join Anna Meade's Healing He[art]s mission: "to put art supplies in the hands of women who are struggling."

Women recovering from abuse. Women with mental health disorders. Women who are ostracized. Women recovering from trauma. Women in chronic pain. Women who are recovering from addiction. Our goal is to give 12 dozen women the gift of art this holiday season.
— Anna Meade

I hope you've already learned about Healing He[art]s through Anna's intimate interview in Sprout: Gather (click here to grab your copy, if you haven't yet). Her trademark honesty shines as she shares how art has saved her own life, and how this inspired her to create Healing He[art]s to encourage more hurting women to turn to creative expression.

Where would I be without creative expression?

Scary thought. Creativity permeates my every day, a sweet and spicy perfume that calms my ever-churning thoughts, gives voice to buried dreams, turns my gaze (insistently) back to blessing (even/especially in the midst of heartache).

And art journaling, in particular? Art journaling is prayer for me: a safe, sacred space where I can clear the static in my mind and tune into Spirit instead. I work quickly, intuitively, often tearing magazine fragments of word and image and piecing them together in ways that somehow make me feel whole.

I'm kind of obsessed with clear tape--the way it helps me loosen up, never second-guessing, but following instincts . . . here, a woman's face; here, a word of truth . . . joined by raw fragility that somehow feels strong and brave. Tape is real to me. Tape is letting my imperfections be beautiful. Tape is a joyful yes to all things messy and true.

I smear great swaths of vibrant color in pastel or pencil or marker. Process and presence are what matter to me, being fully in the moment with no judgment.

I am saying yes to my life. I am saying yes to what calms me, what sings me back to center. I am saying yes to the Spirit shimmering beneath my anxiety.

Pouring out my heartsing and heartscream in these gloriously sloppy art journal spreads . . . it saves me. I find myself in well-worn pages whispering comfort and reassurance. I am home in turquoise and yellow. I invent my own life's map, seeking signposts of truth to lead the way.

Without creative expression, I would be lost.


Friend, what if your participation in the Healing He[art]s mission helps another woman find her way? What if you let her know she isn't alone?

with love & gratitude,
Amanda