Born enough

When trying to write about a simple painting suddenly goes deep leaves you in a crying heap ...

I’m gonna need a minute.

What I wanted to say was that I filmed myself trying a new painting technique. I used a big canvas. I picked colors that spoke to me.

It was gonna be great.

Until it wasn’t.

I like that painting. It’s nice. But …

It doesn’t speak to me.

You know what speaks to me? The painting that only exists because I had some paint left over. There was no reason for painting this. None at all. Other than leftover paint.

Yet here I am – tears rolling down my cheeks.

I was going to tell you about how you don’t need that extra degree, you don’t need to wait for whatever to happen to start something new. Start with what you have and such. Because that’s enough.

Then I started writing and things started to unravel.

There was perfectionism, there was eating disorder rooted in perfectionism with a pinch of ADHD thrown in – okay, it was supposed to be a pinch, but I dropped it all in there.

Out came shame that started before I was even born. Striving to be perfect to be loved by people who weren’t able to. Misunderstood in a world that was not ready for me.

I was so tuned into what others needed, that I neglected my own needs. I tried to fit in because I clearly didn’t belong. Shaping myself to fit whatever mold societal or family expectations dictated.

I remember being asked when I thought this all started – you know that classic *let’s find the root* deal. Well, “I came out of the womb that way”. First night home from the hospital, I slept through the night.

I could feel that I was a burden – an unwanted one, so I tried not to disturb my parents’ sleep.

A pattern that continued. My needs didn’t matter; I was meant to be quiet and as little a burden as I possibly could.

Tearing up again.

That, and trying to be as perfect as humanly possible hoping to be loved. By people who were unable.

So here we are – a painting that wasn’t meant to be and me, who also wasn’t meant to be.

Born enough by Evelyne Lüthy

I thought I was painting with leftover paint. Turns out I was painting the truth.

The unintended and seemingly unimportant cracked me open, because that’s who I thought I was.

And here I am crying over a painting that wasn’t meant to be because it resonates. It carries my story.

I was never meant to need. Never meant to take up space. Never meant to be.

But this painting born out of leftover paint reminds me.

I was born enough.

Not because I earned it.

Not because I proved it.

But because I existed.

Not the canvas I planned, but the one that emerged when I stopped trying.

Born enough.