“I’m an Artist”

Owning My Creativity Beyond a Job Title

My first mural, age 6

Coming Back to Color: How I Finally Learned to Call Myself an Artist

I’ve shared so many pieces of my creative life here on the blog, but today I wanted to take a step back and tell part of the story that started it all, the part about becoming an artist, and learning to believe that title belonged to me long before I ever said it out loud.

My love of art, color, and creativity has shaped me in more ways than anything else ever has. Even as a kid, the signs were everywhere. I was the one who began every memory with a color, who asked to “talk about colors” instead of a bedtime story, who once made a makeshift canvas out of the wooden frame of a washing machine box because I couldn’t not make something.

As my dad still says about me: “It’s all about color.”

Looking back now, it feels almost obvious, the way my story has come full circle. But it took a long time for me to see it that way.

On paper, you might not have guessed any of this. My résumé doesn’t tell the whole story. But the people closest to me knew. And truthfully, deep down, I did too.

Canvas I made using the frame of a dishwasher box and scrap fabric, age 10

The Detour That Became Part of the Journey

Growing up, I imagined a life in the creative world. I had a different business idea almost weekly. In middle school, I subscribed to every art college magazine I could get my hands on; Otis, SCAD, Ringling College… you name it, I circled it.

But when I turned 18, life had a different plan.

I changed directions, went to college, and earned a degree in education. And I don’t regret a single moment of that decision. Teaching shaped me in ways I still value deeply. Every choice I made during that season led me to where I am today and I truly believe the timing was perfect.

After three cross-country moves and four years as an educator, I found myself drifting back toward my first love: creativity. I adored my students, and still miss them so so much, but something inside me wondered:

“What if I never find out what it’s like to be an artist?”

So in 2019, I took what I lovingly call “the leap”, though it was nothing like a leap at all. It was messy and scary and filled with more doubt than confidence. But it was the first step toward who I’ve always been.

And if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I would’ve taken that step without Ty (my partner). He has always been my biggest cheerleader. That part of the story will get its own blog post and it’s a good one. (Stay tuned.)

My tiny little art corner in my living room, 2019, Salt Lake City, Utah

The Hardest Question to Answer

There were a lot of challenges in becoming an artist, learning new skills, rebuilding routines, figuring out how to run a business, and navigating a completely different kind of work life. Every part of the transition stretched me in its own way.

But the challenge that stayed with me the longest…
the one I couldn’t quite shake…
was answering one simple question:

“So, what do you do?”

Every time someone asked, I felt a knot rise in my throat.

Because the truth…“I’m an artist”, didn’t feel like enough.

Not compared to “I’m a teacher,” especially the kind of teaching I did.
Working with students with special needs felt deeply meaningful. Purposeful. Tangible.
It made sense to people. It made sense to me.

Walking away from a career that shaped the next generation felt… selfish.
Like choosing something “just creative” could never compare.

So whenever someone asked what I did, I found myself scrambling to list side jobs, part-time roles, or anything else to justify leaving something so important behind.

But here’s what I know now, with hindsight and a lot of heart work:

We often underestimate the impact of creativity
and overestimate the safety of sticking to what others understand.

My first big canvas haul in Nashville, TN, 2020

The Shift That Changed Everything

About two years into my art career, I was talking with a close family friend about all this, the guilt, the imposter syndrome, the fear that “artist” didn’t measure up to what I used to do. And they looked at me and said:

“Why can’t you just say ‘I’m an artist’?”

Such a simple question.
Such a pivotal moment.

It made me realize something I had been avoiding:

Being an artist isn’t less than. It’s not selfish. It’s not frivolous.
It’s meaningful. It’s connective. It’s impactful in its own way.

And yes, it’s a part of who I am.
A beautiful part.
But not the whole picture.

Once I stopped believing I had to defend the title of artist and instead allowed it to exist as one piece of my identity, alongside being caring, organized, creative, empathetic, and driven by connection, everything softened.

I finally understood:

I didn’t lose my impact.
It simply changed shape.

Through color, creativity, and connection, I’ve built community.
I’ve shared joy.
I’ve added beauty to people’s lives.
And that, too, matters.

In fact… it matters deeply.

Being an artist didn’t take away my ability to make a difference.
It just gave me a new way to do it.

Dancing in my studio, Clarksville, TN, 2024

Coming Home to Myself

This journey back to art has felt less like becoming someone new and more like coming home to the girl who always wanted to “talk about colors” before bed, the one who created because she couldn’t help it, the one who saw the world in shades and hues before she had a name for any of it.

I’m grateful for every twist and turn, even the detours, because every part of my story shaped the artist and the woman I am today.

And if you’ve ever struggled to own your title or trust your talent, please know this:

You are not alone.
You don’t have to shrink.
And your story is allowed to come full circle, too.

I would love to hear your experience, share in the comments or subscribe below to keep growing in confidence and creativity alongside me. 🎨