Being an artist and the fear of being Judged

Hello, I’m Maria, or M here and I’m afraid of being judged.

Most of my art is usually not shared and I don’t really let people see and or interact with my artistic visions and sensibilities.

For me Art is an intensely personal and stewarded passion and a lot of my work is not ‘good enough’ to warrant any attention for the outside world.

I am generally frustrated.

Is this also, you?

Hi, I recognize you Closeted artist. Now what are you hiding from?

I’ve been doing a lot of spiritual and energetic work the past few months, the fruits of which could be seen here. But a huge Trauma, Shame and Judgement that seems to be coming up for me is the Inner Artist I killed back when I was 12, and resuscitated around when I was 22. That’s a full 10 years of dithering and to be honest self-flagellation of an essential part of me.

SO why the hell should you take my advice?

Because I’m telling you, the other side will be Worth It.

That no matter how long you’ve been out of the game. No matter how long you’ve dragged your feet and beat yourself up about this, that which is destined comes back to you. Only because it’s truly Who you are.

An Idea. If you like.

The source of your pain is your gift.

Maybe you think– you know, getting someone who wasn’t traumatized about their art would be better. They have more years of experience, they flow easier. They’ve got more going for them.

Maybe. But not in my experience.

I’m the type of person who’s head thrust in love in a lot of artistic mediums, writing — poetry and fiction, painting, dancing, singing, photography and so on. Dancing came easier to me because it was approved of and understood by my mother. Everything else, was basically Impractical or Weird. The biggest intonement I ever heard of as a child:

Our Family doesn’t Sing.

My mom told me: You’re voice isn’t that unique.

(yeah that one time you craved validation and support and got pummeled thoroughly into the ground)

I remember having a songwriting notebook, and deciding never to sing to my toys again, when I was 6.

I am extremely appreciative of singers, and people who make music and write songs because I thought – yea, I would never be able to do that. I never sang kareoke or in the car – If I ever kind of yell over my earphones because of spotify it’s probably because I’m still really entranced by the act of cooing into people’s ears and I can’t help myself.

I love songs. When I write fiction, my close friend says it sounds like it’s meant to be a song. The cadence, the slant rhymes.

Last year, someone offhandedly told me: You have a nice speaking voice.. I want to hear you sing.

It was one of those art titas, those strangers who were artistic connoisseurs. My mother on the other hand can barely hold a note and yet I believed her when she told me as a child you can’t ever sing.

A mentor of mine, who’s brought me to tears with her toning, told me that back in HS, her choir director told her she can never hold a note.

Nothing was more stupidly preposterous to me. I honor music to my bones, that was a goddamn lie.

Last year, I spent so much more time with people who would randomly burst into song.

(Looking at you PETA) and I’m really not kidding when I say that to me the experience of it is pure Magic. If you’ve ever had days of hunger and thirst, you would understand what it’s like when suddenly you’re surrounded with such bounty.

I suddenly had these people who would sing my name – and just kind of expect me to sing. Why ofcourse, why wouldn’t you? Tara, and at the same time they look like they’re having fun.

So one day, I decided. Well I’m ALREADY in theater anyway. I can probably try to sing.

And let me tell you one thing. Other than the queued excessive crying, finding that I could hold a tune, made me feel invincible.

You see when you hold a false belief for so long and suddenly drop it, the sensation is so stark it begs to be paid attention to. I remember the first few days I was singing at home my brother and mom kept staring at me going like – what the hell are you doing.

And I said it plain as simple. I sing now.

Yeah the thing we said we could never do. I do it now, I’m singing in the car. I’m singing when I work out and also occasionally in the shower. YOU WERE WRONG, I WAS WRONG.


And as much as dancing is close to my art, the experience of proving myself wrong about a long held belief with singing – frankly, made me feel like I could do anything.

It was like: Lol, IF RULE: OUR FAMILY DOESN’T SING Was a damn lie, what other learned shame in my childhood can I undo? Holy shit this is fun? What else is left lying in my painful substrata??

Maybe they’re your gifts that are calling for you.

I’m not saying I’m an amazing singer. But let me tell you that letting myself sing again, comes from a place of vulnerability and freedom. Napalaya ko sarili ko. I’ve come to accept myself, forgive myself for all the unconscious shame, judgement and self-hate. When I sing, I choose Love to swallow all my fears, and to me that counts.

It’s what Art longs to be, a transformation.

And I hope that you dear one, will also one day sing.

PS: If you like my stuff about healing the artist inside yourself, do check out my Unlock the Artist Within Series which is a series/service I have that focuses on people who are going through the same predicament as I have (and am having) in terms of pairing away the Drama of why we’re not Making.

Why we ain’t Artists. With that added magick mojo psychic lady that’s also part of my life experience. Hope to see you around and well,



your soul is welcome here

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