Mine started early. The track that played on rewind began in middle school, when my 6th grade body developed large breasts seemingly overnight. Never once did I think, “WOW this is amazing!”, because of the doubts my beautiful mother had about her own self that were projected unknowingly on me.

I was the first in my 6th-grade class to ride the crimson wave. Everyone was abuzz, because not only was I the first to step into the monthly flow (literally), I was in gym class wearing white jean shorts (you can’t make this stuff up) when Aunt Flo first came knocking. Suddenly there were whispers in the hallway and sharp comments from boys about my body.

Looking back, they were probably just curious - fascinated, even…by the first glimpse of what a young woman growing up and into her body looked like. I’d become a walking reminder that change was coming for all of us, and they didn’t yet have the language for wonder or respect, so it came out as laughter and teasing instead.

Layered on top of that were my parents’ sharp country takes on womanhood, the church’s endless rulebook, the bullies’ cheap shots, and later, the college professors who made it clear they thought ambition should be reserved for people with trust funds, not single moms on food stamps. Then came the partners I handpicked from the bargain bin of emotional availability, and the chameleon act I perfected to blend into whatever kept the peace.

For years, their words played on repeat, like a scratchy tape I couldn’t turn off.
I really thought those voices were mine. I thought the judgments, the doubts, and the harshness were my own. The self-loathing voice was born—and boy, did she talk loudly.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned: they weren’t my voice at all! They were recordings, leftovers, and projections. And when I finally began to notice that, I realized I had a choice: I could either keep playing their soundtracks on repeat, or I could find my own true voice underneath all of the noise. Because all this time, she was there. Waiting for me to uncover all the layers to find…HER.

That’s the real work, isn’t it? Tuning into our actual voice—the one that knows we are resilient, the one that delights in play. The one that isn’t afraid of joy, of color, or of ease. The one that rises up from the deepest part of us and fills our whole body, mind, and spirit with truth: WE are already whole! We are the love we thought we had to seek! And WE are the safety we have been searching for. We can create a life of happiness, love, joy, and peace by looking inward instead of outward!

And maybe that’s why I paint the way I do, and why my artistic and teaching style has evolved. It’s definitely why I guide others into painting and stepping into creative Flow. Because when we put that first bit of color on the page, we open a portal that bypasses the recordings. We touch something raw and true about ourselves: that WE are the missing piece of the puzzle. That the hole we desperately try to fill with anything, everything—to “make” us feel whole and alive—is actually filled by US.

In that creative portal, anything is possible. Everything is possible.

And through my healing work, I met the deeper roots of those old recordings.
One was a younger version of me, still trying to find safety, approval, and validation in other people’s eyes. Another was my artist self - tired of creating for approval and angry that no one saw the world the way she did. Both had been holding back the current of my life. Until my subconscious broke the dam and they DIDN’T.

Then it came clear and fast, like lightning in my chest: You are a conduit, not a container. That one line dropped down deep and changed everything.

Sister, we don’t have to hold everyone’s expectations. We don’t have to twist our art, or our beings, to fit someone else’s story of who we should be.

My work, my words, my music, my joy all move through me. My job is simply to let them flow and let go of the outcome. I trust the Universe will take care of the rest.

When I stopped trying to find safety inside someone else’s world, I became safety inside my own. And in that freedom, my true voice began to sing loudly.

Remember that scratchy soundtrack on repeat? I muted that bitch and pulled the volume knob OFF!

Paint or draw a shape that represents “your tape on repeat” — all those old voices and messages you’ve carried. Don’t think, just let your hand move. Then, when you’re ready, layer over it with colors, textures, or words that represent your actual voice. Let it shine on top. This isn’t about covering the past; it’s about rediscovering and reclaiming our worlds and our canvas as our own.

I’ve intentionally built creative spaces for you to reclaim your voice through art (and NO previous art experience is needed!):

✨ Painting Course: Self-Love Warrior — Loving the Skin You’re In (The Goddess Archetype of Ishtar)
This 60-minute workshop is a journey into the archetype of Ishtar: pleasure, play, joy, ease, and flow. It’s an invitation to paint and reflect on ways to embrace your body, your self-love warrior, and your divine feminine. (Originally taught at the Festival of Feminine Power & ARTistry!)

✨ Neurodivergent Flow Painting Course: Using ALL Your Talents in Life and Business
For those of us whose minds branch in a dozen directions at once, this practice is medicine. Neurographic art blends drawing, intuition, and neuroscience to open new pathways in the brain. You’ll create a neurographic tree—a living map of your potential. This is a practice of honoring how your mind works and learning to weave all your gifts into flow.

Both courses are available instantly as digital PDFs, with prompts, links, and guidance to return to whenever you need them.

Sister, you don’t have to keep replaying someone else’s voice.
You get to find yours! And you get to create a life that sounds, feels, and looks like the authentic and true you.

I. Love. You. BIG.,
Debby

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