When Depression Took Away My Joy for Art….

There was a time when creating felt like breathing.
I used to wake up with ideas running wild in my mind images, colors, stories, emotions all fighting to be let out. I didn’t create for money, for validation, or even for recognition. I created because it made me feel alive.

But then, slowly, something shifted.
At first, I thought it was just a dry spell that I’d get back to it when life calmed down. But life didn’t calm down. The stress built up, and with it came something heavier… quieter… darker. Depression.

And when it came, it didn’t steal my art all at once.
It was gradual, like watching the world lose its color one shade at a time….
Suddenly, the things that used to fill me with joy felt pointless. Picking up a pencil or brush felt exhausting. The act of creating something that once gave me energy now drained what little energy I had left.

I remember staring at my sketchbook one day, waiting for that spark to come back. It didn’t. I felt numb. I felt disconnected from everything I used to love. And that was the hardest part losing not just my passion, but the part of myself that found meaning in it.

Depression doesn’t just make you sad. It empties you. It convinces you that the things you love don’t matter, that your art doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter.
And for a while, I believed it.

But art even when you can’t touch it waits for you.
It doesn’t disappear; it just gets quiet. It’s patient. It hides somewhere deep inside you, waiting for the day when you have enough strength to reach for it again.

And I’m starting to reach again. Slowly. Carefully.
I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean jumping back into who you were before. It means meeting yourself where you are now. It means forgiving yourself for the silence, for the stillness, for the time you couldn’t create.

Some days I still struggle. Some days the page stays blank. But other days on the good ones I can feel that small flicker again. A color, a line, a feeling. A reminder that I’m still here. That my art is still mine.

Depression may have dimmed my light for a while, but it didn’t extinguish it.
It just taught me how fragile and precious that light truly is and how deeply I want to protect it.

So if you’ve lost your joy for art, please don’t lose hope.
It’s still inside you, waiting to be rediscovered waiting for the moment when you’re ready to feel again.

And when that moment comes, even if it’s just a single brushstroke or a few shaky words on a page that’s enough. That’s where the healing begins.