Depression and art: Art journaling saved me! (by Violette Clark)

Our last vacation guest post! This one, by Violette, is amazing, soulful, and gave me chills. How many of us can relate? How many of us have found our true selves through journaling the blackest of moments? I know this story can be many of ours - mine, yours, Violette's. It truly shows the transformative power of art. 

Like many of you I have suffered from depression – depression that at times has been debilitating.  No energy, no joy, no happiness - nothing – just black, soul sucking emptiness.  I remember one day about 12 years ago or so I was so incredibly depressed I couldn’t drag myself off the floor.  I was literally lying on the carpet immobilized.  Luckily my room was messy so I had pens and papers lying on the carpet.  I reached over, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began to draw what I was feeling. 

The feeling was that of being a slug.  So naturally I drew or rather scratched out a drawing of a slug. Art has always been my “go to” answer to whatever ails me. I just didn’t always know it on a conscious level.

About tweny years ago I found creating something 3-D helped me move through the feelings of grief and sadness – a papier mache dancing cow helped transform the grief. The sensation of slapping on wet pieces of glue drenched paper onto an armature and smoothing it out, hearing the sounds, feeling the feelings and basically channeling the sadness into the cow helped lift my spirits.

I still do suffer from depression and sadness from time to time and when I do I turn to art to help transmute the feelings. Art and particularly art journaling for me has been like an alchemist transmuting baser metals into gold.  A couple of years ago during a coaching call my coach asked me to describe what I was feeling.  Although I found her probing questions incredibly annoying at the time J they were very helpful in drawing out a detailed image of what I was experiencing.

Black Balloon is what emerged from that session.  Black balloon needed to be more than one panel and since I have a cartooning background I felt this format lent itself quite well to the experience of being depressed and floating on a black balloon.  I developed a narrative cartoon based on the questions my coach was asking. The most amazing thing is that after completing the piece my sadness and depression had softened and was slowly lifting. AMAZING! 

I often draw my gremlin and what he’s saying to me – drawing the gremlin or inner critic kind of takes the wind out of him.  As I am able to transform the negative messaging I hear inside my head my drawings of the gremlin shift and change in response to it!  Art journaling is amazing therapy and it’s free!  Oh my gosh – you can’t get better than that can you?

My art journaling pages are not always about depression, grief and sadness but often embody the message of being true to yourself.  Being kind of an eccentric person, living in a purple magic cottage with a giant dragonfly on the front and having driven around town in a painted Glittergirl van for years I have become known as somewhat eccentric.  My purple magic cottage even appeared on the show Weird Homes!

When I was a child and teen I desperately tried to fit in, blend in the background and not call any attention to myself.  Now I do just the opposite.  I’ve noticed the more I attempt to suppress who I truly am the more depression consumes me. The more “I trust my vibes” and go with my offbeat thoughts, ideas and the  out-of-leftfield notions the truly happier I become.  To be truthful it has not been an easy journey but the spill over affect has been great.  By giving myself permission to be who I am I’ve given others permission to do the same.  That part of the journey has been the most exciting of all. I am forever grateful to my Muse for the gift of Creativity and for saving my life.

How has art saved you?

Love, Violette 

Read more of Violette's adventures at her blog, Violette's Creative Juice. She's truly a kindred spirit! 

For Your Protection, Immediately Forgive Yourself

She is now available as a print in my Etsy shop.

There’s been a book sitting on my bookcase for the better part of the year. It has sat there among others, and I started it, but I never really dove in. I thought I didn’t need it, and thought I’d get back into it when I did. But in the wisdom of as Ze Frank:

When you’re most in need of help you the most vulnerable to bad advice. Probably the best time to read self-help is when you least need it [and can chew on it with a bit of vinegar].

2012 has been a year of changes for me. And while many of these have been amazing, and large, lately, I’ve felt that the greatest barrier to my success has been myself. And as I was flying high on cloud nine, seeing my work pay off after seven years of blogging and making videos and sending in submissions, but I wanted to do more. I knew I needed to change from the inside out. And you might have seen the beginning of this shift when I finally decided to create for the niche that I felt in my heart for so long (and thanks to Alice for letting me know that even if you don’t have a chronic illness, you can still relate to my work and words!).

And so, I pulled down that book; it’d been sent to me by my dear friend Roben-Marie:  The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown. As a recovering perfectionist, the easy-to-read yet digging deeper format energized me to begin making much-needed changes in myself. When I finished, I knew I needed to go backwards; I needed to read her first book, I Thought It Was Just Me.

I know I’m not alone; this knowledge is the driving force behind why I share so much; I want to tell people they’re not alone, that they’re not the only one with FMS or an illness, and that beauty and art can be captured no matter what your background or physical/mental state you’re in. That’s not what tore me open. It was this, her definition of Shame:

Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging. 

As I read the first few chapters, I felt something shift within me, and all of a sudden, I cried. I cried for all the times I might have shame someone else to make myself feel better. For a long time, whenever I was in pain, I felt so ashamed and disconnected, I felt that the only way I could get anyone to help me was to go for the throat. And I’m not proud of this or saying any of this with  pride; but it has to be said. And I’m sorry.

I had already started practicing mindful authenticity and ordinary courage after finishing Brené’s second book, but now I had to re-learn empathy, and how to really connect with others. One helpful thing I’ve been doing is sitting with my emotions instead of simply getting angry or frustrated. I figure out what, exactly, I’m feeling, and why. I now better understand my motivations and am less unsettled about myself, which has me creating more authentic connections and communicating with more empathy. 

I remember one afternoon, as I was eating lunch with Becca, completely breaking down into tears. My heart had broken open, and it seemed I had a lot of sorrow and regret to get out before I could even begin to go forward. I spent the day painting, allowing these previously-hidden emotions to come out through my brush. And it’s taken a long time to finish the painting I began that day because it is, in itself, the process. 

It is the process of opening yourself up to what you may have done in the past, and remembering to forgive yourself. I think that is so important. Before you do anything else, I want you to sit, in this moment, and forgive yourself for anything you have done recently that you may be ashamed about.

Brenè says the guilt is more motivating than shame. Shame makes us feel less than worthy, less than perfect — makes us feel less, period. And that’s the thing — we are all imperfect. It’s our imperfections and this state of authentic being that we should be celebrating!

So stop trying to make your journal pages, your art, your photos, or your blog perfect! Make them more you. That’s what speaks louder than anything else! It is that essence of personality, of a person truly trying to connect with others, that will bring people back for more.

(At least I’m hoping that’s the way it works!)

So this painting was the process of me cracking opening open and sobbing with my friend, sobbing while driving home. I love the message I got from my mother and daughter who said they are looking forward to this painting being available for them to have on those days when the pain is too much and they need something to allow them to be. I had to pause in dictation; I just started to tear up and cry.

I am by no means finished with the book, and my copy looks more like a high schooler’s copy of Catcher in the Rye, full of annotations they’ve been forced to make by English teachers, than that of a twenty-something woman reading to better herself. I’ve been reading with highlighters and pens in bed at night because I see more than just a book for me. I’m reading now more for my tribe, my community of artists and followers. Listen to this quote, and see how someone with a chronic illness may respond to reading this:

We equate more ability with weakness, and, in our culture, there are very few things we abhore more than weakness.

I know a lot of you who read my work have illnesses, and you may be ashamed of yourself, and your weakness. And I want you to look at this painting and take her message to heart: for your protection immediately forgive yourself. 

And then go create something beautiful, if only for five minutes, today.

--

Grab her in my Etsy shop, or browse all my other paintings now availiable (a few originals are left; contact me if you're interested!).

How You Can Still Be Awesome w/ a Chronic Illness (video)

This is something I've wanted to do for awhile. 

If you notice, the channel was created nearly a year ago; I just didn't know when to start. Or how to. Or what to do. 

But then I realized that I could start by being myself.

I don't know if I'll be posting the videos from my new channel, Born Brave Vlogs, here on the blog (as I may simply want to keep this space me yet art related - plus, I'll be updating this new channel twice a week), but you can follow along via the Girl Born Brave tumblr. 

These are for more than just the artists, but for anyone who wants to feel less alone. 

2 Ways in Which Soul Work Is Changing Me for the Better

I really need to make myself a print of this page/painting, and hang it on my wall where I can see it every day. 

I remember the pain I was in when I painted her. Sitting in my tattered recliner, I had paint on the end-table next to me and was watching one of my favorite movies (How to Train Your Dragon). She started as a doodle, a swooped line, the flick of a wrist turning into the first layer of eyelashes. 

Then, I was trying to distract myself and reinforce a pep talk — this will pass, everything will be okay — but I don’t think I could foresee how much this painting would impact my life. 

1. My painting style has radically changed. 

In fact, all the ways I approach painting has changed. If you were to page through my current journal, or through the growing pile of completed pieces in my studio space, things look very different than what I have done before. There is much more soul and love in all of them. I’m digging deep into my heart and working on mindful authenticity; my terrible, scary panic attack ripped me open, and I now sit with painful emotions, journal my heart out, and am pouring myself onto the canvas each time I pick up a brush. 

Those I’ve shared my work with have been brought to tears or loving what I’m doing. They’ve urged me to share. I’m working through why I’m so afraid to just post everything; one theory is that I’m afraid the pieces won’t resonate, won’t get comments or interest, and I don’t want this crazy ride to end. I don’t want external forces to negatively influence this joy-full and deep time in my life. 

(I dream of people wanting to purchase original art from me, of my Etsy shop full of prints that has me running to the post office once a week, and am not detached enough to face reality.)

2. I am facing a turning point in my life. 

I am close to having to make a choice. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t have so much of a choice to make, but a way to be. 

Yesterday, I spent most of the day in bed with a migraine. 

Earlier, I’d had a heartbreaking call concerning Disability. Basically, I am too young. I haven’t worked long enough, or passed that 30-years-milestone, and their office rarely accepts cases for people under 30. 

My case is a difficult one, I’ve been told. Because I cannot afford to see a doctor more than 3 times a year, there is little to document how my case has progressed since being denied in 2009 (I realize, now, that while I hinted at what was going on, I never posted the story on my blog). And since I can make a little bit of an income from Journaling Deep and various articles, I can “work” (more specifically, my age means I can do any of the jobs out there…despite my various illnesses and limitations). 

Until this afternoon, I was sobbing. I have already given up on two of my life’s biggest dreams and to give up a third would most probably turn me jaded and evil, like a Disney movie villain. But I doubted if I could make enough from my art to actually support me in the way I need. 

But now? 

Now I’m going to try. I’m not going to settle for a visit every three months, I’m not going to settle for small meals, many skipped (I’ve had 2 today, both tiny). I’m not going to allow myself to wither and suffer. 

Does that mean I’ll need to step things up? Yes. I’m currently creating 2-3 paintings a week, 1-2 HD tutorial videos a week, as well as writing a new framework to reflect my beautifully imperfect creativity and how I’m quickly discovering what truly dwells behind the walls I’ve had around myself for years and years. 

I need to figure out why students don’t interact with me (despite me begging for feedback with each thing I post). I need to find out why anything pre-Art Journal Diary didn’t enroll as much as my heart believed they would. I want to find out what I’m doing wrong. I have seen others craft lives for themselves and I have to believe that can happen for me, too. 

Because the alternative — the alternative is greater suffering, more tears, and a broken heart. 

So, are you in, or are you out? This only works if a community works to support each other. I’m devoted to changing your lives for the better, to sharing my whole heart and soul and mind. I want to empower the ill, make the sick laugh, and share your story with the world. I’m crafting a program for those with less to still participate and take courses, see content, and thrive, but I can’t do it alone. I make less than those on Disability, currently, but I am willing to put in my all. If I can change your life, ours will be brilliant with purpose. 

A Magic Toy on My Doorstep (lots of pics!)

Look at the beauty that arrived on my doorstep today! 

I’ve never bought a digital camera before — the one I’ve been using has been borrowed, and aside from my Bloggie, which promised to be great but has been a sore disappointment, I’ve used hand-me-downs and, for a few weeks, a gift that couldn’t compensate for my less-than-steady hands. Being able to not only purchase a camera, but a nice one for video recording and blog photos, well, I never thought I’d have enough to be able make such a big purchase! 

And the reality is, I have, in the past, but realize I’ve been a Money Hoarder, always worried that the moment I spend the money on anything large, it’d never be replenished. This is a definite lack of faith in the Universe or God or whatever you may believe, believing that God would gift you with funds one day and deny you the next. I don’t want to get into a discussion about my thoughts on such things, as they’re still deep in bramble patches full of thorns made from a past of illness and uncertainty, but I do believe that God has a vested interest in you as long as you have one in yourself. 

And I decided, in the swell of magic that’s taken residence in my life since the unbelievable generosity around the mini-class and the lives it continues to touch, that it was time to truly invest in myself and where I want to go. To stop making the little, safe choices, borrowing and cutting corners where I could and take that giant leap into this new path I’ve forged for myself. 

If I’m going to be filming one or two videos a week, pouring my heart into each, then it makes perfect sense to purchase a camera that would not only record beautifully, but allow me to see myself as I film (which, if you’ve considered using a digital camera of some kind, it’s kinda difficult!). It will make my work easier and cut down on frustration. 

But more than that, I believe it says: 

Universe, I am ready. I’m not ‘getting by’ and making it work — I am investing seriously in my future. I have declared my mission; now, I’m declaring my commitment. 

Here are a few shots from around the studio today. I’ve been taking it easy for the past few days, as my FMS has decided it wants to chill out in lounge clothes on the couch, so I decided to show you a few details from my new journal. I went ahead and bought a 9”x12” Strathmore Visual Journal (mixed media) as I love the smaller one they sent me a few weeks ago…and I really love this one, too! I don’t have to gesso pages and can still slather on the layers! 

I cannot stress how much my life has become magical after figuring out how to help you by helping — and being — me. Shifting my focus from simply teaching and sharing to helping and being myself has made everything so much clearer, and the world seems full of opportunity. Things just keep happening awesomely. So this new journal is a place where I dream of possibility and abundance. I want to be reminded of these things every day, each time I take out my journal. 

Okay, I’ll stop rambling now! Enjoy the pictures! 

(I'm transfering the sketch to the wood...fun!)

PS. I have a cool surprise for y'all this week, and so many projects and ideas to write down, I'll be busy for weeks! All things to help YOU journal your lives easier, and create beautiful art no matter how healthy, ill, moble, or tired you may be! 

Shifting Self-Care for Illness from 'Rest' to 'Work' Really Does Make All the Difference

I wrote this essay at 1am on Saturday, before I finished the novel. I can now say OMG you must read this novel because of it's beauty, honesty, humor, and thought. I miss these characters, but am thankful they were brought into my life by chance (A wish list fill by Teresa, who's note I carry in my house sweater pocket).

In the middle of reading my book of the moment (“The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green, who’s writing is so beautiful, funny, and sad at the same time, I’m glad this book will throw more money at him to keep writing beautiful books) and a line jumped out at me that got me thinking.  

And yes, dear reader, I have actually paused reading said book to write this, propped up in my bed at a quarter to one in the morning. 

Basically, it goes something like this: Hazel is asked if she’s going to Support Group, and she recounts: 

“…but I was really tired from a busy day of Having Cancer, so I passed.”

The thought that entered my head was this:

“I never thought of having a chronic or terminal illness as work.”

But if you, like me, are unfortunate Side-Effects (as Hazel calls us) of Disease, then you know just how much work it is. Oh, it may not look like much on the outside, and if you met me in the street without having read or seen my vastly transparent digital life (side-note: is there such a thing as too much authenticity?), you would have to be as hyper-observant as Sherlock Holmes (and here I’m thinking more BBC Sherlock than any other, though I do enjoy a good Rathbone Sherlock from time to time) to know there was anything less-than-healthy about me. 

And since I’m pretty sure you’re not Sherlock, nor any of his contemporary incarnations, I’ll lay down the clues for you, since I’m in a helpful mood: I walk with a slight limp, grimace when I sit or stand up, and move constantly. In fact, that is the one clue my mother can pick up with alarming speed, though that might be from prolonged exposure to, well, me. My twitchiness and inability to sit still increases in relation to my pain level, and this can be quite annoying, I’m sure, when you’re sitting next to me. I don’t notice it myself, but that’s probably because I’m trying to distract myself from noticing on purpose. 

Quite a lot of acting goes into Living With an Illness That Will Never Leave — you learn to project smiles and excitement when you feel like a zombie out for brains, and resist the knee-jerk reaction to answer the question of “How are you?” with the truth (which would probably make the asker uncomfortable — and that’s okay, since most people aren’t equipped with how to respond when someone admits unrelenting pain and fatigue coupled with Medical Drama when all you wanted was a good or alright in response). 

But acting isn’t the only work you do. I currently have 5 prescription bottles on my nightstand, with another tucked away inside, one in my purse, one I haven’t filled for years since I’m uninsured (America: get your act together, please!). I need to keep track of refill dates and how many refills are left, then check when my next doctor’s appointment is to make sure I won’t run into any bumps (I usually do, as one of my medications isn’t taken at the high dose, normally, so pharmacies are always running out of it). I have to make sure there is a back-up dosage of medication with me at all times in case I go out somewhere and am too fatigued to make it home — friends and family have been known to stay on the phone with me to make sure I stay awake. 

Then there’s the simple act of Living With an Illness. Going up and down stairs is not fun for me in the least, and yes, person watching me hit the elevator button, I am going to elect to use it to go up one floor despite appearing young enough to not need to. 

People love to judge with the eyes. 

This is where I roll mine. 

There are the times when you’re asymptomatic, or in a flare up (affectionately misspelled during my times as Flair Ups, which sound so much more fun, don’t they? Also, there is no spell check on my cell phone and computers usually make me sick when rolling with the waves of pain) when all I want to do is crawl under my covers and die — I’ve been known to punch my legs (the main source of nighttime OMG Kill Me times), pull out hair, slam my fists into the mattress, and so on. When all I can do is sit on the couch or lay in bed, caught between asleep and awake, unable to fully commit to either. 

And even on good days, like today, where I managed to run a few errands, play with paint a bit, and smile more often than not, I come home to rest my body because it simply doesn’t want to move anymore. Like it’s given up on it’s one and only job. Get it together, body! 

How many times have I berated myself for not getting much done in a day? How many times have I gone to sleep feeling guilty because I only managed to cross one or two things off my to-do list? 

When I go back to examine what I did that day, I see large holes of time used for what? Nothing? Rest? An impromptu Netflix-induced television marathon? I beat myself up even more for this unaccounted for time in my day, feeling it could have been put to better use. 

But if I really look at it, I was probably spending a lot of time busy Being Sick. 

Read that again. Go on. 

I never really considered Being Sick as busy or something requiring more of my time. I’ve often fought against my limits, measuring my output to that of others who are Not Sick, striving to achieve more if only to prove my worth to society. Shifting self-care from the Indulgent column to the Work column doesn’t change the inherent facts of the case, simply allows for a bit more slack to be thrown my way when things haven’t gotten done and I’m still in my pajamas at 8pm, having watched four episodes of “Hoarders” as a way to tell myself my apartment doesn’t really need to be cleaned. 

In fact, re-organizing Being Sick to something you can possibly be busy doing gives it the proper time it requires in a daily schedule to stave off those asymptomatic times. Ask a bunch of us, and we’ll tell you of times we’ve bounced back a little too quickly simply because we were feeling a bit like complainers. 

Which is my cue to stop typing this essay and get back to reading, as I only just removed my wrist brace and typing 1200 words was probably a bit too much, too fast. 

I’ll be busy Mending tomorrow, and that’s a hard job all by itself. 

The Wonders of Internet Detox

I’ve been trying to write a blog post since Saturday. 

One is halfway finished, the other, nearly done. Both need a little more love & attention to become fully-formed posts, but life changes so fast that many of the ideas in one are no longer applicable. I have a list of posts here in my March Scrivener file, just haven’t had the time to finish them! 

Things have been trés busy here in the closet studio. Saturday marked my first in-person event since moving to Phoenix (it went fabulously; I’ll post about it tomorrow). This week has been spent working on a series of work for a magazine article that was, well, a transformative process that I can’t wait to share with you. Seriously! I was in the studio until 1:30am working on things, and tomorrow, I’ll be back in there painting up a storm! 

But last week was spent offline. 

Like many of you, I love going online. Even past my secret fangirl side, I love catching up with people on Facebook, reading anecdotes on Twitter, and browsing blogs and photo sites for inspiration. Art cannot exist in a vacuum, and in this technological age, the internet has replaced a trip to the museum or local cafe when it comes to expanding your horizons. 

For someone who earns her living largely via the ‘net, it can be a bit overwhelming. In order to get my message out there and find my audience, I need to stay on top of not only social media, but my blog and videos for YouTube. There’s information coming in at me from all over the place, and I find myself working at a near-frantic pace trying to keep up.

But last week, it came to a head. I simply could not take another minute. Every time I signed on, my stomach would get upset, my head would pound, and my heart would start to race. There was just too much and I was spending more time frustrated and angry on the computer than actually creating any art. 

 

So I took the drastic measure of cutting myself off from the computer/internet for an entire week. 

I allowed myself to stay in contact via my phone, but it takes forever to load things (when compared to my blazing-fast internet on the computer) and doesn’t display some things properly; I’d check in a few times a day, but rarely replied to emails or comments on my status. Instead of sitting on my laptop while watching TV, I’d simply watch TV. 

You’d think this would lead to uber-production of artsy stuff, but that didn’t happen, not at first. I tore apart my studio and began weeding out old supplies I’d never use and organizing everything (it lasted a few days; it’s a mess again!). Everything was spread out across the floor in tiny piles that made sense to no one but me. I watched a lot of movies. I simply allowed myself to relax & breathe. 

I felt my stress melting away. 

Without the pressures of the internet on my shoulders, I could relax. Even if I wasn’t doing anything productive, I was still happy.  

But then the magic started to happen. 

I headed off to a spontaneous dinner with my mother. Went on an adventure that ended up with a little gift for someone and some glittery pens for me. Did a demo and met so many new people. Cleaning out my studio opened my space — both physical and mental — made room for a new wave of creativity that’s still spilling out. 

I found that, by making more room in my life by saying NO to checking Facebook all the time, wandering blogs, and reading tweets, the more that time was filled with genuine experiences rather than the experience of reading about others’ lives. I suddenly had things worthy of putting in a status update, but found I’d rather remain engaged in such activities than pull out my phone to update social media.  

In creating a vacuum in my daily life, I was forced to start engaging the world rather than watch it pass by outside my window.  

My “break” ended on Tuesday, but I’ve found the habits from my time offline have spilled over. I don’t like spending as much time online since I now know all I can accomplish when I shut my laptop or turn off my wireless card. I used to think I went online to distract me when I get the most fatigued, but there’s so much more I can do even when very, very tired (I’ll be writing about my new coping techniques very soon, at Cassandra’s request!).  

Now, the only stress on my shoulders is my over-full inbox, but being able to focus better — and answer things while not connected — means it should be cleared out faster. I’m no longer struggling to tread water; I’ve grown stronger through taking a simple, little break. 

{the wind of passing footprints - journal inspiration}

Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved unicorns. They decorated my childhood bedroom in way of a border running the walls, in pictures and drawings and stuffed animals. Books bore them on the cover. And yet for all this, the image that sticks out most in my mind is that of the Lady Amalthea clinging to the cliffs just under Hagsgate castle, afraid of the sea; she has forgotten she is a unicorn at heart, a creature of rare beauty and grace and magic. 

I’ve always loved The Last Unicorn, but it wasn’t until a few months ago that I actually picked up the novel and read it. And oh, how beautiful a story it is! 

I found an illustration in a magazine to celebrate the novel, and knew it was for me. I clipped it and put it in my journal. And as I continued to work, to play and paint and doodle, I found a small image of a woman’s feet in water. 

I flashed to the Unicorn, backing up, ready to take her fate. 

The unicorn and the Red Bull stood facing each other at the arch of the bow, and the unicorn’s back was to the sea. The Bull moved in slowly, not charging, but pressing her almost gently toward the water, never touching her. She did not resist him. Her horn was dark, and her head was down, and the Bull was much her master as he had been on the plain of Hagsgate, before she became the Lady Amalthea. It might have been that same hopeless dawn, except for the sea. 

How many times in our lives have we faced our own Red Bulls? Those fears that grip our hearts and take over, squeeze until our chests hurt and can’t take in another breath? Let someone or something in our lives steal our strength and bravery until all that is left is a beauty with her head down and horn darkened by her own lack of belief in her magic?  

Oh, darlings, I’ve been there. The process is gradual. You don’t feel it happening until you wake up one morning and wonder who, exactly, you are, and how did this great beast get in here, trapping you between it and the wall? 

Yet she was not altogether beaten. She backed away until one hind foot actually stepped into the water. At that, she sprang through the sullen smolder of the Red Bull and ran away along the beach: so swift and light that the wind of her passing blew her footprints off the sand. The Bull went after her. 

It may have been only her hooves, but she was woken up. You see, even when we feel powerless, when we feel there’s no magic left within us, when we feel unworthy and can feel that sea swelling around our feet, the foam rising over the skin of our calves, we’re reminded that there’s nothing to be gained by going into the sea. Others have been trapped there, seen only in the crest of the waves, the foam of the sea, specters and warnings of what can happen. 

So the next time you feel beat, think of the Unicorn. She fights for love, for the fate of the rest of her kind, for prophecy, but mostly, she fights for herself.