Sometimes the loudest voices we need to quiet are the ones inside our own heads—the critics, the doubts, the constant noise that drowns out creativity and courage.
I’m an overthinker, unfortunately a worrier, and deeply empathetic. My brain goes 24/7 and even wakes me up in the night sometimes. I’ve written about writing blogs as a way of journaling and connecting myself to the truth of God’s Word as an anchor. In the last year I accidentally discovered an activity that forces me to completely devote my whole brain to its execution, effectively silencing all of the voices. I’m not a painter, or I never have been anyway. My mother minored in art in college and taught it in public school until the funding was cut. She’s phenomenal at painting, drawing, decorating, regardless of the medium, she can create. The things she can bring to life with a simple pencil are astounding. I feel like I’ve always been a disappointment to her since I could barely draw a stick figure.
On a whim and in search of something refreshingly different, I found myself at an art studio in the Hampton-Newport News, Virginia area called Painting with a Twist. The studio offers walk-in projects—just choose a painting, pay for your canvas, and they set up your space as you follow step-by-step directions. What I didn’t expect was how much this experience would demand of me: I had to focus intently on the instructions, the color mixing, and the brushwork. It felt like my brain was running at 100%—the way your computer’s CPU spikes when it’s running a heavy program, yet somehow everything keeps working smoothly instead of crashing!
I’ll be honest: I’m not a big risk-taker. In dominoes, I only bid if I’m sure I can win. I rarely leap unless there’s a backup for my backup plan. Trying to become more flexible in this area, I realized painting was a safe, controlled way to take risks. I was honestly terrified to touch that blank canvas with my brush, not knowing if I could follow the directions. The result? My very first painting—proof that sometimes courage is as simple as making the first brushstroke.

Another reason I’d never painted before—aside from doubting my talent—was that it always seemed like such a feminine activity. While yes, I’m a woman, mom, and wife, I’m also a tomboy at heart. I love the outdoors, anything tough and dirty, and I feel awkward in dresses or shopping at boutiques. I often feel out of place at “girly” women’s events, surrounded by talented women who always look magazine-ready and have homes impeccably decorated for every season. I know this is my own hang-up—a small mindset that’s begun to shift in a big way.
With everything happening in our country right now—especially the heartbreak of the horrific loss of life in Texas—I’ve found myself doom-scrolling social media, overwhelmed by negativity. I’ve wept, prayed about, and executed ways to help every day since learning of the tragedy in the Hill Country. It’s been painful to watch compassion get lost in politicized commentary. Yesterday, I decided to try painting —to give 100% of my mind to something else for a bit, to create a moment of quiet and focus in one of my new favorite places.
There are other activities that require my full attention—hiking, for example. Shaun and I recently trekked down the Grand Canyon, and standing in awe of that landscape inspired my latest painting. That’s part of why we love hiking and backpacking: it forces us to be fully present. Sometimes you have to silence the voices, leave work at work and social media in the ether, and do something so challenging it demands all of you, right there in the moment. I never expected to find such a tool at my own dining room table, but I’m grateful to have stumbled onto it. Below is the result of yesterday’s effort to silence the noise and just be present.




