When I lost my little brother as a child, my entire world changed. Grief, especially when it comes early in life, has a way of wrapping itself around everything, your thoughts, your sleep, your sense of safety. For years, I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling. What I did have, though, was a packet of colouring pencils.

My brother was the artist, he loved to draw and would sit for hours with grandad drawing pictures of Sonic the hedgehog and Dracula. When we lost him, I continued to draw for him, to feel close to him and to remember him.

I don’t think I realised at the time that what I was doing was therapy. I just knew that when I sat quietly with a piece of paper and let my hand move sketching, colouring, doodling, I felt a little less heavy. I didn’t need to explain what was going on in my head. I could just be and it brought me a sense of relief.

Over time, art became a kind of language for me, one without grammar or rules. It was a way to process loss, yes, but also a way to celebrate memories, to explore joy, and to manage the curveballs life kept throwing. It was the place I returned to when I didn’t know where else to go.

More than just drawing

People often think they need to be “good” at art to enjoy it. That couldn’t be further from the truth. My early drawings weren’t masterpieces and in all honesty my later stuff isn't either. My work is messy, raw, sometimes chaotic. But that’s exactly what made them powerful. Art doesn’t judge you. It doesn’t ask you to explain. It just holds space for you to show up exactly as you are.

These days, I like to try out as many art mediums as possible. Painting is my passion, but try my hand at drawing, sewing, knitting and collage regularly. I don't always have time for my larger projects but I keep the creativity flowing daily by keeping an art journal. The art journal, my visual version of a diary. It’s full of layers: splashes of paint, scraps of paper and fabric, smudges of charcoal, little quotes that mean something to me, photographs and inspiring images. Some pages are soft and delicate; others are wild and loud. Together, they tell a story, not in perfect, polished sentences, but in colour and movement and emotion.

My art journal isn’t about creating something “pretty.” It’s about being honest. On the days I’m overwhelmed, I let that show. On the days I’m content, that shines through too. Flipping back through old pages is like reading love letters to every version of myself — the grieving girl, the anxious teenager, the woman I am now. There’s something beautiful about that kind of self-reflection.

A form of mindfulness

One of the greatest gifts art has given me is mindfulness. When I sit down to sketch or paint, time seems to soften. I focus on how the brush feels in my hand, the way colours mix, the sound of pencil scratching on paper. It pulls me out of my racing thoughts and plants me firmly in the now.

Even on my busiest days, a few minutes with my art journal can ground me. It’s not about escaping life,  it’s about tuning in and paying attention. Giving myself permission to slow down, even just for a moment.

Starting your own art journal

If you’ve been carrying something heavy, or even if you’re just looking for a little more joy in your days, I invite you to try art. Not for anyone else, just for you. Let it be imperfect. Let it be messy. Let it be real.

You don’t need fancy supplies or an art degree. Just a willingness to listen to yourself a little more closely. Art is one of the most human things we can do. It’s how we make sense of the world, how we connect, how we heal.

If the idea of creating your own art journal feels a little intimidating, especially if you don’t consider yourself “creative,” you’re not alone. Many people feel a bit awkward at first, but like anything, it gets easier (and more rewarding) with time. Think of it as learning a new language; one made of colours, textures, and shapes instead of words.

Here’s how you can begin:

What you’ll need:

• A journal or sketchbook: Choose something that feels good in your hands. It doesn’t have to be fancy, even a basic notebook works.
• A few simple supplies: Start with what you have. A pencil, some coloured pens or markers, maybe a glue stick. If you enjoy painting, add a small watercolour set or acrylics. A pair of scissors and a stack of old magazines can also open up a world of collage possibilities.
• An open mind: This is the most important thing. Leave perfection at the door.

Getting started:

• Make a mark every day: It could be a single doodle, a quick colour wash, a torn piece of a postcard — anything. The goal is to show up, not to impress.
• Use prompts if you feel stuck: Try things like “Draw the thing that made you smile today,” or “Use three colours that match your current mood.” Or make a page inspired by your favourite song, a childhood memory, or something you’re grateful for.
• Include more than just drawings: Write down words, glue in mementos, layer paint over text, scribble your thoughts sideways. This is your space — anything goes.
• Don’t judge your pages: Some will look like chaos. Others might feel quiet and unfinished. Let them be. Each one is a little snapshot of a moment, not a masterpiece for display.

Stick with it:

At first, this process might feel strange, especially if you haven’t created in a long time. But give it time. Like any mindful practice, the magic lies in the showing up. Bit by bit, you’ll start to notice shifts: a clearer mind, softer edges on hard days, and maybe even a spark of joy when you least expect it.

A joyful ritual

Over the years, art and crafting has become more than just therapy for me,  it’s become a source of joy. I paint to celebrate now, not just to heal. I make cards for loved ones, decorate my home with little pieces of myself, and share the occasional sketch online. It’s no longer just about coping,  it’s about connecting.

I still carry my little brother with me in everything I do. He shows up in my art, sometimes as a memory, often as a photo or simply his favourite colour. I like to think he’d be proud of how far we’ve come together.