Claiming my birthright and revealing my shadow artist.

On giving myself permission to live a creative life.

“Too intimidated to become artists themselves, very often too low in self-worth to even recognize that they have an artistic dream, these people become shadow artists instead. Artists themselves but ignorant of their true identity, shadow artists are to be found shadowing declared artists. Unable to recognize that they themselves may possess the creativity they so admire… Artists love other artists. Shadow artists are gravitating to their rightful tribe but cannot yet claim their birthright.”

Reading those words from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way last week instantly hit me in the feels and I physically felt ill. A mirror I didn’t know I hid from was suddenly placed in front of me forcing me to face the Shadow Artist I didn’t realize existed in myself for so many years. 

Ever since I can remember, I gravitated towards artists. All my high school crushes were skilled in some art form or another. Most of my friends were in the band, so much so that I was often mistaken for a band member and allowed to occupy a coveted band locker in the main hallway. And I was often asked why I never auditioned for drama club or whatever play my school was putting on at the time. Hmm, I wonder why that was.

As I got older, most of my romantic interests were musicians and singers and you bet I was always front row center or side stage cheering on the temporary love of my life, subconsciously envious of the stage they occupied. Any creative endeavor I could support, I did so with much tenacity that you’d think I had a personal investment in the success of it other than genuine care for the artist. A deep longing lingered in the shadows trying not to reveal the mask placed over it. 

I took my lunch in a cute little cafe near my office to do some writing last week.

The ferocity of my support stemmed from the belief that a creative life was not mine to have. My path was corporate. It was technology. It was fixing broken systems, bullshitting disgruntled clients, and selling them systems they didn’t need. I did this until it almost killed me. No extreme euphemism. Constantly dying to my creative self to sustain a lifestyle I didn’t truly want drove me deeper into the depression already hardwired into my brain until I was forced to remove myself from that world.

Reading about the shadow artist also made me realize that standing side-by-side with my Shadow Artist was my Shadow Queer. I have always been a safe space and system of support for friends who were a part of the LGBTQIA+ community, wearing the self-appointed title of “ally” as a badge of honor secretly desiring the freedom to just be despite all opposition and incessant reminders that how I naturally felt, was considered the wrong way to be.

These revelations started a grieving process I didn’t know I needed to acknowledge before fully stepping into the creative life that has come to be. One I intentionally created and continue to nourish and grow. I have to grieve the Creative Ashleigh who missed opportunities, hid her gifts and talents, and instead amplified those of others because that was what was safer.

I’m grateful that I began the journey of claiming my creative birthright and allowed the queer artist to come from out of the shadows. This life feels more authentic. More free. More mine. And though I grieve the years lost, I am grateful that I won’t look back at an entire lifetime of regret and heartbreak over never becoming who I was truly meant to be.

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If you too have a Shadow Artist you haven’t yet shown a light on, here’s an extra push from my friend and “hope dealer extraordinaire,”

𝑫𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒂 𝑫𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔

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Put Some Respect on YOUR Creativity

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