This is what happens when my nervous system craves softness but my soul shows up in combat boots. Welcome to the painting equivalent of emotional whiplash; equal parts tough love and neon tenderness.

People ask why I don’t sell my art. The short answer? Because capitalism gives me hives. The long answer? It’s all emotional alchemy, pod vibes, and nervous system regulation, and I’m not here to invoice my healing.

Sometimes your ADHD nervous system just flips the table and walks out. So you paint. With your hands. Because words don’t work, and thinking only makes it worse

I left a piece of my soul in the frame section between a cracked vase and a neon toaster. Because sometimes, the world just needs a weird little painting whispering, “You’re not alone.”

Some parts of me never got to speak. So now I hand them a paintbrush.

Before I knew how to write a sentence, I was already telling stories with color, glue sticks, and whatever I could smear across paper. Art wasn’t a hobby. It was my first language.

If my art style had a relationship status, it would be “it’s complicated”. Welcome to ADHD creativity where change isn’t chaos, it’s evolution.

I have over 500 art supplies. I use maybe 10 of them regularly. The rest? Emotional insurance. This isn’t hoarding, it’s survival, neurodivergent-style. A peek inside my chaotic, colorful toolkit of creative sanity.