Healed So Hard Her Favourite Colour Is Pink Again

There was a time in my life when I didn’t like pink.

Which feels strange to say now because if you look around my world now, you’ll find it everywhere. My phone case, my water bottle, my journals and even this keyboard that I’m typing on.

Pink in the little things. Pink in the details. Pink in the things I choose without even thinking about it.

And then there’s this painting. The painting I never expected in a million years to get the love and reach that its gotten.

“Healed So Hard Her Favourite Colour Is Pink Again”

I think I had started painting it before I fully understood what it meant. Sometimes we create something before we have words for it and that’s why I find painting so therapeutic. It allows what’s inside to come out which can be easier than speaking to somebody about what’s going on, on the inside.

For me, pink became complicated somewhere along the way. It felt too soft, too girly, too innocent. Maybe I decided that I needed to be tougher than that. Or portray it at least. Maybe somewhere in growing up, protecting myself and becoming who I needed to become, I left that version of myself behind.

But healing has a funny way of bringing you back to the things you thought you had outgrown. Not because your going backwards (instead quiet the opposite), but because you finally feel safe enough to enjoy them again and maybe that’s what this painting is really about.

It’s about softness without apology. It’s about letting yourself be feminine, playful, romantic, hopeful, without feeling like they make you weak. It’s about coming home to little pieces of yourself. The pieces you buried, the pieces you dismissed, the pieces you thought you had to lose in order to become stronger.

Maybe healing isn’t becoming a completely new person, maybe it’s sometimes becoming more YOU!

The girl who loved pink.

The woman who survived enough to love again.

And honestly, I think it’s pretty beautiful.

So this is for anyone who has found themselves slowly returning to things they once loved. A colour, a song, a style, a dream, a version of yourself.

And for me, as I look at the print of my artwork hanging on the wall beside me, this is for the little girl who survived what she thought would change her forever and still found her way back to softness. Still found reasons to feel. Still found beauty in little things. Still chose pink. Not because she forgot the pain, but because she finally realised she was allowed to be soft again.