You’d think meeting another art therapist would make me happy.
But that day in Kinokuniya, I broke.

After lunch with my best friend, I wandered into the psychology section, the kind of place that feels like home to people like us. A book caught my eye: Art Therapy for Everyday. I smiled, thinking, No‑brainer. This one’s coming with me.

Then I heard a voice behind me, soft, foreign, and musical. She was on the phone, speaking in another language, blocking a few book spines. When she turned, she apologised, noticed the title in my hand, and laughed.
“Oh my God—we bought the same book!”

She is also an art therapist, a tourist from Turkey.
We chatted for a while: two strangers linked by paint, paper, and healing. She asked if I worked for an organisation. I said I ran an NGO, offering art therapy to those who couldn’t afford it.

Her eyes lit up.
“That’s amazing of you,” she said. “You’re giving therapy for free!”

And just like that, my smile cracked.

Suddenly, her words no longer felt like praise, but rather like evidence of my foolishness.
Yes, I’ve been doing this work for two years. Yes, I’ve poured my heart into people’s healing.
But no, I haven’t been paid. Not a cent.

At that moment, I wasn’t proud of my compassion.
I felt small. Dumb. Like maybe I’d mistaken sacrifice for purpose.

Driving home, the tears came before I could even start the engine. I sobbed until my heart hurt.
For two years, I told myself it was worth it helping others through art, giving hope, filling gaps the system ignored. But sitting there in traffic, I wondered: Have I just been drowning in my own good intentions?

It’s a strange feeling, realising your calling and your exhaustion live in the same body.
That doing good can sometimes cost you everything.
That even healers need to be held.

That day, I didn’t feel like an art therapist.
I felt like a human, a tired, broke human, questioning if love alone can sustain a dream.

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💭 What I’m Learning

• Altruism without boundaries becomes self‑neglect.
  Giving doesn’t mean abandoning yourself.
• Purpose can coexist with exhaustion.
  It’s okay to rest without guilt.
• Recognition doesn’t define worth.
  The work still matters, even when no one’s paying or clapping.

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Someday I’ll tell that Turkish art therapist that her words cracked something open in me, not to shame me, but to remind me that even compassion needs oxygen.
Maybe that’s the real art of therapy: learning where to pour your colours and when to keep a little brightness for yourself.

From That Girl Who Is Learning To Smile
Because even healers need healing sometimes. 🎨💛