I’m an Art teacher.

That’s such an amazing, thrilling thing to be able to say.

Up to now, I have taught art classes and projects to children and adults. I have sold some of my paintings, and some clay pieces. I’ve been commissioned to paint special works on canvas and on bedroom walls. I have filled in for other Art teachers. But I’ve never officially been an Art teacher, or at least, I’ve never seen myself that way. Now, however, not only do I have the formal job title anyway, I really do feel like an Art teacher, capital A and all.

You might think that I finally feel official because I’ve now completed my first week’s worth of art classes with my students in kindergarten through fifth grade. That’s surely a part of it. But I think it’s a small part in comparison to the bigger picture.

Last night we had our school’s Curriculum Night, our open house where parents came to learn more from the teachers about what their children will be learning this year. I teach more than half of the subject areas for fourth and fifth grades, and teach Art to everyone, so, I was there the whole evening. I bounced from classroom to classroom, repeatedly giving my passionate spiel about my plans for cohesive themes through the year, and how under each of those umbrellas, students will explore both the creation of art and how it is perceived, in various ways, through various projects, et cetera, with an emphasis on process over product, and allowing creativity for each child to mean for them what it needs to mean, instead of any insensible expectations that could be set for them. (I could go on forever here, but I’ll lose my point for this post.)

So, I’m giving this spiel for every class, and every group of parents is enthusiastically appreciating what I’m talking about, reflecting my excitement back to me, they were beaming, it was so great. And I realized, after about the third time I went through this presentation, that what was happening was that they were seeing me. As an artist, and a teacher. As an Art teacher.

They were seeing me.

Y’all…I have been SEEN. I have been FOUND.

It was this feeling of like, looking around for so long trying to figure out where I’m going, but then realizing, wait a minute…I have ARRIVED.

I feel beyond any doubt that this is what I’m meant to do with my life. And I fought like hell through fire to get to this point. It would be enough to say that I have found my calling, in and of itself. It is another matter entirely to consider the fact that I had buried my calling so deeply inside myself for so long that this wonderful congruence might never have occurred at all. It’s scary to think that I was almost lost forever.

From a very young age, I had always loved art. When people think back to what their childhood dreams were, they remember saying things like astronaut and ballerina and baseball player. The very first thing I ever said I wanted to be when I grew up was an artist. Throughout my childhood, whenever I wasn’t reading books, I was creating art in various forms. I would spend so much of my free time drawing and painting that when we moved into a different house (I was about 8), my mother set up part of the finished basement as an art studio for me (one of the few good memories of her supporting me that I have). Nothing brought me more joy than opportunities to be artistic and creative.

Then my parents split up, my world was rent apart, I was put through even more years of isolating, soul-crushing trauma, and I never picked up so much as a crayon for over a decade.

No art came forth from me at all for many years. Even in art classes in middle school, I put in minimal effort, just barely enough to pass; I never even considered enrolling in any fine arts classes in high school. Actually, I never knew what part of the school those classrooms were in, and still don’t know to this day. (I got heavily involved in the music program instead which satisfied the arts credit requirements.)

This piece of me that was a core part of myself, that was foundational, was shut down and locked away so completely that I had entirely forgotten about it, for about 12 years, until one day in 2011, I bought a set of cheap watercolors and a pad of paper on a whim, thinking it might be a fun way to pass my evenings. It took some time for me to remember that I used to derive such passionate fulfillment from art, and to start feeling that fulfillment again.

Can one truly say that they’ve arrived, if it turns out they never really left?

I burst into ugly tears when I finally had a chance to consciously work all this out, in my therapy session after school today. It’s a momentous weight, this congruence (that’s what my therapist calls it). After listening to my overwhelming joy and talking me through the revelation of my profound self-discovery, I shared my curriculum details with her, and she almost made me burst into tears all over again when she said that she wished I was her Art teacher too.

I should think myself lucky I didn’t burst into tears at school! In truth, I think myself lucky, end of sentence.

The parents from last night don’t know any of this history of mine, of course. (Well, I guess if they read this post, they’ll learn! That’s the nature of soul-baring, people tend to notice!) All they saw and heard was my genuine love for art and my excitement at the opportunity to share that love with their children. That was more than enough for them to, I think, be on board with me being the “Art teacher with a capital A” at school. They found me, right when I was also finding myself, and together we have found that, funnily enough, apparently this is right where I belong.

Never underestimate the power of validation for a person who spent most of her life perfecting invisibility in order to survive.

Last night, at the beginning of each presentation about my Art class curriculum, I would say in a fun voice from SuperMario, “It’s-a me!” (It got laughs, and pretty much all of the parents already know me, so it felt like a fun way to reintroduce myself in the context of my new role.) Sure, it was silly. But I don’t think I could have said a truer thing last night than that very first phrase debuting as the Art teacher.

It’s me.