Letting the Paint Dry

Pet Portrait Fundraiser for the Animal Orphanage

A lesson in patience, presence, and the Power of Transparency

After my dad died, I had to find a way to channel my grief—some place to put all the energy, emotion, and restlessness that suddenly had nowhere to go. I found it in a stained glass class.

Stained glass demanded something from me that grief had already taken: focus. Presence. Patience. The pieces don’t just come together. You can’t rush them. You have to slow down, sit with discomfort, and trust the process. I was uncomfortable. I was healing. And I was deeply grateful for my instructor—for holding space while I learned something entirely new.

Like so many things we do to care for ourselves, that practice eventually slipped away when life took over.

More recently, I found myself back in an art studio—this time at Generations Boutique & Art Studio, signing up for a resin ornament class. The samples were beautiful, so I said yes… without fully realizing what I was walking into.

I was handed a blank, round ornament and what felt like a million options—colors, textures, shapes, finishes. Sensory overload hit instantly. I watched other women confidently dive in, designing bold, creative pieces, while I felt frozen. Overwhelmed. Unsure where to start.

I had to remind myself to breathe.

This discomfort mattered. It was exactly the place where my brain and body needed to slow down. Where I had to believe in myself without needing to “get it right” quickly. Where confidence wasn’t about speed or certainty—but about staying present with the learning. Where I had to let the paint dry.

A few weeks later, I found myself back in that same studio—this time for a pet portrait class that doubled as a fundraiser for the Animal Orphanage, a small no-kill shelter in Old Town where I serve on the board.

I’d always wanted to take the class, but timing never lined up. So I asked a simple question: Would you consider hosting one as a fundraiser?

They said yes.

What unfolded was something special. I met people who had adopted from our shelter. We shared stories about our fur babies. We connected over something deeply personal and joyful. It wasn’t just a fundraiser—it was community.

And yes, I felt that same wave of overwhelm again when faced with a blank canvas.

But this time, I laughed. I grabbed a paintbrush. I talked my way through the discomfort. I let go of needing perfection and allowed myself to be present. The art didn’t need to be flawless. It just needed to be honest. And as an added gift, I was surrounded by friends—laughing and sharing space in a way that felt grounding and human.

The Takeaway: The Power of Transparency

Transparency isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about being willing to sit in the in-between. It’s allowing yourself to be a beginner. To feel unsure. To slow down. To trust that clarity doesn’t always come first—sometimes it comes after you start.

Whether it’s grief, leadership, parenting, or learning something new, the growth happens when we stop rushing the outcome and stay with the process.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is this:

Breathe. Put down the brush. And let the paint dry.

That’s the work. That’s the healing. That’s the Power of Transparency.