Guest Artist: Trisha Hughes of Medicated Like Me
Meet Trisha Hughes.
She is a fellow artist & photographer but more so a solid example of how she has taken the dark and stormy pieces of her anxiety and depression and channelled those parts of her into a therapeutic photography project. She shares her intimate journal and documents each entry with a self-portrait titled Medicated Like Me.
Once you read her piece below you will come to see first hand how we managed to connect with a beautiful soul. Trisha is someone with whom we have intertwined our desires for growth and our mission to find other likeminded individuals to share our projects with. And if you needed one more reason to believe how incredibly honored we are to have the TRISHA HUGHES guest blog for us…she responded to one of our emails with: GUYS. GUYS GUYS GUUUUUYYYYYYYYYYSSSSS. I'm sitting at a coffee shop w tears in my eyes looking thru your website. I am so fucking in love with what you guys are doing. Can I say that?? Holy shit. What can I do? I am genuinely in love with & want to support everything you're doing. I'm not kidding. What you're doing is so amazing. I would love to help you in any way. Just lmk how we can connect.
And connect we did.
We spoke over the phone for several hours about any and everything and by the time the call came to an end both Trisha & I knew that we needed to share her story here at The dKol la femme Project. After numerous conversations we decided on Trisha writing a piece for us that gives you a glimpse into her story as well as her self-portraits. We asked her to open up to some tough questions and to answer what it means to her to not only be vulnerable but what it feels like to be liberated.
We’ll let her tell the rest.
The road to vulnerability is a long one.
I kept trying to think of how to start this post & when I sat back, got still & closed my eyes, this was the truth that spoke to me. The road to vulnerability is a long one. Not static. Not easy. Not without cost. Not without the brilliant dichotomy of beauty & tragedy. The shedding of skin. Transformation. Losing oneself to an identity you may have spent years building & the subsequent unexpected grief that accompanies that loss. As the former you clings, wails, weeps & gnashes her teeth, desperate to subdue the old you. You are no longer her. You cannot be. But the new you, this brittle, damp, weakling who startles at most everything, can this really be you?
Here, in these most darkest of moments, is where you begin to become the you that you were always meant to be. She was dormant so many years, cocooned in a soft casing of her own making but here, the air is crisp, new & full of possibility. Here, is where you finally allow yourself to take flight & be free.
When I began Medicated Like Me, I had no idea what would become of it. It was literally a snap decision made in a moment of desperate transparency & vulnerability. Embracing a truth I could no longer deny, lest it full destroy me. Most people - even the ones who knew me intimately - had no idea of the struggle that had so fully encompassed my mind. When I consider what my subconscious was likely doing in that moment, now I can see a well formed plan with an albeit clumsy execution. It would be the beginnings my distress signal. SOS. Save me. Heal me. Help me, please. Heal me, please.
So I picked up my camera, turned it on myself & began my journey.
It was not without reservation. In the beginning I hesitated to even show those closest to me. I never wanted what I wrote to be hindered by what someone who knew me might think or feel. I never wanted to hurt the people in my life. But I also needed to tell my version of the truth & that is something I continue to reiterate now. My version of the truth, while every bit real to me, at the end of the day is still just that: my version. And my version of the truth walks hand in hand with other people’s opinions of what I put out into the world. I wish they didn’t walk so closely, but they do, forever entwined in both fact & fiction. My version, their version, our version.
It was very important for me, from the start, to try to be as objective with my photography as possible. My words, they could drip & ooze with the full depth of what I was feeling. But my images - with myself as the subject - they had to remain objective. My camera: cold, emotionless, could capture literally every pixel of my visible being. And as both photographer & subject I then had to decide which of us would edit the images & it just made sense to defer to the me that felt the least concerned about all of the most obvious insecurities that we humans carry concerning our bodies.
I also wonder if my need to photograph myself in such vulnerable moments was equally a quiet rebellion against what so many of us have curated for ourselves: a social media facade that only shows our brightest & best. Happy, smiling, living the dream.
When I first heard the term ‘therapeutic photography’ during a phone call with Danielle it took a minute for it to make sense. I hadn’t realized what I was doing was even a ‘thing’, let alone had a name. But yes, it did made sense to me. Through my photography & online journal, it had been a form of therapy - even my therapist had said she was glad I was doing it. But there became a time when I realized that not everyone was glad.
There were people in my life who felt too close to the stories. Too raw perhaps. Too exposed. I wasn’t explicitly asked to stop but there was a feeling that I presented an undercurrent of duplicity. I was telling stories some people felt would be best not told. And as my situations & circumstances continued to evolve I would be asked directly to ‘not write about this’. While I hate to say that caused me to reexamine what I had written & what I would continue to write, it absolutely did. And I decided to hit pause on Medicated Like Me.
I keep asking myself when I’ll return. What will it take. And I suppose the answer really lies in the moment I allow myself to be ok with knowing there will be people who ultimately won’t be happy in what I share. When will I find the words to allow my story to walk the fine line between being unrelentingly brave but also empathetically considerate?
There is another element of self preservation in pausing. For a moment I don’t have to fully explore those parts of me that are hardest to come face to face with. I’ve finally moved myself to a place where I can literally feel my heart expanding with each new experience. I can feel areas where hard deposits, previously making it impossible for any healing to get inside, have been gently chipped away to reveal a soft, squishy, porous heart. Like a sponge, it absorbs & retains. It softens & seeps. I can feel myself radiate with love & those who would willingly receive, I can pour it into them. I first filled my cup so I could finally fill others. It’s been a wonderful reprieve so… I don’t know if I’m quite ready to go back to that darkened place just yet.
But I also know - there would be no liberation had I not been able to be so vulnerable. I wouldn’t be where I am without the road I traveled down. And because I have chosen to share my story - be so honest, so very open, retain a level of transparency - that has allowed me to forgo any shame or stigma associated with things that many women feel so much guilt around. I’ve empowered myself by being able to tell my story first. And the more I talk, the more I share, the more I ask for & allow myself to receive help - the more women I find coming alongside me to offer their support. We lean on each other. Thank you, we say to each other. I thought I was alone but I see now you are here too.
I’ve accepted I am not the same girl I was when I began my journey. I won’t feel ashamed & I won’t hide. I can’t allow other people’s opinions of me to keep me from living my most brilliant, beautiful, complicated life. While I’ve learned that if I couldn’t ever really fit in, I might as well stand out, that lesson certainly didn’t come without a cost. Ultimately, I choose to say my liberation was worth the price.
You can find out more about Trisha over at Medicated Like Me.
As we begin to expand our mission, we are looking for an array of artisans to join our cause.
We are looking for unique talent. Artists with a drive to create with an intent. We need artists with the capability to create unique art after having heard a personal story. The vision is to create a representation of a story that will be shared and then in turn the participant will receive your one of a kind artwork.
If you are interested in contributing, please email: info@thedkolproject.org