The Awkward In-Between: Learning to Love the Messy Phase of Growth

There’s an awkward phase in just about everything. Middle school. Growing out bangs. And, apparently, my art.

Lately, my painting process has felt a lot like being a teenager again—stuck somewhere in the middle of who I am and who I want to be. Not quite fully formed, not totally confident, but knowing I want to grow and just not always sure how to get there.

For years, art was my escape, my creative playground. I painted when I felt like it, let it be whatever it was in the moment, and never put too much pressure on myself to improve. And for a long time, that was exactly what I needed. I wasn’t trying to master composition or refine my technique—I was just following instinct, making things that felt good to make. But now, I want more. I want to push myself beyond what feels easy and natural. I want to develop real skill, to understand the why behind the things I’m drawn to. And that means stepping out of my comfort zone, questioning my choices, and figuring out what really works instead of just relying on intuition.

And that’s where the teenage feelings kick in.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I was—sometimes by testing the waters, sometimes by imitating others. I remember overanalyzing my outfits, my music choices, the way I spoke, wondering if I was coming across the right way. Was I too much? Was I not enough? Should I try to fit in more? And now, I catch myself doing something similar with my art. I hesitate before making big choices in a painting, wondering if I should push it further or leave it alone. I analyze what works, what doesn’t, and whether I’m forcing something or holding back too much. For the first time, I’m not just painting for fun—I’m painting with intention. And that means looking at my work with a critical eye, not to tear it down, but to understand it better.

I’ve realized that confidence doesn’t come from hoping something turns out well—it comes from trusting yourself because you’ve done the work. My husband made a great point about this when we were talking about risk-taking in art: a seasoned athlete doesn’t take a shot and hope it goes in. They’ve practiced that shot thousands of times. Their confidence isn’t a gamble—it’s experience.

And when I think about someone who truly embodied this kind of confidence, I think about my dad. He wasn’t afraid to take risks, not because he knew things would always work out, but because he trusted himself to rise to the occasion no matter the outcome. Whether in business, life, or the decisions he made, his confidence wasn’t about guarantees—it was about knowing he could handle whatever came next. That made it easier for him to take big risks, because he wasn’t just betting on an outcome, he was betting on himself.

That’s where I want to be. I’ve spent the last few years developing confidence in my ability to transform traditional art into digital. I’ve learned what makes depth work, what colors balance each other, what compositions feel right. But when it comes to traditional painting—acrylics, pastels, watercolors—I’m in a different stage of growth. This is the part where I have to put in the work, take the risks, and let myself be uncomfortable long enough to come out the other side stronger.

If I could go back and talk to my teenage self, I’d tell her this: You’re going to get there. You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. You are already enough, exactly as you are. And there’s actually so much beauty in this in-between space, even if you don’t see it yet. So trust yourself. Be kind to yourself. And don’t be so quick to wish away this phase—because one day, you’ll look back and realize how much you grew because of it.

And I think the same thing applies to my art.

Maybe I’ll look back at this phase and see the rough edges, the uncertainty, the way I was stretching and struggling to grow. But maybe I’ll also see how much heart was in it. How much I was learning. How much I was showing up and trying, even when it was hard. And maybe I’ll realize that this stage—the messy, uncomfortable, “figuring it out” stage—was just as beautiful as whatever comes next.

So I’m going to try to embrace it. At least this time, I don’t have side bangs and Bongo jorts making things even worse lol!