The Agoraphobic Artist
I’m gonna tell you something I’ve never told a soul… I’m painting social scenes because I use to be afraid of the public.
I was diagnosed with agoraphobia in my twenties.
Not in the way most people imagine it I wasn’t necessarily afraid of public spaces themselves. I was afraid of people. But since it was presenting like I was afraid of outside, I got the diagnosis.
And I’m telling you it was the most irrational gut wrenching fear that if I left my house someone would attack me or even kill me. It felt like social anxiety turned all the way up, to a level where even the idea of leaving my house had me in tears.
The things I did to not leave my house… I found a way to have my groceries and medicine delivered and this was before Covid so my options were very limited. I stopped talking to friends and family. (They only would try to do something outside and I couldn’t explain that I thought I’d be brutally attacked if I went out.) I wasn’t working and was avoiding doctor appointments and meetings. Keep in mind this was before Telehealth was a thing.
For nearly a year, my world became very small and full of fear, panic attacks and suffering.
Healing didn’t happen all at once. I started by emailing therapists in the middle of the night. Why the middle of the night? Because I was also developing a fear of the phone.(And I was afraid that a therapist would immediately call me)
Finally I found a therapist that wouldn’t deny me cause I wasn’t coming in office. She had a plan! Phone appointments, which I dreaded the call. Then we would incorporate in person appointments. Then came the assignments. Always trying to figure how much my mind would tolerate. At first it was just open the front door see how long you can handle it being open.
Eventually, we took it even further, therapy sessions in public spaces, but not anywhere that would have a crowd. Places with space to breathe. Places where I could exist without feeling like I was going to die. I remember my therapist was encouraging me to go on a short walk, just a block. And I did it! Sure I did right before sunrise because that’s when there’s the least amount of people out and about, but I did it.
Each step felt small at the time. But looking back, they were everything.
What I didn’t fully realize then was how much this journey would shape my work.
Because now, I find myself doing something I once couldn’t imagine:
I’m creating a body of work centered on social scenes, people gathering, connecting, existing together in shared space. And you know what those people don’t want to murder me.
Bus stops. Cookouts. Community moments. The local watering hole. Everyday life.
The very thing I once struggled to be near is now what I’m drawn to document.
This work isn’t just about observation, I want to show off and flaunt how I can now be and public.
It’s about what it means to move from isolation into connection.
This past week I’ve started to take pictures for reference at 1911 Smokehouse for a future bar scene painting. And I went by myself and I talked and socialized. Twenty something year old me could never. Now do I still feel that irrational fear, absolutely but instead of it consuming 100% brain it’s about 14% of my brain.
I think with this body of artwork I’m creating, I’m not just painting what I feared.
I’m painting what it took to get here.
And I’m super proud of myself! Looking back I’m glad not to be in a state of constant fear. I’m crying, no one warns you that your life can take a weird and irrational turn.
I’ve learned how to exist in the world again.
Maybe that’s what makes all this art meaningful.
Because behind every scene, every figure, every moment of togetherness…
there’s a quiet story of someone who once couldn’t step outside and now can.
