If I’m being honest, the past five years have felt like one long ache. Really hard. Grief that rattles the bones. Anger that simmers beneath the surface. Sadness that arrives in tidal waves, uninvited, unrelenting.

Sometimes, something bad happens—and I break open. The anger burns. The sadness spills out. And together, they kidnap hope. They tie her up, gag her, and hide her deep in the dark.

But slowly… quietly…the light inside me begins to flicker. Weak at first, but persistent. It whispers through the cracks. It reaches for the locked door.

Hope has been locked up. But she hasn’t left. She waits.

She waits with strength I forget I have. She brings a spark that reminds me—maybe, just maybe—light is still possible. Just as I start to believe it, though, just as I begin to feel hopeful… something bad happens again. And again. Until the ache convinces me this is all there is.

Anger tells me life is hard and always will be. Sadness says suffering is forever. They’ve silenced hope so many times that now she barely whispers.

The loudest voice in my head isn’t anger anymore. It’s despair.

Despair doesn’t scream. She slinks in and sits beside me, whispering, “What’s the point of anything?” “Why bother dreaming?” “Isn’t life just suffering dressed up in disguise?”

I notice the sunrise. And I ask myself, “ If life was only gloom, would the sun still show up every day?”

A stranger shows me kindness. And I wonder, “ If the world was made of only hate, would kindness still move me this much?”

And when my son flings himself into my arms, bursting with joy—I ask myself, “ If life was only pain, how could I feel this much love?”

These moments are the answers. Hope has been answering me all along.

She isn’t gone. She’s just quiet. She lives in the questions. She hides in the sunrise. She clings to the laughter of children. She weaves herself into kindness, into beauty, into love.

And maybe—just maybe—hope doesn’t need to shout to be heard. Maybe she just needs us to remember how to listen.

Because hope never really leaves. She waits. She whispers. And when we finally turn toward her…She rises.

Therapeutic Art Activity: Finding Hope

This therapeutic art activity is designed to support you when you feel disconnected from hope. When we experience prolonged stress, grief, or emotional overwhelm, it’s common for hope to feel distant or inaccessible. This exercise invites you to gently reconnect by giving form to that feeling—through imagery, colour, and imagination.

There is no right or wrong way to complete this activity. You are not expected to feel hopeful—you’re simply invited to explore what hope might look like to you today.

Use this time to slow down, reflect, and create without judgment. Let the process be the healing, not the outcome.

💛 A printed copy of the worksheet

💛 Crayons, markers, pencils, or anything to draw and write with

💛 (Optional) Glitter, stickers, washi tape—anything that brings joy STEP-BY-STEP INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Pause first. Take a deep breath. There’s no rush. Be in the moment.

2. Look at the figure on the page. This is your Hope. Right now, she’s/he’s waiting to be seen.

3. Draw what Hope looks like to you. Give her/him a face, an expression, a feeling. Add colours, textures, symbols, clothes—whatever comes to you. There is no wrong way.

4. Let Hope speak. In the space at the bottom, imagine what Hope might say to you.

5. Keep this somewhere close. Tape it to your mirror. Slip it into your journal. Let it be your reminder: Even when you can’t find her/him, Hope will always be here.