Chapter 2: College & Grad School and Lutheran Social Services

    "During my undergrad years, I was a typical college student.  It was almost if I had relapsed with my bad behaviors I had when I was younger.  Part of it was being a young adult and wanting to experience, but the other part was..I didn't know how to cope.  I felt like no one understood me.  I felt alone, and I was embarrassed to tell anyone how I was truly feeling.  So I turned to alcohol, partying and being promiscuous.  "

     

     My freshman year, I went off the deep end.  Part of it was the freedom, and the other part... the bigger part was trying to figure out who I was.  I gave up on art, I gave up on my friends back home... and the most hurtful part was giving up on my family. The entire year, I went to class.. hungover... I did my homework, but barely.  And I just barely skimmed through classes.  Towards the end of the year, my brain cells where beat, and I felt alone.  More alone than I ever felt before.  I knew that I had to make a change in my life, or I was never going to make it out of this successful.  So I decided to quit drinking, smoking... and settle down.  Then, I met a guy.  A guy who paid attention to me, who acted like he cared.. and made me fall in love instantly.  I thought this was great, he didn't drink.  I recently quit drinking.  Little did I know this was going to turn into a disaster.  Something that yet again, I would learn from. I dropped everything I was doing, ignored my friends.  Left my family hanging all the time, just for my unhealthy relationship.  However, I had no idea it was unhealthy.  I was blinded by "love."  I still didn't do my art, and my so called "therapy" was unfortunately, my boyfriend at the time.  

    Things went from bad to worse over the years, and finally on a mid summer day, it all ended.  I had never felt a broken heart before, and mine was more than broken.  I felt empty, beaten, and sick.  I didn't know up from down, and frankly, I didn't care.  However, my family never left my side.  My dad was there for me, and without him making me get out of bed everyday... I have no idea where I'd be today, because it sure wouldn't be here.  

    I started my senior year of college, and slowly went back to my old drinking, smoking and promiscuous habits.  I was free again, and went right back to where I was my freshman year of college.   I wasn't happy for a long time, but I acted like it.  I had to turn my life around, but I didn't know how.  In order for me to graduate, I had to somehow turn all my grades around.  It was my last semester, and most of my classes were Art Therapy courses.  I dug deep into my soul, and found my talent, my secrets, and my therapy... once again.  And then I met Chris.  Who, for the first time in years... made me feel good about myself... encouraged me to shoot for my dreams.  Who was the first genuine guy who legitimately cared about me. Slowly, I stopped going out... I spent more time at home... at home sitting locked in my bedroom, texting Chris... and painting.  I was happy.  I felt relieved.  I felt revived.  I applied to graduate school and got in.  I had a plan.  But I didn't know where Chris fit into that plan.... I knew that he made me feel damn good about myself.  But I didn't know if I could give up all my unhealthy habits.  

   The summer before grad school... was so up and down.  I loved Chris.  I always did from day one.  But I couldn't stop screwing up.  I was afraid.  Afraid of my feelings, afraid of hurting him repeatedly.  Afraid to commit once again because of the pain I suffered years ago.  The first week of school was an absolute blur.  My advisor put me into place and scolded me.  I instantly had a hatred for her, but it was what I needed.  I went back and forth and back and forth from dropping out or sticking with it.  It wasn't until I started my internship at Lutheran Social Services for me to kick myself in the ass and get going.  I started to feel like I was making a difference... and these kids that I was working with, reminded me of myself when I was young.  I knew right then that I had to make a difference for these kids, I had to give them what I didn't have when I was struggling at their age.  

       Introducing these  adolescents to Art Therapy had an impact on their lives as well as my own, in a more personal way.  Art Therapy helped these adolescents see the world through different eyes and gave them hope and courage through their treatment process. I  learned how to work with and interact with a diversity of children and adolescents who were struggling with everyday life functions and more of being a teenager.  It is known that doctors usually treat the physical problems and aspects of these teens, but they are often struggled with trying to find a “therapeutic treatment” for this age category. That's where I came in.  Teenagers, more often than not, crave more original and modernized ways to express themselves than through ‘talk therapy.'  This I know, because I was struggling when I was their age too.  Art as an expressive language helped guide these kids into self discovery and communicate difficult feelings and thoughts through different art mediums, and I was on the ultimate high... I couldn't believe the impact that art had on these kids.

       During my clinical intern work at Lutheran Social Services-Homme Home, I learned and respected each resident’s abilities to express their emotions in both nonverbal and verbal ways.   One of the greatest struggles for these adolescents is their hostility to authoritative figures and downfall of trust in the ‘adult’ population.  Exactly what I went through when I was their age.  I learned first handedly through my internship work, the struggles to build a therapeutic relationship and still maintaining proper boundaries with these adolescents, who had little to no trust in the adult world.   I wanted to be that person that I didn't have when I was their age.  And I was.  I did it because I knew that they needed it.  I needed it.  

I never thought that it would be possible to have a group of adolescents to have such a life changing experience affect myself, in such a short amount of time. My life changed forever. 

 I found it a lot easier to remember details about their lives than I thought I would, because it helped me get through some of my struggles that I suffered with when I was their age. Before I started, I had so many concerns about how these teens were going to react to me, how I was going to survive everything, all my processing notes, keeping the kids straight from who’s who. Constantly asking: Do I have enough material for everyone? Is the material beneficial for everyone? What I’ve really discovered is that these teens really like art and they really benefit from it. Sometimes I thought they were teaching me more than I was helping them, which is okay when you’re in your intern work. In fact, they made me realize one of the most delightful, yet challenging aspects of my work in seeing these adolescents come in dealing with the same stress and issues that sometimes, I was learning to deal with in my life too. These teens kept me honest with myself and I’m not kidding when I say that I was just a couple steps ahead of them in learning how to deal with some of my own malfunctions. I was told by one of the therapists I worked with: “the best therapists are those who have learned from their own experiences because the wisdom you need as a counselor doesn’t only come from books”.   I now live by this motto and becoming a successful therapist to me means that I will always be able to take that next step in my own personal growth, and to be able to confront that next issue that is often looked at as a “problem” and treat it through art and helping whoever I can along the way.  

How Art Changed My Life. Chapter 1.

How Art Changed My Life. 

By: Haley Forslund

The Chapters of my life that lead me into who I am today. 

Abstract

Nobody can imagine their life as full and beautiful without art.  Art is beauty, play, creation, imagination, expression, inspiration and intuition.  I believe that artists express their emotional world through creativity.  Art is the center of feelings and sentiments of a person coming out of life experiences.  Art approaches these events and objects, not necessarily for the purpose of representing them, but for raising emotions to stir up feelings within a persons soul.  Through feelings, art and creativity reaches to the center  of who we are, inspires us and helps us maintain our sense of humanity, and further develops our sense of who we are.  I believe that art is a release of emotions and imagination that can help us therapeutically solve many issues that we as humans encounter.

• Chapter 1: My Childhood and Early Adulthood

• Chapter 2:  College and Graduate School

• Chapter 3:  Internship for Lutheran Social Services

• Chapter 4:  Art Therapy at NAFC

• Chapter 5:  Umtha Welanga

• Chapter 6:  My “Ah-Ha” Moment

CHAPTER 1

  My Childhood and Early Adulthood. 

When I was growing up, I was the typical American child.  I loved being outside, I loved my imagination, and I could keep myself busy even if I was by myself. I had the “All American Dream.”  I had a wonderful dad who played outside with me, taught me how to build things, taught me how to ride a bike, taught me what good music was, taught me to swing a bat.. and stick up for myself.  I had a beautiful mom whose imagination was more active than her children.  She painted everything in our house, and her gardens and flowers were wonderful jungles to play in with my imagination, who could “skip-it” just as good as I could, and gave me my free-spirit.  She taught me everything I needed to know about art; how to love it, how to be good at it, and how to use it as a therapeutic tool.  Both my parents were excellent at encouraging me and my art, and my sister was always there right by my side encouraging me too.  

However, my parents weren’t meant to be.. like most parents in America today, they ended up getting divorced because of their differences and were probably too young to marry in the first place.  I was going into 5th grade and my life turned upside down with the flip of a switch.  Suddenly, my “All American Dream” family, was there no more.  I knew it would happen.. in fact, I’m sure I told that to my parents the day they announced they were making these life changes.  My younger sister started to cry, and I knew I had to be strong for her.. so I threw on my “bratty attitude” and said: “I told you so...” to my parents.  As sad as it was, it eventually turned out for the better.  

Soon, it was just me, my sister and my dad while my parents worked out their differences.  It seemed like eternity.  My dad had to learn how to play the mom role, and he did a fantastic job, however.. it wasn’t easy.  For him.  For us.  Or my mom.  

We kept ourselves together as best as we could.  I kept myself as strong as I could... for as long as I could.  And like I have said before, I’m not usually one to talk about things until I reach my breaking point, then it all explodes.  Before my parents split, I experienced some other traumatizing events that lead up to my behaviors and my trust issues that I still battle today... and learned my “bottling everything up” strategy... that (let me tell you) did not work and still doesn’t work.  That eventually made explosions later that I’m surprised, didn’t blow up the continent.  

My parents finally figured out a custody agreement, and my behaviors were out of this world.  I was so used to being the strong one..that I didn’t know how to cope with everything that had happened.  Everything that had happened before... and everything that my family was going through.  Both my parents moved on, and had started new relationships. Even though it was hard to understand then, it has shaped me into who I am today.  However-  I had so much bottled up anger and confusion...that I didn’t know how to express. verbally.   Other than throwing tantrums, and screaming extremely hurtful things at anyone who said the wrong word to me.  

Before I knew it, I was sitting in different counselor offices.  Awkwardly.  I can remember sitting there... and sitting there.  And refusing to talk.  I didn’t want to talk about it... especially not with a stranger.  I didn’t want to talk about anything with my parents because I was afraid of my own weakness, and I was terrified of hurting their feelings. 

Through all the darkness I was battling at this time in my life, I found light through art.  I could sit in my room and draw for hours.  I could sit outside and color for hours.  Art is what brought me back to my sanity.  It was my escape.  It helped me establish stability again.  I had notebooks that contained purely scribbles and doodles of thoughts and images of how I was feeling, how I felt, and secrets I never told.  It was my sanctuary.  It was my sanity.  

When I entered high school, my art teacher noticed me right away.  Noticed my drawings, noticed my quietness when I was in the classroom.  The only classroom that I concentrated in.  The only classroom that had my attention at all times.  And the only classroom I wanted to be in. I can honestly say that I got through my entire high school career without completing one assignment in art class.  My teacher knew that I needed that time, and knew that I needed to use my own imagination, creativity, and skills to be able to truly express myself.  She encouraged me to express myself during class, because it was making a statement and it was helping me cope.  She saw that in me.  And I still to this day, I  can not thank her enough and I wish I would of gotten the opportunity to thank her more.  She was there to listen to me even when I had no words to say.  She hung up my art work even if it seemed mean and dark, nude and exposed... she didn’t care.  She supported my art.  Because it was truly what I was feeling.  

My senior year, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.  I never thought I would get into college.  I had no plans.  I knew what my parents wanted me to do, I knew what my family wanted me to do.  But I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  Or so I thought.  I just didn’t have the confidence I needed.  Between my art teacher and my guidance counselor consulting me, they introduced “Art Therapy” to me.  I can remember sitting in the counseling office with a dumbfounded look on my face.  

“Art Therapy?” 

“There is a such thing as Art Therapy?”

 “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  

A sudden sense of relief.  A sense of freedom.  

I knew right then and there.  Exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.  

1 USD.

        Sincere apologies for my readers.  I no longer have the internet at my finger tips, so I don’t get to post as often as I’d like.  

I went back to work at Scenic Drive this week.  It has been so amazing seeing everyone, and knowing how much support I had while I was gone as well as my return.  I never thought in a million years that my stories would touch so many lives.  It brings my body to an overwhelming warmth knowing that there is so much empathetic value and passion in other peoples, even strangers hearts.  I was nervous at first.  Nervous to answer so many questions... nervous to how I would be able to respond.  Luckily, I think my mind, body and heart were ready for me to just scramble it all out.  I surprised myself with how I responded to everyone, and I couldn’t of been as strong as I was if it wasn’t for both my bosses there backing me up 100%.  I am forever blessed to have had them by my side for many years, and many years to come.  They have truly helped shape me into the person I am today.  

I have been more relaxed at work than I have ever been, not stressing about the little things... not getting irritated when people ask me to make them a “muddled old fashioned” while I am absolutely swamped... I realized how much I smile.  While I was flipping and counting through my tips last night after my shift, I saved my stack of one dollar bills for last.  I have always hated counting the ones.  I wonder why that is? I remembered when I made my “Support Haley’s trip to South Africa tip jar” a year ago, that started off with a one dollar bill that Wyatt, my bosses son, put into my tip jar. As I sat looking at the crisp one dollar bill I had in my hand, analyzing the art of the dollar, I remembered how valuable this dollar is to my African friends, and how un-valuable it is, or can be, here.  

Abdi.  He was the cigarette and chocolate bar man.  He had a table a couple blocks from our house where he sold cheap cigarettes and candy to all the drunk people leaving the bars.  I got to know Abdi pretty well.  Every day I would walk by him on my way home from work, he would always reach out for my hand and then give me a big warm hug.  He always made my day, and I never looked at him or his gestures as creepy.  He was a genuine person, with a kind heart.  The day before I left Africa, I was walking home from the store and Abdi stopped me for his normal greet, and said “Haley my love, I have a gift for you.”  I smiled at him and said, “Oh Abdi, I don’t need anymore chocolate, my butt is getting big.”  He laughed and said “no no no, no more chocolate, I have better gift for you.”  He then reached into his shoe box where he kept all his change and pulled out an American dollar.  One US dollar.  A one dollar bill.  I giggled at him and said “what’s this for?”  He had such a look of excitement on his face, it was like he was handing me a hundred dollar bill. He said, “I know you are going back to the states tomorrow, and you could use this more than I could, maybe you could buy something really nice with it.”  I almost started to laugh, and almost blurted out how you can’t even buy a candy bar with it in the states.. but then I stopped myself.  It didn’t matter that he was handing me a one dollar bill.  It’s the thought that counts, right?  I kindly accepted and said, “I will let you know what I choose to do with my dollar when I get back to the states.”  He was more than thrilled, and kissed my hand goodbye.  

I smiled at my thoughts, and then continued to count my tip money and wish that I could send him a one dollar bill in the mail.  

My drive home, I’m pretty sure I had a big smile on my face the whole way because when I pulled into my driveway... I sat in my seat for a moment, and didn’t even remember any of the songs that played on the radio on my way home.  I pondered and started thinking about all the great people in my life, how many people supported me while I was gone, and still do today.  How the support of a one dollar bill goes a long way in some peoples eyes. How did I get to be so blessed?  To be able to reach out to so many people, touch so many different lives in different ways?  I had no idea what I was getting myself into a year ago, but it was the best decision I ever made.  Because now people are seeing life through a different set of eyes, not only through me, but seeing what really goes on around the world.  People are changing the way they feel about other people.  People are finally giving other people, strangers, enemies, lovers.... they are finally giving them a chance.  I love being able to witness this, to see it happening right in front of me.  Because everyone deserves a chance.  And funny to think, it all started with a tip jar, with a one dollar bill in it to get me started on this journey.  

Step 1. Finding a job.

         

          Well... here it is.  My new blog.  For those of you that have followed me and my journey half way around the world, here is the introduction to the next step in my life.

          I have adjusted fairly well now.  I have seen most of my family, and it feels nice to know how much I was missed.  I think the time apart has drawn me closer with the rest of my family.  Today, I finally drove back up north, to my home on the lake.  It's nice being home, but it's hard to face the reality that I am moving across the country soon... and my room, garage... I don't know how I've accumulated so much stuff.

         On the drive today I daydreamed.  I didn't have the luxury to listen to my ipod, or talk on the phone... and the radio stations driving through the northwoods is somewhat comparable to listening to a scanner.  I guess I'm still stuck in Africa-time. So, I turned my radio off and thought about the next step in my life.  What do I want to do with my life?  Now that I am back to the real world, officially broke... I have some things to figure out, financially.  I have been applying to jobs out west like nobody's business.  As exciting as it is, the jobs haven't excited me like I thought they would.  Don't get me wrong, there are some that I REALLY look forward to hearing from... but I came to the conclusion that I was applying to most of them for the wrong reasons.  Of course I need a job... I need to make a living.  But I need to be happy while I'm doing that, and working at a job just to make money, is not for me.  I love to work.  I love to make people happy.  But I want to be happy too.  It isn't just about money for me. The last 7 years I have slaved myself to working... working 2, 3..sometimes 4 jobs just to make it by.  Sometimes working over 40 hours on top of going to school.  And I liked it.  I liked staying busy... because then, I didn't have to face the real world like I do now.  Now, now that I have experienced the world... different cultures.. different lifestyles... I have opened my eyes to a new vision of life.  How I want to live. How I want spend my days making a living and most importantly, being happy.  My dad used to tell me when I was younger, "find something you love to do, and you will never have to work a day in your life." -- Well, easier said than done.  For most people anyway.

       But.... I have found something that I love to do.  I know what makes me truly happy.  And that's helping people.  My ultimate dream, is to own my own business.  A non-profit business to be exact.  I want to be able to teach people Art, in a more therapeutic way.  And not just people.  People that need it.  Children that need it. People that can't afford it on their own. To the disabled, to the at risk teens who can't decide between drugs and crime... to the mentally ill.  To the sick.  I want to teach them all.  I want to help them all. I want to have my own studio, my own space... and teach classes.  Because that's what makes me happy.  Like I have said before, when people tell you that you make a difference, and a simple thank you... is the best high one could ask for.

      I know this is a far stretch, and it might take a while to get it going.  But one day, it will happen.  I tried to talk myself out of it, that I'm not qualified enough to start my own business... but then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me.  Who am I trying to kid?  Myself?  I flew to Africa.. by myself.  I started an Art Therapy program at not 1, but 2 different companies.  Sometimes I need to be more confident in myself... because I CAN do it.  And I WILL.  It may not happy right away, but it will happen.