Learning to Feel Alive When You Were Taught Not To
There’s this teaching by Nicholas Wilton I deeply resonate with — the idea that vibrant, authentic art doesn’t come from working harder or mastering more techniques. It comes from feeling more alive.
That truth feels beautiful to me.
And complicated.
Because what happens when you were trained, for most of your life, not to feel what you like?
What happens when discernment — that internal compass — does not come easily?
This is my lived experience.
And I suspect I’m not alone.
When “What I Like” Was Never the Question
I did not grow up being asked what I preferred.
I grew up learning what was acceptable.
What would avoid criticism.
What would avoid shame.
What would avoid being told I was wrong.
Over time, I internalized a belief that my self-worth was close to zero.
And I need to add something important here (context matters):
I live in India. I am from Kolkata. And in many parts of India, art is not seen as a serious profession unless you are already famous. Unless you are a celebrated name, an exhibiting “big” artist, you are often treated as if you are doing something indulgent or unserious.
Artists are quietly looked down upon. Creative work is considered secondary to “real” jobs — engineering, medicine, IT, government positions.
When I left my corporate IT career to become an artist and teach art, it wasn’t celebrated.
For at least 3 years after I quit, my family continued telling people that I was still in my IT job. That was the more prestigious identity. That was easier to explain. That carried status.
Unless I started making visible money from art, my profession was not mentioned.
Do you understand what that does to a person?
It creates shame around expression.
It creates doubt around creativity.
It makes you question whether your work is legitimate.
I was told, directly and indirectly, that what I was doing wasn’t valuable. That when I began teaching art, I was “tricking people” into paying me. That it wasn’t real work.
When you hear something repeatedly, especially from family and within a culture that already devalues your path, it doesn’t just sit in your mind.
It embeds in your nervous system.
So even while I was helping people create, even while I was witnessing transformation in workshops, a part of me carried this whisper:
You are an imposter.
You are not legitimate.
You are not worthy.
Imagine trying to “feel more alive” while carrying that.
The Gap Between Inspiration and Conditioning
I love the idea of asking:
What do I really enjoy?
What makes me feel alive?
But here is the part that doesn’t get talked about enough.
If you were conditioned to disconnect from your preferences, that question can feel destabilizing.
For me, discernment does not come easily.
When I notice that I love working with white on white, that I’m drawn to subtle textures, that I enjoy quiet layered surfaces — something in me lights up.
And almost immediately, another voice says:
You shouldn’t.
That’s not enough.
That won’t sell.
Create what others would like.
Who do you think you are?
It’s not about the color white.
It’s about permission.
When Pleasure Feels Unsafe
If you were raised to believe that your desires are inconvenient, selfish, or wrong, then pleasure can feel unsafe.
Choosing what you genuinely enjoy can trigger:
- Guilt
- Self-doubt
- Fear of being judged
- Fear of being exposed
- Fear of being “too much” or “not enough”
So when I sit in my studio and feel drawn to something — not because it’s trending, not because it’s marketable, but because it feels alive — my body doesn’t always relax.
Sometimes it tightens.
Because for decades, liking something wasn’t neutral. It was risky.
Discernment Is a Muscle — And Mine Is Relearning
Discernment sounds romantic.
In reality, for someone with my history, it feels like rehabilitation.
It is not a lightning bolt of clarity.
It is subtle.
It is slow.
It often looks like:
- Pausing longer than feels comfortable
- Noticing which mark made my shoulders soften
- Admitting that I like texture more than perfection
- Allowing myself to prefer quiet over bold
Discernment does not come naturally to me because I spent years outsourcing my choices to approval.
Now I am rebuilding that muscle.
Gently.
Repeatedly.
Without drama.
Separating Worth From External Validation
One of the most painful beliefs I carried was that earning money through art was immoral — that I was somehow manipulating people.
But here’s the reality:
When someone chooses to join a class, when they create something meaningful, when they feel more connected to themselves — that is not deception.
That is exchange.
That is impact.
Over the years, I have heard thousands of stories — students coming up to me after workshops sharing how something shifted for them, how they began creating again after years, how their confidence grew, how their life felt different.
Now I receive hundreds of emails from students around the world telling me how much their lives have changed after attending my classes.
So I know this as proof.
You can read some of those stories on my website’s homepage.
The impact is real.
It’s just that my nervous system is taking time to fully understand what my mind already knows.
The narrative that art is not “real work” comes from environments that only value tangible, conventional labor.
But emotional transformation is real.
Creative facilitation is real.
And it deserves respect.
Including from me.
A Practical Way to Reclaim Aliveness
For anyone who relates to this, here is what I am practicing:
1. Start Small
Not with a grand declaration of authenticity.
But with one choice.
- One color I genuinely like.
- One texture that feels satisfying.
- One mark that makes me think, oh… that feels good.
2. Expect Discomfort
If guilt or doubt follows, I don’t interpret it as failure.
I interpret it as old conditioning surfacing.
Nothing is wrong.
My nervous system is adjusting.
3. Separate Creation From Performance
Not everything has to be posted.
Not everything has to sell.
Some pieces are simply practice in choosing myself.
4. Gather Evidence
After creating something aligned with my preference, I ask:
- Did anything catastrophic happen?
- Did I survive choosing what I like?
- Did something in me feel even slightly more whole?
Over time, that evidence accumulates.
And slowly, safety grows.
Why This Matters
When we create from a place of internal aliveness, our work becomes unmistakably ours.
Not because it’s louder.
Not because it’s trendier.
But because it carries coherence.
If you have spent years minimizing yourself, authenticity will not feel dramatic.
It will feel quiet.
It might look like white on white.
Layer on layer.
Subtle depth.
And that is enough.
You Are Not Late
If you are only now — in your forties, fifties, or beyond — beginning to ask what you enjoy, you are not behind.
You are becoming conscious.
There is a difference.
Learning to feel alive when you were taught not to is courageous work.
It is not instant.
It is not linear.
But every time you choose what genuinely lights you up, even in a small way, you are rewriting a lifetime of conditioning.
And that, in itself, is powerful.
