Drawing your feelings

Drawing Your Feelings: When the Hand Finds a Way

There are days when “How are you?” is a surprisingly difficult question. You might be tired, irritated, a little sad, and worried about something you cannot quite name. “Fine,” you say, because explaining it all would take more energy than you have.

On such a day, a pencil and a piece of paper can offer somewhere to begin.

Imagine sitting at the kitchen table and drawing the feeling you have carried all morning. Perhaps it becomes a tight knot, a heavy stone or a tangle of lines that presses against the edges of the page. You choose a colour, make a mark, and then another. Gradually, something that was difficult to describe takes a visible form.

You can look at it now. You can become curious about it.

In Narrative Arts Therapy, I understand this as another way of listening. We listen through the movement of the hand, through colour, pressure, shape and the spaces we leave open. A drawing offers something we can explore together, with the person who made it leading the discovery of its meaning.

There is no universal dictionary in which blue means sadness or a dark line means anger. Blue might be your grandmother’s kitchen, the sea on a winter morning, or the colour of somewhere you feel at home. I might ask, “What catches your attention here?” or “What would you like to tell me about this part?” Your associations give the image its life.

What does science help us understand about this work?

One useful place to begin is attention. Drawing gives us a task we can see and touch: following a line, choosing a colour, noticing what happens when two shapes meet. It can offer a temporary resting place from repetitive worries. Studies with children have found that drawing something unrelated to a sad experience can improve mood in the short term, with enjoyment and absorption contributing to that shift. Sometimes drawing a bird or an imaginary garden is exactly the breathing space a person needs.

There is also research into the body’s response to making art. In a small study of 39 healthy adults, cortisol levels were lower, on average, after 45 minutes of art-making. Cortisol is a hormone involved in our stress response. Previous artistic experience did not significantly affect the results. Because the study had no comparison group, it offers an encouraging clue rather than proof that art-making alone caused the change.

Drawing can also become a bridge towards words. Looking at the knot on your page, you might say, “I think this is how it feels when everyone needs something from me.” A vague discomfort begins to acquire a name and a context.

Research with adults has found that labelling emotions in images is associated with changes in brain activity, including a reduced response in the amygdala, which helps us respond to emotionally significant experiences. This suggests one possible reason why finding words for feelings can help us manage them. It is research about naming emotions, however, rather than direct evidence of what happens in the brain when we draw our own feelings.

For me, the value of the drawing also lies in the conversation it makes possible. “I am a mess” can become “There is a great deal of pressure in this picture.” We can begin to ask what contributes to that pressure, when it eases, and what support might help.

Perhaps you notice that your knot has a loose end. Perhaps you want to give the heavy stone somewhere to rest. These are possibilities to explore, and you decide whether they connect with your life. The drawing can remain unfinished while you think.

If you would like to try, take a sheet of paper and whatever is nearby: a pencil, a few crayons or some paint. Ask yourself, If this feeling had a shape, what might it look like? Allow your hand to begin, and let yourself work for a few minutes without judging the result.

Then look with curiosity. What do you notice? Is there a part you would like to stay with? You might add a word or a sentence, or simply put the page aside. If drawing the feeling becomes too intense, pause and turn towards something steadier—a familiar object, the view from your window, the sensation of your feet on the floor.

Some drawings bring relief. Others bring questions, or make us aware that we would like someone beside us as we explore. There is room for each of these responses.

A drawing can be a small act of attention to your own life. For a little while, you give a feeling colour, space and company, and allow yourself to discover what it has been asking you to notice.