Doodling is Never a Waste of Time

I was sitting in my 9th grade English class doodling, wishing I was anywhere but there. The air smelled stale, the over head lights were harsh, and everything around me moved in a blur. The last few students hustled to their desks before the bell rang. I continued drawing. 

Mrs. Something had been playing the audio version of a book we had to read. For weeks I had listened to an audio book I can’t even remember the name of now. I hadn’t taken a single note the entire class. I spent my time listening and drawing. My father passed away just months earlier. The voice reading the book sounded just like him. In a way, it was incredibly sad, but in another way it was healing. As I sat there sketching who knows what, I was processing. In an environment where I couldn’t express my feelings, I expressed them through my art. 

Weeks had gone by listening and doodling, not a single note taken. At the end of class one day, Mrs. Something asked if I’d come see her before I left. This was it. I knew I was in trouble for “not paying attention.” Little did she know, I’d been paying attention in this class more than any other. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been drawing a lot in class.” She said. I nodded. “You really need to start paying more attention. You think you’ll pass the test tomorrow?” I hesitated and said, “Yeah I’m sure.” She looked at me with disapproval. I turned around and walked confidently out the door. She doesn’t get it. She has no clue.

If you’ve been through a traumatic situation, chances are you’ve said, “They don’t have a clue.” more times than you can count. However, their lack of understanding, is honestly… understandable. Things always look different from the outside looking in. It’s like trying look through a window with the sun shining behind you. You can make out some movement inside, but you don’t have the whole picture.

I couldn’t sleep the night before. Tossing and turning, wondering if things would ever get better. I got to English class long before the buzzer. I sat in the back and got my pencil and paper out. The teacher looked up and looked down just as quick. Everything around me turned to a blur again and I lost myself in the paper. 

When the tests got passed around I filled out mine fairly quickly. I looked around to see no one else had finished yet. “Eh who cares. This is as good as it’s gunna get.” Quietly, I walked to the front, dropped it in the bin face down and went back to my desk. I laid my head down and nodded off a bit. The bell rang loudly and I jerked awake. Embarrassed, I got my things and went on to the next class. “I sure hope I passed that crap.” I thought. 

The next day I got to class and was greeted by a wide grin. “Well that’s a good sign,” I thought “maybe I actually did pass that test.” Mrs. Something came to the front of the room and started passing out the graded tests. She said, “Abigail hasn’t taken a single note in this class, yet she got the best grade.” I felt confused as to why she called me out. I looked down at my test, 100% was written in red ink at the top with a smiley face next to it. A tiny grin formed on my face, but I quickly let it pass. Inside I felt like I was grinning like the grinch. “I don’t want to look like I’m being evil” I thought.

Again Mrs. Something asked me to stay after. “What now!?” I thought. I walked up to her desk as the other students left. “I don’t understand how you could get an A when you didn’t study at all.” I said, “Well my dad passed away a week before I started the school year. The voice reading the book sounded a lot like him. I couldn’t help but listen.” She looked at me with a compassionate look, not a look of pity or even sympathy, but a look like she understood. She said, “Wow Abigail, I’m so sorry.” I said, “It’s fine, it’s a part of life. Next time you think someone isn’t paying attention, don’t assume before you have all the information.” Before she could respond I turned around and walked out the door. 

This story was the beginning of me using art to process my emotions. For the rest of the year I hung out as much as I could in the art room. I started making friends with anyone else I noticed drawing. The year we moved to Tennessee I got even deeper into my art. Creating with my hands does something for my brain. When life feels heavy, I find myself retreating back to that same place. I’ll grab some paper and a pen, or sometimes a brush and the world begins to blur around me. I’m lost in it all over again. How sweet it is to get lost... just to find yourself again.