5 Times Art Saved My Fucking Life (and Why It Continues To Do So) 🎨

3-5 minute read
by: Sunny Voitsekhovsky

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They say art imitates life—but for me, art fucking saved it. Like a cosmic paintbrush dipped in magic and rebellion, art has been my therapist, my best friend, and sometimes my only safe space.

So yeah… this one’s for the messy creators, the quiet feelers, and the ones who turned pain into something fucking beautiful.

“Spinning In The Garden”

Acrylic On Canvas, 11×14 by Sunny Voitsekhovsky. SOLD. A painting that can be enjoyed in either direction, known as four paintings in one.

If you would like to purchase postcards or prints of Spinning In The Garden, they’ll soon be available on my Etsy shop: Quirky Coven Art.

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🎨 5 Times Art Saved My Life

1. Art Was My Calm in the Chaos

When I was little and my parents were at each other’s throats, art was my sanctuary. While dishes clanged and voices rose, I’d retreat into my world of colour and pencil crayons. It was the only place I could breathe. The only place untouched by adult rage, confusion, and all those unspoken fears. My art table was my altar. My escape. My safe little rebellion.

“The Elegant Cat”, Marker on 24lb Printer Paper, 8.5x11 by Sunny Voitsekhovsky

2. Art Never Judged or Bullied Me

School was brutal. The world didn’t know what to do with my weirdness, my big feelings, my ADHD brain that wandered off mid-sentence. But art? Art welcomed me home. It never rolled its eyes or called me “too much.” It handed me a paintbrush and said, “Go on, love—show them who the fuck you are.” In those moments, surrounded by colour and possibility, I felt whole.

I had the pleasure of being invited to the outdoor Artisan Market hosted by Nightmare Oasis, an art gallery and art community hub in Nanaimo, BC, where I displayed my art pieces, prints and stickers, offering a variety of colourful and whimsical works.

Whimsical Art Prints & Hoodies Available for the Autumn Season

Visit the Quirky Coven Art Studio on Etsy and discover all the whimsy your childhood self has craved all along.

“Super Marilyn”, Digital Art created using a combination of Procreate, Illustrator and Photoshop, 8.5x11 by Sunny Voitsekhovsky

3. Art Let Me Feel What I Couldn’t Say

I grew up in an emotionally unavailable, unregulated home. Feelings were inconvenient, too loud, too messy. So, I stuffed them down until they started leaking out sideways. Art was the first place I could safely feel. Before therapy. Before self-help books. Before I even knew what the word “trauma” meant. Each brushstroke was a scream I never got to yell. Each sketch, a story I couldn’t tell out loud. Each scribble, a release of energy (rage, anger, resentment, guilt, fear, self-doubt… you name it).

“Yellow Snakes In Different Shapes”, Digital Art created using Procreate, 18×24 by Sunny Voitsekhovsky

Snakes are the epitome of Transformation. Throughout various cultures, snakes and snake imagery have symbolized transformation, rejuvenation, death and rebirth.

Purchase your “Yellow Snakes In Different Shapes” print on canvas here.

Watch the process of creating this piece here.

4. Art Gave Me Purpose

Spoiler alert: it still does.
When everything else has burned down, art is what rises from the ashes. It’s the thing that keeps me curious, grounded, and alive. It’s not just a hobby—it’s the heartbeat of my existence.

“Business Blessing”, Acrylic on Canvas, approx. 5×7 by Sunny Voitsekhovsky, Original not for sale.

5. Art Gave Me Freedom 🪄

Art, in any form, is freedom. Freedom to be, to feel, to expand beyond the edges of what’s expected. It’s the bridge between my inner child and my higher self. It’s how I meet myself again and again in deeper, more magical ways. Every line, every colour, every strange little creation—it’s all me saying, “I’m still here. I’m still choosing life.”

♡♡♡

Summary:

Art isn’t just about pretty things. It’s about survival and thrival. It’s the language of the soul when words just don’t fucking cut it. It’s the reason I made it through the storm and the reason I keep creating now. So if you’ve ever been told you’re too much, too sensitive, too dramatic—pick up the brush anyway. You might just find yourself again in the colours.

✨ Want more soul-filled, rebellious reflections like this?
Join my newsletter for cosmic musings, creative magic, and a sprinkle of chaos straight to your inbox.

🪄 Or—come explore my art shop on Etsy, where I turn my healing into pieces you can actually hold. Because sometimes, the medicine is meant to be seen.

Why ADHD is the Ultimate Hobby Superpower (10 Quirky Lessons from Trying Everything)

7-10 minute read
written on: August 13, 2025
by: Sunny Voitsekhovsky

With ADHD, I can always count on two things:

1. Discovering a new hobby.

2. Immediately wondering if I’ll be obsessed for life… or drop it faster than a hot glue gun with no glue stick.

And why should you listen to me, the woman who has had literally over a thousand hobbies so far? Because, whether or not you have ADHD, I’ve learned some surprisingly deep (and sometimes hilarious) lessons from every single one. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll walk away with your next obsession, too.

Fair warning: some are artsy, some are therapeutic, and some ended in mild disaster. But every single one taught me something — even if that “something” was don’t fucking monetize everything you love.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, though oftentimes better than master of one.”

The Decoupage Shells that Saved My Mental Health. Click to see these shells in action.

#1 – Gilded Decoupage Shells

This one comes with a ⚠️ trigger warning.

Trigger warning: I mention suicidal thoughts in this section. I share it because art helped save my life, and maybe it can help someone else too. But if that’s not something you want to read right now, scroll on.

Pros: Meditative, beautiful, and makes you feel like a mermaid with Mod Podge.

Cons: Gold paint is addictive. You may start casually hoarding shells “for art” like a beach raccoon.

Here’s the truth: when I started this project, I was in a terrifyingly dark place. I was experiencing suicidal thoughts. And that was shocking even to me — because I fucking love life.

It felt like my brain had betrayed me, playing an endless loop of thoughts and images that I did not want to see. I was confused, scared, and deeply unsettled.

I knew I needed to get out of my head and back into my body. One day, while washing my hands, I looked down at our bathroom sink. We have a big white shell as a soap dish — beautiful, but plain. I pictured it with a patterned interior and gilded edges. Turns out… that’s an actual thing.

That’s when I saw gilded decoupage shells on Pinterest! In all honesty.. I was so excited; this was my new hyperfixation for healing.

Before you come after me in the comments section… Megan and I collected empty shells from Vancouver Island beaches that we had sitting around the house… so I grabbed napkins, Mod Podge, a dollar-store brush, and gold paint. I turned the whole process into a slow, mindful ritual — cutting, pasting, painting — until each shell became something beautiful, meaningful and a reminder of gratitude (and life).

I called them gratitude shells. I mailed them to friends and Velvet VA members with handwritten notes, a little reminder that they were loved and appreciated. And in doing that, I remembered I was loved and appreciated too.

Lesson learned: Gratitude heals more than glitter ever could… but glitter helps. When your brain betrays you, art instead.

Yup! I painted that, and I’m pretty proud of it. First-ever textured painting.

#2 – Textured Art and Painting

Pros: Feels like finger painting for adults, but fancier.
Cons: You will stare at a half-finished piece for two weeks trying to “feel” the next layer.

I first saw content creators painting with knives on canvas — thick swipes of color, layers of texture, acrylic mediums being slathered like fancy cake icing. It looked so soothing I had to try it.

But here’s the thing: I’m the type who will only try something when I’m good and ready — not when the algorithm demands it. So no, I didn’t sprint to the art store the moment TikTok told me to ‘heal my inner child with paint.’ I’m a responsible adult, which means I opened Pinterest, pinned 87 ‘inspiration ideas’… and then let them marinate for, oh, five months. Because apparently, step one of my creative healing process is procrastination with aesthetic vision boards.

Mixing baking soda into acrylic paint gave my work this gorgeous, sandy, stone-like texture. My setup was pure ADHD budget brilliance: an easel from Facebook Marketplace, paints and palette knives from Amazon, and brushes from the Dollar Store (because Rule #1 of ADHD hobbies: do not buy the expensive stuff before you know if you’ll stick with it).

SOLD – A true Sunny Original 🌞—and yes, it’s up for grabs. Want it? Place your bid through the form, and let’s see where the art takes you. UPDATE: This painting sold before the blog even went live! 🥳

Open Bid Form

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There’s something incredibly freeing about layered textured painting. You can build, scrape, smear, and redo — and each layer becomes part of the story. Sometimes I’d leave a painting sitting on the easel for a week or two in my living room, staring at it while it stared back at me, both of us waiting for the other to make the first move.

I learned that art like this isn’t about rushing to “done” like I used to do with my orgasms.. It’s about listening to the process, to your mood, to the little voice that says more texture here or stop before you ruin it.

Lesson learned: Let the art tell you when it’s done. Sometimes that takes weeks. Meanwhile, your heart, ADHD, and “too-muchness” will absolutely try to keep adding until it looks like a unicorn barfed on it. Pro tip: stop before the glitter casualties pile up. And don’t be afraid to try new things, like adding salt, sand or other textures – like sprinkles!

#3 – Gardening

Pros: Satisfaction of eating something you grew yourself.
Cons: Deer will ruin your dreams. Twice.

I went into gardening thinking it would be a soul-healing, earth-connection, “my-hands-in-the-soil” kind of experience. And in some ways, it was — there’s something magical about seeing vegetables grow and knowing you made that happen. But here’s the thing: gardening is way better when you start out with friends, family, or a partner. Mostly because there’s a lot of waiting around…and it’s a lot of work while having other creative projects and passions (not to mention a business) on the go.

Gardening isn’t about instant gratification. The biggest lesson it taught me? Nothing grows overnight… it all takes patience, care, and the right environment for your little plant babies to thrive.

When we lived in a house with a backyard, I went big. Tomatoes, squash, carrots, radishes, strawberries, herbs. The results?

When we lived in a house with a backyard, I went big: tomatoes, squash, carrots, radishes, strawberries, herbs. The results? A small but respectable harvest… until deer wiped out the entire garden. Not once. Twice. The audacity. I spent hours setting up barriers and extra fences, screaming FUCK! at the top of my lungs… in my head, because neighbours. I tried to calm myself with, “They’re so cute, remember when babies came by?” And my partner goes, “The babies need to eat too.” Ugh… fine.

Now that we’re in an apartment, I’ve downsized and it’s much more my speed. Herbs and strawberries are my jam: basil, peppermint, chamomile, medicinal flowers — all the things I can tend daily without needing a tractor (not that we needed one before). We’ve even been growing a pineapple and a few avocado plants from seed. Do they take forever? Absolutely. But I’m weirdly okay with that now.

Our grapefruit tree died, though… my proudest moment: Growing it from a grapefruit seed inside a real grapefruit from the supermarket! So cool!

Lesson learned: Not everything in life is instant gratification. Except maybe basil. And deer eating all your food. I guess that means it was delicious…

#4 – Upcycling Furniture

Pros: Your space gets that Pinterest-worthy glow without the $3,000 “designer” price tag.

Cons: Your apartment will smell faintly of paint for about a week (even if you did it outside on the balcony or patio.

Suggestion: Use eco-friendly, non-toxic paint, which has virtually no bad smells or vibes.

Megan and I have turned plant stands, trunks, shelves, and even whole walls into works of art with a little colour magic (and a lot of chaos in the middle). Sometimes we start with a clear vision, and other times it’s more like… “Let’s just see what happens if we paint it pink and gold at midnight.”

Lesson learned: How rewarding it is to have something upcycled by your own hands. Every time I glance at our pink and rose-gold shelf, my heart does a little happy dance.

I went deep diving for a photo of my actual soaps but clearly didn’t dive deep enough (the hard drives are a whole other ocean). So this will do—thanks, ChatGPT! Mine were pretty similar, except the Himalayan pink salt layer was never thatthicc. Funny enough, I always photographed my soaps on the floor (yep, classy) or a windowsill… so this background actually checks out.

#5 – Soap Making

Pros: Your whole house smells like a luxury spa.
Cons: One “fun little hobby” order away from never wanting to look at soap again.

Back in 2015, I ran a soap-making company called Healing Properties. My thing? Infusing vegan soaps with Reiki energy, healing herbs, salts, and natural colours like turmeric, beetroot powder, and spirulina.

My vision was to bring natural, skin-loving ingredients into a world drowning in toxins — partly because I had super sensitive skin and nearly everything made me break out, and partly because, well… making soap is fun.

For a while, it was magical.

I’d pour, swirl, and decorate soaps like they were tiny works of art.

And then came The Wedding Order.

Ninety-five… maybe one hundred and ten bars. Somewhere in there, I blacked out.

Suddenly, my kitchen looked like a small apothecary had exploded. I made mistakes. The rose petals on top faded (because nature loves to keep us humble… or because I didn’t spray them with alcohol, whatever). What once felt like a soothing ritual… became a factory production line.

Lesson learned: Not every hobby needs to be monetized. Some things are better kept for yourself — otherwise, you might end up side-eyeing a bar of handmade lavender soap like it owes you money.

Visit My YouTube Channel, TikTok and Instagram for more video-form content (both short and long – I’m a yapper!).

#6 – Content Creation

Pros: Sharing your life, inspiring people, connecting with your community.
Cons: Social media burnout is very, very real.

I’ve been around the content block — YouTube, TikTok, Instagram… and now this blog. My YouTube channel has definitely seen better days, but lately I’ve been having a lot of fun on TikTok, Instagram, and, most of all, right here in blog-land.

I even have a few YouTube videos recorded and sitting patiently on my hard drive, waiting for me to edit them. But here’s the thing — content creation isn’t just about filming and posting. It’s about building habits, creating a flow, and making sure you’re not forcing yourself into burnout territory for the sake of “staying relevant.”

Right now, blogging has my heart, so that’s where my energy is going. YouTube will still be there when I’m ready to share more inspiring content — and when I do, I’ll probably post some of it here too.

Lesson learned: Authenticity > trends. Nobody wants a copycat, unless you're getting plastic surgery to look like everyone else. Sorry not sorry.

Stacks on stacks of journals—each one crammed with late-night thoughts, therapy scribbles, emotional plot twists, doodles, maps, wild ideas, and the occasional stroke of genius. Basically, my brain on paper. 🎥 Check out the video here for the full scoop.

#7 – Writing

Pros: Cathartic, creative, healing.
Cons: You’ll always want to write more than you actually have time for.

I’ve been a writer on and off for nearly my entire life. Back in school, I was obsessed with it — churning out short stories, poetry, and even children’s books, all inspired by dreams, random ideas, and pure love for storytelling.

Many of my pieces came straight from my imagination, but some were pulled from dreams so vivid I had to get them onto paper before they vanished.

These days, I’m still writing constantly — just in different forms.

It’s blogs, social captions, content for my business, personal emails, and most importantly, journaling. My journal is where I work through catharsis, process my emotions, and integrate more peace into my life with every pen stroke and carefully chosen word.

Lesson learned: Self-expression won’t just heal you — it will save your soul.

You can purchase my art here or on Etsy. Visiting Vancouver Island? My stickers and prints are available at The Nightmare Oasis Art Gallery in Nanaimo.

#8 – Digital Art (Not AI)

Pros: No cleanup. Endless creativity.
Cons (or Pro, depending on how you look at it): Easily getting lost in your creativity for 6+ hours… HELLO hyperfixation!

Art has been in my life since I was a kid — more like it raised me. It’s been my place for emotions (from grief to pure joy), my transformation, my peace, my therapy, and my lifelong companion. Digital art in particular has always fascinated me. I’ve created pieces that range from dopamine-drenched childlike doodles to intricate, transformational works that look like light language or ancient codes beamed in from another dimension.

I work intuitively, often “channelling” pieces in apps like Procreate, Photoshop, and Illustrator. Sometimes the art comes out exactly how I imagined. Other times it surprises me entirely — which is honestly half the fun. Right now, I’m working on a top-secret project connected to some of my earliest digital work, and I’m obsessed with the flow state it pulls me into every single time. Stay tuned to hear more.

Lesson learned: Love the progress, trust the process. Be open to what comes through — it might be even better than what you saw in your mind’s eye.

#9 – Reading

Pros: Expands your mind, heart, and vocabulary.
Cons: Finding the right book with ADHD takes effort (and a stubborn streak).

I didn’t become a reader until adulthood. In high school? Forget it. I wouldn’t even finish a book for an assignment — I once “read” Of Mice and Men by watching the movie, piecing together whatever the teacher read aloud in class, and calling it a day.

Turns out, I just needed the right tools, the right genres, and permission to read my way. Now I devour books on self-development, spirituality, art, consciousness, ancient Egypt, biographies, design — basically anything that catches my curiosity and refuses to let go. My attention span may be picky, but when I find the right book, I’m unstoppable.

And yes, the books have to have pictures… I mean, they don’t HAVE to… but I like when they do.

Lesson learned: Never give up on a skill just because you struggled with it before. (Also, Eat Pray Love is not the only book in the world.)

“Winter In Nanaimo” Photography by Sunny Voitsekhovsky, 2023/24. This was taken with my Google Pixel phone on Portrait Mode, unedited. At the time, we lived in a 1920s Heritage house, which served as true entrepreneurial history within Nanaimo; “Built in 1923, the Galbraith Residence is a very good example of a Late Craftsman bungalow, a popular style among Nanaimo's entrepreneurial and professional class during the 1920s.”

#10 – Photography

Pros: Forces you to see the world differently.
Cons: You’ll fill your camera roll in a single afternoon.

Before smartphones had great cameras, I carried a little digital camera everywhere. I took photos of everything — city streets, tangled forests, strangers’ faces, blurred headlights, pigeons mid-strut. Photography has been my quiet way of capturing not just what I see, but how I feel.

Every phase of my life came with its own photographic style, usually paired with words — captions, short stories, even poetry. It’s one of the ways I’ve shared my world in a way that feels inspiring to me, whether or not anyone else gets it.

Lesson learned: Always explore new perspectives — in photos and in life.

ADHD Life Saver 🛟

Too many hobbies, not enough time? Velvet VA handles your admin, organizes your inbox, and wrangles all the behind-the-scenes chaos—so you can focus on what actually makes you sparkle.

Free Up Your Brain

Closing Thoughts

I’ve tried hundreds of hobbies, but these are just the first ten. ADHD might make me leap from one passion to another, but every single one has added something to my life — whether it’s patience, joy, new skills, or just a great story about deer destroying my tomatoes.

If you made it this far, drop a 🦒 in the comments so I know you’re my kind of human.

Learning to Slow the F*ck Down: How I Turned Pain Into Art and Alchemy

3-5 minute read
by: Sunny Voitsekhovsky

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I’ve been learning how incredibly uncomfortable it feels to face the slow.

Walking my dog through the forest, I notice how unnatural it feels to just… breathe. To stroll. To let my body relax into the rhythm of the earth. Because I wasn’t taught to slow down.

I was taught to rush.
To brace.
To survive.

Growing up, slowing down wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was unsafe.

I was wired to be on high alert. My nervous system didn’t know rest. My childhood was full of hypervigilance, fear, self-doubt, and emotional caretaking.

I was expected to monitor everyone else’s moods, behaviours, and reactions—while raising myself in the process.

Meditation? Yoga? Nervous system regulation?

I didn’t learn those words until my 20s.

As a kid, fulfillment wasn’t allowed. Play wasn’t encouraged. Rest wasn’t modelled. Everything had to be done in a frantic rush—usually because my mom spent too long getting ready, or because the house wasn’t “perfect” enough.

I remember watching her clean obsessively. Every fingerprint on a window, every crumb on the floor—she couldn’t let them be. It wasn’t about meaning or joy; it was about fear. Fear of stillness. Fear of facing emotions that threatened to rise to the surface.

And when she wasn’t scrubbing, she was glued to her Russian Farming video game—collecting fake coins and fake dopamine hits, chasing instant gratification instead of fulfillment.

She’s in her 70s now. Still stuck. Still unhappy. Still disconnected from nature, animals, and herself. Her whole life became a single, long-standing coping mechanism. No deep relationships, no rituals, no practices for true self-connection. Just avoidance.

When you keep going down an avoidant path, there’s nowhere else but down

And that legacy? She tried to hand it down to me.

But I said, fuck that.

I didn’t want to end up living in fear of myself, my emotions, my own f*cking life (or my mind).

So I turned to the only thing that ever felt like home: art.

As a kid, art was my escape. As an adult, it became my transformation. My alchemy.

When the weight of emotions threatened to crush me, I learned to pour them onto the canvas instead of burying them. Whether with paint, collage, or digital art—my pieces became containers for all the rage, grief, and longing I wasn’t allowed to express.

I finally opened my Etsy shop after being inactive for 6 years. Fear showed up (of course it did), but so did excitement and openness. And here’s the truth: you can move through fear. You can do the thing your soul is calling you to do. This is your sign to go for it—because you’re meant for so much more than hesitation. Visit my Etsy Shop >

Art saved my life.

What started as survival became liberation. What began as an escape evolved into an expansion.

Through art, I’ve given myself permission to slow down. To feel. To f*cking exist in my body.

And every piece I create carries that frequency. When you see my art, you’re not just looking at colours on a canvas—you’re witnessing transformation in real time. The alchemy of turning pain into whimsy, fear into power, chaos into creation.

If you want to experience that alchemy for yourself, you can explore my pieces here. Let them speak to your heart, your nervous system, your soul.

Because slowing down might feel unsafe at first. But when you finally do—it just might save your life.

Ready to be seen and noticed?

Art was my first form of alchemy. It gave me space to transform pain into beauty, fear into power, and survival into freedom. And here’s what I know: you don’t have to do this alone.

If you’re an Artist, Creative, or soul-led Entrepreneur who’s ready to be seen, get noticed, and finally follow your dreams—I’d love to help you. Book a Velvet Va Strategy Call with me, and let’s map out your unique path to being recognized for the magic you create.

Meet With Sunny

My Sister Taught Me to Believe in Myself— Even When the World Tried to Silence Me

3-5 minute read
written on: July 23, 2025
by: Sunny Voitsekhovsky

This blog started in the comfort of my own home—curled up on a blue double camping chair in our living room (the couch is still on its way).

From there, it followed me through every corner of our 500-some square foot apartment, as I wandered and let the words flow through speech-to-text.

At some point, I drifted to the ladder (which is our temporary "bar stool” so I could paint the seashells I found on the beach with Megan.

Another portion was written during a quiet walk with my dog through our neighbourhood and the nearby forest trails. It began as a raw journal entry, and slowly became something I felt ready to share.

And to be honest, something I felt called to share, and that needed to exist in a place for when you’re ready. When you’re ready, these messages will find you; they will show up for you, like a magical sign from God. So trust that when you’re reading this… it is the perfect time.

What can I say? I move around a lot.

It’s more personal than usual. But I hope it speaks to something in you. I hope it offers a moment of clarity, comfort, or even transformation.

I’ll still be writing content to support your business growth from the inside out—but I’m also allowing myself to share more of this.
The human stuff. The soft stuff. The stories that shaped me.

Also, if you’re wondering why neighbourhood, colour and honour are spelt this way… I am Canadian… what can I say?

What’s a blog without humour?… there I go again… being Canadian.

She held me like I was the most precious thing in the world… and she still does. The wallpaper? Let’s just call it ‘vintage character. I love this photo of us.

Without further ado.. Let’s get into the blog…

You know what I found myself thinking about today?

That my sister never once questioned whether I was enough.
She only ever asked me to be better if I was being an asshole or a drama queen (and let’s be real, for preteens and teenagers, that’s not exactly rare).

But she never made me feel small—aside from maybe that one fight we had.
She never made my dreams feel too big or made me feel like I was too much.

And that meant everything to me.
Because with my parents, I often felt overlooked. Misunderstood. Too much and not enough, all at the same time.

I remember feeling “stupid” as a kid.
Teachers made me feel that way.
My mom made me feel that way.
And my dad? He never once complimented my intellect.

But my sister…
She was the one person who consistently encouraged me.
She’d say things like, “You can have anything you ever dream of”, “You can have whatever you want.” Essentially saying… “It’s all accessible to you.”

Which is wild to think about—because we grew up really poor.
How did she have that kind of mindset?
How did I get so lucky to have a big sister… her… by my side?

I guess every kid needs one “normal” guardian.

Not dysfunctional, I mean…

Stanley Park, where my sister perfected her lifelong role as my bodyguard. In this moment, I was determined to stick my finger in a goose’s beak. She was determined to keep me alive. I still have the toxic trait of believing I’m Snow White and wild animals will love me (and not eat my head off).

As a child, I dreamt wildly. I wanted to go to Disneyland. I wanted to be an astronaut. Then, at six years old, I decided I wanted to be a business owner.
I wanted to be the first millionaire in my family.

I’d stare at myself in the mirror and imagine a life where I had so much money, I could just give it away—to artists, to galleries, to the people I believed in, and to those who needed it most.

And even if my sister didn’t always know the specifics of my dreams…
She made me feel like they were possible.

Somehow, one person believing in you, fully and without condition, can change everything.

She was the first person who made me believe I could achieve anything I set my mind to.

She never questioned my worth.

She never doubted my capabilities—not once, not even when it came to my art.

She held space for my dreams long before I dared to claim them myself.

Airport day — our big, unexpected ‘adventure.’ I’m grinning because I have no clue we’re being deported, moving across the ocean, and I’m about to lose my bodyguard to a world where I’ll be left with one emotionally unavailable adult and one… let’s just say, questionably mature. Ah, childhood — such a ride.

Right now, I’m sitting here painting seashells. I’m in flow. Art—of any kind—is my portal (you can check out my art here). It reconnects me to my truth.

And the truth is... It’s cheesy, but it’s real: My sister is the first reason I began to believe in bigger things, bigger possibilities and a bigger future for myself and the whole family.

Sure, she had high expectations. I remember studying for a spelling bee and her pushing me to get every word right. But her discipline came with encouragement. I was never made to feel like a bad person for making mistakes.

She never said:
“You’re broken.”
“You’re a problem.”
“You’re too much.”
“You don’t belong.”

But I’ve heard those words and felt those de-affirmations deeply before—too many times. More times than I can count.

I grew up with a mother who struggled with postpartum psychosis. She didn’t recognize us after I was born.

My sister, at just 16, stepped in to raise me. She had every reason to turn bitter... but she didn’t. She chose better.

Our mom believed poverty was permanent. That people like us didn’t stand a chance. Her fear lived in survival mode. And she passed that fear onto me like a family heirloom.

Ah, another Canadian beach day where the geese roam free. Batman action figure in hand — my childhood favourite superhero… though now I’m more into Marvel and the femme superheroes (with a soft spot for Spider-Man). And yes, that towel I’m wrapped in? Still around. It’s now our rescue dog’s beach towel.

But my sister? She broke the cycle.
She chose belief.
She chose love.
She chose me.

She taught me that dreams weren’t handed to anyone—but they were possible. That no one was coming to save me, but that didn’t mean I was powerless.

And while she held hope for me, I was surviving our mother.
A mother who didn’t like it when I was happy.
Or sad.
Or expressive.
Or queer.
Or neurodivergent.

I tiptoed through childhood like a ghost—watching her every move, shrinking myself to stay safe. I mirrored. I masked. I made myself small. I was terrified of being cast out. Terrified of being me.

If you haven’t read The Cost of the Mask: A Forest Walk Through My Past, you definitely should.

I was about 8 here — finally living in Canada, while my parents were still chasing that elusive Citizenship. (Spoiler: We got it when I was 17… and the first thing I did was book a Disneyland trip with my friend at the time - Josh.) Also, can we talk about how nearly every 90’s photo gave me creepy demon eyes? People back then were way too obsessed with the camera flash.

I came out in 2019. But I knew who I was much earlier.

I remember watching t.A.T.u.’s All the Things She Said on MuchMusic when I was eight. I was mesmerized. Two girls—loving each other. And for the first time, something clicked. I felt seen. I felt understood.

Then my mother appeared behind me. She crossed her arms and glared at the screen. “What an abomination,” she said. “If my daughter were gay... I don’t know what I’d do.”

And in that moment, I shrank.
I stopped trusting myself.
I learned that being who I was could cost me everything.

So I masked. I pretended. I became a “straight girl” to survive.

Because if I wasn’t what she wanted, I believed I would be discarded. Just one less mouth to feed. One less burden. One less space in a rental unit.

That’s how I learned not to take up space.
That’s how I forgot who I was.
That’s how I learned that authenticity wasn’t safe.

But here’s what I know now…

Masking is a betrayal of self.
Authenticity is the only way forward.
And believing in yourself isn't delusional—it’s defiance.

My sister taught me that.

She saw my light when others tried to dim it. She gave me room to grow into myself. She loved me before I knew how to love myself.

And I’ll spend the rest of my life honouring that—through my art, my words, my queerness, and my unapologetic existence.

If you got this far, drop a blue heart emoji in the comments.

The Cost of the Mask: A Forest Walk Through My Past

3-5 minute read
written on: July 22, 2025
by: Sunny Voitsekhovsky

This is the first time I’m sharing a blog that started as a raw journal entry — transcribed straight from a forest walk that turned into a heart walk. It’s more personal than usual. I hope it speaks to something in you. I hope it brings you a layer of transformation, or clarity, or comfort. And I hope I can continue writing more of these… alongside the content I create to help your business grow from the inside out.

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The other day, I wandered through a nearby forest — the sunlight danced off the leaves, and every step I took stirred up clouds of dust from the dry earth beneath me. It reminded me of childhood. That magical moment when the dirt would puff under your feet like a little smoke signal from the earth saying, "You’re here. You exist."

And yet, for much of my life, I didn’t really feel like I existed.

At least not as myself.

For years, I wore a mask.

I masked to be liked.
I masked to be safe.
I masked to avoid rejection — to avoid abandonment.

I didn’t even ask to be understood.
I just did what I could to stay chosen.
Stay wanted. Stay acceptable.

The joke, though, was on me.

Because every time I put on that mask to protect myself… I walked a little further away from my true self.

I walked in alignment with rejection.
I walked in alignment with judgment.
And that’s exactly what I was met with — over and over again.

A forest doesn’t need to mask… it just is.

When you mask your true self in hopes of being accepted,
of feeling complete through someone else… rejection becomes inevitable.

Because sooner or later, your truth surfaces. And when it does, it might not match the story others have told themselves about you (based on how you presented). And so… they leave.

I always knew this. Deep down.

I remember thinking in relationships, “Eventually they’ll see the real me.”

Not a bad version — just me.

And when they did, I believed (and feared) they'd walk away… like my dad did.

Like the echo of every time he left, the ache in my chest and that heavy pit in my stomach would remind me — see? This is what happens.

A truth I didn’t want to face, but one I kept reliving anyway.

And unknowingly, I kept recreating that pain again and again.
For many cycles — the kind you'd swear were karmic or part of some cosmic punishment…

But really, it wasn’t karma.
It was a loop I didn’t yet know how to break.

Over and over, I built connections — both platonic and romantic — where I wore the mask just right. I became exactly who they needed me to be. Until I didn’t. Until I couldn’t. Until I just was… me.

And they left.

Because it wasn’t what they signed up for. Even if that "me" was beautiful, loving, loyal, and creative. It just didn’t align with the role they’d cast me in.

♡︎♡︎♡︎

In high school, it was the same. I was the people-pleaser, the one with no boundaries, the one who made others feel better at the expense of myself. When I started shedding that version… when I outgrew the mold… those friendships fell apart.

Not because I was awkward. Not because something was wrong with me. But because I was no longer useful in the way they wanted me to be.

And yet, for years, I blamed myself.

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏

Later, I ended up in a relationship that mirrored the worst parts of both of my parents. Emotionally abusive, controlling, gaslighting.

He had convinced me that even my high school friends abandoned me because I was awkward, weird, too much. He chipped away at the little confidence I had left (towards the end of our relationship) — and in the process, I began to believe it too.

But the truth?

The real issue wasn’t that I was awkward.

The real mistake I made was masking so hard and so completely that even my closest friends didn’t truly know me.

So when I started to show up as the real me — soft, bold, quirky, full of feelings, needs, and boundaries — I no longer fit their narrative. And they disappeared.

That’s not my fault. That’s self-protection.

It took me years to realize this:
Masking to connect is not real connection.

And when we chase belonging by abandoning ourselves, we lose the very people we tried to keep — but worse than that, we lose ourselves.

Here’s a photo of me as a kid on the right, happily eating strawberries (my favorite fruit growing up) and a photo of me in 2023 on the left.
Even then, all I really wanted was connection. Still do. 💫

That’s what happened in that abusive relationship. The worst part wasn’t even him. It was me — abandoning me. Losing my voice. Shrinking myself to nothing.

And I thought that was just the way it was. That this was my fate. My truth. My brokenness to carry.

But I was wrong. And I’m grateful for that.

Some mistakes become fantastic realizations.

And on that walk through the forest, with the leaves glistening and the dust rising up with every step like a gentle reminder from the earth — I realized I’m not walking away from myself anymore.

I’m walking home.