When everything falls apart
I had to find a way, even if tiny.
« If you do nothing, it’s over. You have to find one thing – however small – that makes you smile and helps you get through the day.
- What have I always loved doing?
- What has always helped me survive?
- Drawing.
So draw, Alexia. »
The blog, refuge and rebirth
I started a comic blog.
One evening, from my small living room, I just did it. I started talking, even if no one was listening. I didn’t care anymore.
I chose a nickname and began to tell my story – softened, exaggerated, fantasized.
It was raw. Unfiltered. Sometimes badly drawn. Naive. Often superficial, sometimes angry, passionate, occasionally brilliant, often a mess. But no matter what, I posted. And god, it felt good.
I set myself a strict rhythm: three posts a week. It was vital. Every evening, after putting the babies to bed, I worked on my drawings.
The magic of publish
Soon my drawing lines loosened up, my imagination expanded. I gained confidence. I stopped watching myself work and started to play, to try, to provoke, to enjoy, to let go.
I loved those nights when I finished putting the drawings together for my next post and finally hit that magical button : « publish. »
It’s a strange feeling, releasing an idea into cyberspace. A kind of vertigo.
How will it be received?
What impact will it have?
Will anyone even see it?
Those questions kept me awake until sunrise. And then, day after day, something shifted. My life slowly stood back up. The light had come back.
And suddenly it all made sense
One night, in a bar, I was chatting with a close friend about where the blog could go. I had been posting for almost a year, to my surprise gathering a loyal and growing audience. While waiting in line for our second drink, my friend suddenly bumped into an old high school buddy.
He had a strange job . Something to do with drawing, that I didn’t quite understand. Curious and a bit shy, I asked a few questions. That’s how I first discovered this profession: scribing.
It was instant. I recognized the language. Aligning ideas with visuals. Drawing without drafts or fear of the result. Finding a beginning, a turning point, an end. Revealing and accompanying ideas. Listening. Recognizing layers of meaning.
Showing humor, emotion, absurdity, or tragedy. Thinking sideways, human, imperfect. Helping.
Everything clicked. My imaginary world, drawing, studies, travels, jobs, life experience. It all converged. I had found it. I was going to become a scribe.
At 37, I had finally found the job of my dreams.
