Imagine the weight of shoving childhood traumas deep into the shadows, just to keep up appearances and survive day-to-day life. That's the raw reality for many, but for artist Piiij Goodrem, it's a story of transformation through honest self-expression. And this is the part most people miss—how art became her lifeline to reclaiming her body, her boundaries, and her future. But here's where it gets controversial: is suppressing pain really the 'best' way to cope, or does it just delay the inevitable reckoning? Let's dive into Piiij's journey and explore what it teaches us about healing from early wounds.
Growing up, Piiij learned a tough lesson from her environment: the ideal response to tough emotions or hurtful experiences was to bury them out of sight, never to be mentioned again. As she puts it, 'Appearances mattered.' This mindset, shaped by her upbringing, led her to push away painful feelings rather than facing them head-on. For beginners wondering what this means, think of it like stuffing clutter into a closet—you close the door, and it looks neat on the outside, but the mess is still there, building up pressure over time.
Now in her 30s, Piiij is breaking her silence. She opens up about being assaulted at a young age, with more incidents during her teenage years. The lack of support she received back then meant she internalized everything, bottling it up without sharing a word. This isolation can feel like carrying an invisible backpack full of rocks, weighing you down and making even simple interactions exhausting. Without someone to listen or validate her experiences, she kept it all locked inside, which experts note can perpetuate a cycle of unspoken suffering. But here's where it gets controversial—some argue that forcing people to 'talk about it' can be overwhelming; others say silence only deepens the hurt. What do you think: should society push for more open conversations about trauma, or respect personal boundaries?
It wasn't until her 20s, spurred by her sister's gentle encouragement, that Piiij sought out a psychologist. Therapy proved crucial in helping her unpack those buried feelings, but finding the right fit was no easy feat—it drained her emotionally and financially. 'It just felt very hard and scary and wrong,' she recalls, describing sessions where she would break down in full-body sobs, her emotions overwhelming like a storm finally unleashed. This is common for those starting therapy; it's like peeling back layers of an onion, and the first tears are often the hardest. For instance, many people experience similar resistance, worrying that opening up might shatter their fragile sense of control. Ultimately, though, it opened doors to healing.
Yet, it was through creating self-portraits that Piiij truly began to rediscover her body and set new boundaries. These weren't idealized images; they were raw and honest, delving into her history of trauma to find a sense of safety and belonging within herself. 'It was very much a series that was about looking through my history and my trauma and trying to find safety and a home within my body,' she explains. To help beginners grasp this, imagine using a mirror not to judge, but to map out your own terrain—acknowledging every scar, stretch mark, and curve as part of your story, not flaws to hide.
Honesty was key in these portraits. Piiij poured in hyper-detailed elements like stretch marks, cellulite, and textures, embracing the full spectrum of her physical self. One striking piece, 'Holding,' features orchids and roots wrapping around her back, sprouting like wings. 'It's like they’re growing out of my back like wings,' she says, symbolizing a lesson in self-compassion and gentleness—something she admits she struggles with. This artwork, drawing inspiration from the lush, tropical landscapes of Darwin in northern Australia, didn't just heal emotionally; it also helped her break free from a heavy dependence on alcohol. Piiij describes her past as a 'full-blown alcoholic,' downing bottles of wine nightly to drown out the mental noise and maintain a facade of normalcy. Alcohol, for many, acts as a temporary escape, but it often masks deeper issues, leading to a cycle of avoidance.
After four years of sobriety, Piiij reflects on how losing herself in a painting for hours would quiet her cravings. 'I'd realise that I hadn’t been thinking about drinking,' she shares. Art became her constructive outlet, bringing light to her life instead of pulling her back into darkness. This highlights a broader truth: creative pursuits can rewire the brain, offering dopamine hits from accomplishment rather than self-destructive habits. Experts support this, noting that activities like art therapy can process trauma without the risks of substances.
Childhood trauma survivors often feel profoundly isolated, unable to share their stories, which can hinder recovery—as backed by research from sources like the Journal of Affective Disorders, which discusses how suppressed experiences lead to long-term emotional barriers. For years, Piiij and those close to her feared she wouldn't live past her 30s. But a pivotal shift came when she decided, 'Actually I think I do want to live... I would like to hit a point where I'm thriving.' This turnaround shows that hope isn't just possible—it's transformative. And this is the part most people miss: trauma doesn't define you forever; with the right tools, you can rebuild.
Today, Piiij has channeled her passion into a side business, turning her artistic escape into something sustainable. Her advice rings true for anyone navigating hardship: 'Find something that's constructive, that is nourishing and gives you that dopamine and feeling of contentment but isn't leading to any kind of self-destruction.' Whether it's painting, writing, gardening, or another hobby, the key is finding outlets that build you up rather than tear you down. For example, someone recovering from trauma might start a journal to express thoughts safely, gradually building confidence.
Piiij's story challenges us all to rethink how we handle pain. Is bottling up emotions a cultural norm we should question, or a necessary survival tactic? And in an age where social media often showcases filtered lives, how can we encourage more authentic sharing without pressure? We'd love to hear your thoughts—do you agree that art can be a powerful healer, or disagree? Share in the comments!
