Art Saves Lives: “The Colors of a Resilient Warrior: How Art Saved My Life” by Amanda Barkster

“Writing became my palette, my lifeline, when the weight of my story became too heavy to carry alone.”

I used to think resilience was invisible—a quiet, colorless force that held me together when everything else was falling apart. But I’ve come to realize that resilience is made of color. It’s vivid and alive, painted in the layers of my grief, strength, and healing. Writing became my palette, my lifeline, when the weight of my story became too heavy to carry alone.

That story begins with pain. During my time in military service, I endured unimaginable loss—the deaths of my four children: Halo, Carson, Promise, and Noah. Each one was a light extinguished far too soon, and their absence carved out a silence that still echoes through my soul. While I wore the uniform with pride and loyalty, I was met with betrayal by the very system I served. When I told my military leaders and doctors that something was wrong, I was ignored.

The grief was suffocating. It came in black—the color of absence, of quiet hallways and sleepless nights. Black was the overwhelming sorrow that clouded my world after losing my babies. It was the ink that first spilled from my pen as I tried to make sense of the pain. That act of writing, though terrifying, was the beginning of reclaiming my voice.

“When I write, I breathe life back into the pieces of me I thought were lost forever.”

Then came red—the color of pain, fury, and injustice. It was the fire burning inside me, fueled by betrayal and loss. Red was in the blood I’d witnessed, the anger that rose when I realized how deeply I had been failed by those I trusted. Yet through writing, I came to understand that anger had a purpose. It wasn’t something to hide from—it was part of my survival. A signal that I still had something left to fight for.

Blue followed—quiet, reflective, and aching. It was the color of sorrow, of long nights spent remembering the lives that should have been. Blue was the sky on the day I said goodbye to my children. It was the endless ocean of tears I cried. But blue also became the color of presence—the moments I felt my babies with me as I wrote, guiding my hand, whispering, “We’re still here, Mama. Keep going.”

Green didn’t appear right away. It took time. But slowly, green emerged—the color of healing and new growth. Writing allowed me to breathe again, to give form to the brokenness, to nurture the hope that had once been buried. Green was the life that returned when I began to write without judgment. It was the support I found in the community that embraced my story and helped ease the burden of carrying it alone.

And then there was purple—resilience itself. A fusion of blue’s sorrow and red’s strength. Purple is the color I see now when I look at the woman I’ve become. The warrior. The survivor. The mother who still carries her babies with her in every word she writes. Purple is the honor I hold for the journey I’ve endured and the courage it took to keep standing when everything tried to break me. Even when they turned their backs, even when lies were spread and cruelty was used as a weapon, I chose to speak the truth. I chose to survive.

“We are warriors, painting our survival one stroke at a time.”

Writing has saved my life more than once. It gave shape to the pain, allowed me to turn suffering into story, and gave me a way to honor Halo, Carson, Promise, and Noah. When I write, I breathe life back into the pieces of me I thought were lost forever. I give my babies a voice. I let them live on.

Art saves lives. It shows us the colors of our own resilience—reminding us that we are more than our grief, more than our trauma. We are warriors, painting our survival one stroke at a time.

Artwork (As seen on homepage card for this post): One-Hour Lifeline, Yonsenia White, 2024. Mixed Media, 16″x20″.