My name is Jacelyn Jara, I come from a big family consisting of seven kids including me. I had an alright childhood, not the best but I had clothes on my back, food on the table, and somewhere to sleep. When I was about 7 years old my dad was deported back to the Philippines in a small town called Ilo Ilo. He was one of my best friends, and my hero. He taught me so much from how to ride a bike to how to swim, losing him to deportation really gave me a reality check at such a young age. As the years went by, and I got older a lot of traumatizing events took place in my life. At the ripe age of 12, I had severe anxiety and was extremely depressed. My mom brought me to therapy, and I hated it. I felt as if it didn’t help me at all. When I was 13, I attempted to take my own life, which left my family very worried for my mental health. I felt so alone in a world full of people, the feeling was indescribable.

Throughout these hard times, I felt peace in doing my makeup; it enables me to clear my mind. I would do my makeup for fun, and take selfies afterwards. When I was doing my makeup, the voices in my head fell silent, and the world went quiet. I felt at peace. Makeup was my therapy, and it still is. Back then, whenever something felt off in my life, I would do my makeup. My face was the canvas and I was the artist. Some people thought I was crazy because sometimes I would be doing my makeup at three in the morning; little did they know I was escaping my own thoughts. I was turning down the volume in my mind; the voices in my head would slowly disappear with each swipe of my makeup brushes.

Makeup quickly became more than just a routine—it became a ritual of self-care. Every morning, when I sat down in front of the mirror, it was like stepping into a safe space where I could be creative without judgment. The act of blending, shaping, and perfecting each detail allowed me to concentrate on something other than my sadness. The more I practiced, the more I realized that makeup wasn't just about looking good; it was about feeling good. It gave me a reason to get up, to take care of myself, and to see my face not as a reflection of my pain, but as a canvas full of possibilities.

Another thing makeup gave me was control. Depression often made me feel powerless, as if I had no say in how I felt or how my life was going. But with makeup, I was in charge. I decided how I wanted to present myself, how I wanted to shape my brows, how I wanted to define my lips. It was a small but significant way of reclaiming control over my own life. No matter how chaotic my emotions felt, I knew I could sit down and create something beautiful. That sense of stability became a source of comfort during my darkest moments.

Most importantly, makeup helped me realize that healing doesn't happen overnight. It happens in small moments— the first time you get out of bed after weeks of feeling stuck, the first time you smile at your reflection, the first time you find joy in something again. For me, those moments were found in the soft bristles of a brush, in the swirl of colors on a palette, and in the quiet peace of transforming my face into art.

Looking back, I see now that makeup didn't just cover up my sadness—it helped me uncover strength I didn't know I had. It gave me a reason to keep going, one brushstroke at a time. Today, I still find comfort in the art of makeup, but I also carry with me the lesson it taught me — that even in the darkest moments, there is always something that can bring light back into your life.

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