Your Color Is Your Own: An Essay on Emotional Healing

By Haven Duddy

This essay explores emotional healing through the metaphor of color - how we move from grayness, numbness, and emotional shutdown into a fuller spectrum on inner truth. It's about recognizing your own palette, your own depth, and the moment you finally return to color.

-with gratitude to my friend, Cara Hawk, who asked the question that opened this door

My friend Cara has been with me from the very beginning.

She read every post, paid attention to every shift, and—because she cared—she came to me one day with a question that stopped me completely:

“What is the difference between living in the gray

and living in a fake reality?”

What I loved most wasn’t the question itself.

It was that she asked.

Because questions aren’t attacks.

Questions aren’t threats.

Questions aren’t reasons to get defensive.

Questions are invitations.

Questions say:

“I care enough to understand your inner world.”

So, Cara — thank you.

Thank you for asking your question.

Thank you for wanting to understand me.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to understand myself more clearly.

And thank you for giving me the chance to offer something that might help others do the same.

Because when I really sat with your question, I realized something surprisingly simple:

Living in the gray and living in a fake reality are not opposites.

They are partners.

They feed each other.

Living in the gray is what happens when you shut down your inner world.

When you numb.

When you disconnect.

When your emotions dim just enough for you to function but not enough for you to feel.

It’s the “robot state.”

It’s survival, not aliveness.

Living in a fake reality is what happens when your outer world no longer matches your inner truth.

When you perform.

When you pretend.

When you say “I’m fine” because the truth feels too sharp to touch.

When you craft a narrative that protects the life you built

rather than the life you actually want.

These two states loop together:

You shut down inside → you perform outside.

You perform outside → you shut down inside.

And slowly, your world loses its color.

But here’s what most people don’t realize:

Color is not one thing.

Color doesn’t look the same for everyone.

Color is not a fixed palette.

For some people, full color is neon — bright, loud, expressive.

For others, full color is soft — gentle, minimal, muted.

For some, color looks like joy.

For others, color looks like peace.

And for a few — the ones who know themselves deeply —

full color can even look like black.

Not because they are empty.

Not because they are numb.

Not because they are lost.

But because black is the blending of all colors.

Black is depth.

Black is truth.

Black is integration.

Black is stillness that holds everything inside it.

Black is emotional wholeness.

Black is complete understanding.

So someone living in “black” might actually be living in their highest form of alignment —

even if it doesn’t look bright from the outside.

And that’s the point:

️ Your full spectrum might look nothing like someone else’s.

️ Your color is your own.

Your emotional spectrum is shaped by:

• your truth,

• your meaning,

• your willingness to feel,

• your willingness to understand,

• your willingness to be honest with yourself,

• and your willingness to live a life that matches your inner world.

Color is not comparison.

Color is alignment.

Color is authenticity.

And when someone asks you a real question —

a curious question, a caring question —

that is not criticism.

That is connection.

It is someone saying:

“Show me your colors.”

So thank you, Cara,

for opening this door.

For caring enough to ask.

For reminding me that questions are invitations into deeper understanding —

with ourselves and with each other.

Because in the end:

Your color is your own.

And no one else gets to tell you what it should look like.

PS — My Colors

My own colors?

They line up, and they dance.

They move to music.

They have rhythm and flow.

They swirl into patterns and burst apart into sparks.

Sometimes they are bright and bold and beautiful.

And sometimes they are dark and quiet and not anything I want to look at.

But even then — even in the moments I don’t love, don’t understand, or don’t want to face —

my colors are still mine.

They guide me.

They speak to me.

They create entire worlds inside me that feel more truthful than real life sometimes.

They point me toward what I want

and warn me away from what I don’t.

And my best colors?

The ones I treasure most?

They show up in ways that make no sense at all —

absurd, beautiful, surprising —

and somehow those end up being the truest colors I have.

So yes.

My color is my own.

And I’m finally learning to love the whole spectrum.