Before I was an art therapist, I was a high school art teacher in Mesa. I had recently moved back home after finishing my bachelor’s degree in studio art in Chicago. I was teaching teenagers how to paint, draw, experiment, and make things. But somewhere along the way, my classroom became more than an art room. It became a safe place. Other teachers knew that if a student was having a hard day, they could send them to Mrs. Johnson’s room. The students who came weren’t all artists. Some of them probably wouldn’t have described themselves as creative at all. They just knew that when they walked into the art room, they belonged. They could sit quietly. They could take a breath. They could talk—or [...]