From Darkness into the Light
By Carina Imbrogno
I used to think faith was a transaction. If I'm good, God keeps me healthy. If I pray hard enough, He takes the pain away. Illness bankrupted that theology. I have endured multiple life-saving surgeries, struggled through school with learning disabilities, and felt lost without direction or purpose. I didn't know where I belonged. In 2014, art became my therapy, my anchor, my reason to keep fighting. After facing death so many times, I'd often wanted to give up. But when I started creating in 2015, I finally found purpose. Slowly, piece by piece, I began to heal.
Getting diagnosed in 2015 with Marfanoid Habitus and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome was a relief. For years, doctors dismissed my symptoms as imaginary. But the disorders were real. They gave me a rare form of scoliosis from birth and led to multiple corrective surgeries. In 2004, my spine started collapsing. By 2006, l needed life-saving surgery - 28 titanium screws and two rods now hold my back together. Those same disorders caused learning disabilities that made school a constant struggle.
For a large part of my life, orthopedic braces were my reality. School meant bullying and teasing, and I often sank into depression. Isolated by both a lack of friends and learning disabilities, I spent years wondering what I was good at. For a very long time, I had no sense of purpose and no idea what my life could become.
The hardest part wasn't the pain. Pain you can brace for. It was the waiting. Waiting for test results. Waiting for doctors to believe me. Waiting for God to answer. Healing taught me that waiting can break you faster than any diagnosis.
For years I begged God to take the pain away. He didn't. Instead, He taught me to paint with it. I learned that healing isn't always the absence of hurt; sometimes it's the presence of purpose inside the hurt. My collapsed spine became the reason I picked up a brush. My embolisms became the reason I painted hope.
Spirituality transformed my life. I now carry a deeper self-awareness, stronger emotional resilience, and genuine empathy for others. My focus shifted away from chasing approval and feeding my ego toward finding inner peace. I've learned to release anxiety, accept life's uncertainties, and live with purpose - connected to something far greater than myself.
When I first discovered I could draw and paint realistically—without a single class—I couldn't believe it. I was in shock after finishing my very first drawing: a little girl with curly hair, in graphite. It won an award at a local exhibit. I started experimenting with every medium I could get my hands on: graphite, oils, acrylics, pastels, gouache. For the first time, I was thrilled to discover I was good at something. It changed my entire outlook on life. My art gave me a completely different perspective.
My inability to ever have children due to my condition inspires me to depict them. I'm also very inspired by old masters. My deepest hope is that when someone sees my work, they feel a moment of peace. If even one brushstroke brings them happiness, a breath of calm, or a reminder that beauty still exists, then I've done what I set out to do.
I wasted years waiting for a pain-free day to start my life. Waiting for the energy. Waiting for the answers. Waiting for the old me. Illness taught me the "someday" you're waiting for might not come. But this day is here. And you can live holy, beautiful, tiny moments inside it. A five-minute painting. A text to a friend. That's not "less than." That's life. Don't miss it waiting for "big" life to come back. You can build joy inside the pain. You don't need permission from your body.
About the Author
In 2014, after watching Heaven is for Real, Carina Imbrogno discovered child prodigy Akiane Kramarik and picked up a brush for the first time. Without a single art class, she began creating photorealistic drawings, her first piece winning an award. Today, Carina's art focuses on beauty: children she cannot have, wildlife, botanicals, and light-filled landscapes. She paints daily through withdrawal from medications, using natural supplements to manage her condition. Carina's deepest hope is that one brushstroke of hers brings a moment of peace to someone else. Because as she says: Your story isn't over.