When I updated my website yesterday I changed some things around and the option for a blog came up again. I had deleted the option in my previous version but this time I paused. I’ve never blogged before. I enjoy writing but I doubt that anyone would particularly want to read anything I write. I was going to say that I’m not sure what’s changed, but the whole world has changed. It’s changed for everyone. So I decided, why not, I’ll type some stuff no one will read and treat this space as a kind of journal.
Art + my mental health + quarantine. I’m 37 years old and it took me 35 years to finally understand that anxiety isn’t all panic attacks and mental breakdowns. It’s the voice telling you that you raised your voice at your child and why are you such a terrible mother and you should probably tell them you love them since you just lost your patience and why aren’t you working on that piece you started and why aren’t you making them try to eat salads everyday and why aren’t you eating less drinking less worrying less but definitely not worrying enough and what’s going to happen if you post that picture of the piece you’ve worked on for weeks and no one likes it, no one is going to like it, everyone is better at this than you, nothing you are doing is original, nothing you’re doing is good enough, nobody cares, you shouldn’t care, if you don’t care about this then all you are is a mother and wife, but you’re doing everything wrong as a mother and you’re a terrible wife. It’s being so worried about not doing something right or good enough that you just don’t do it.
I think acknowledging it, knowing I can give it a name, that this isn’t a normal experience for most people but also understanding that I’m definitely not alone helps. I’m also lucky, or maybe we're not lucky but just together, that my two sisters had this revelation around the same time. We are able to talk about it and also make fun of it and laugh about “why are we like this?!”.
I feel like I was doing okay. I was giving myself grace and trying not to let my bad days ruin my week. Then the pandemic started. I lost my job bartending, which was the source of income enabling my artistic practice and helping put food on our table. My girls’ schools closed. I had to move most of my studio home. I had to try to find some way to teach my kids, continue my artistic practice, keep everyone sane, and make three meals a day every day for five people. At first it was refreshing to be home with my family and not have to make excuses for not leaving the house. I’ve always been a bit of a homebody and it was nice to be able to just stay in and clean and rearrange my furniture. I started some new work and got a couple commissions done. Then I stopped working on my new pieces. Then I decided to pull up carpet. I started a mural. And a reupholstery project. I rearranged again. I baked bread and scones and banana bread and muffins and cake and brownies. I decided it’s quarantine so it’s ok to have a glass of wine at 3 in the afternoon. I started waking up at 1am every night and not falling back asleep until my husband left for work at 5am then waking up at 7:30 to make breakfast for my kids.
This week I decided I didn’t feel like working on my mural or upholstery project and all of my home studio had to get packed up to make space for mural work, so I couldn’t do that either. I couldn’t do anything to keep myself busy and I realized, oh, I’m freaking out. What will happen when this is over? When will I get my job back? Will I want to go back? Why did we decide to refinance before this shit hit the fan? What if one of us dies? Every night an endless stream of questions and worries rolled through my mind. I didn’t even realize I wasn’t taking care of myself until I was about to breakdown.
So yesterday I moved my studio back to my studio. I folded fabric and rearranged my space and hung up the pieces I started at the beginning of this mess. I told myself everything will be ok. I wanted to focus on my art and design practice this year. This was my goal. So I must go do it. I will remember that my husband’s and kids’ hugs melt away my fears and to stand in my garden and feel my feet on the earth and breathe. Everything will be ok.
