The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt
~ Sylvia Plath
After seeing the success I was having with my writing and the positive changes in my self-worth that came with it, my husband surprised me one weekend by giving up a lot of sleep and time to disassemble and empty our walk-in closet and mark out a new space that would become a hidden office and writing hideaway for me. I came home from a weekend away and walked into a transformed room — it was the most beautiful gift he’s ever given me.
As is the way when raising young kids, the ongoing renovation and steps to completing that space were long and drawn out. But every one of those steps, like when he chose the wood that would become my desk top and then sanded and stained it or the window he found someone to cut into the brick wall so I would have natural light, were tokens of love and appreciation extended to me by him, and I felt each one as a vote of confidence. I had every intention of showing him that it mattered to me and would make such a difference in my productivity and creativity.
But for the past few months, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my fear that I’ve lost my creativity. I worry it’s been buried under my responsibilities and the grind of parenthood. And I don’t mean that in a way that implies resentment; I’ve made my choices, and I know they were right. But I do feel a sense of loss, and pretending otherwise is not fair to me or anyone one else who is trying to parent while finding the space to create.
I feel like I’m failing to show him how much it meant to me and that’s taking up a lot of space in my brain, too. What does motherhood do to creativity? It’s a different experience for everyone (read this article for a good start). For me, writing began as a justifiable way to escape and now it threatens to smother me with its expectations — and that’s the simple answer. I know there are a lot of factors playing tricks on me, and some may have nothing to do with being a mother.
Right now, I’m stuck somewhere between guilt and frustration. It’s important for me to continue to do work that helps support our family, and because I’m doing that work at home, I feel responsible for all the other day-to-day business of family life. But it’s hard to do all those things with purpose when I don’t give myself time to focus on what inspires me as an individual, separate from those responsibilities.
Around and around I go, shaking my compass and willing it to show me which way to go.
I don’t know why it was easier for me when the kids were younger. I’d look forward to being relieved by their dad and taking a couple of hours to do some writing or explore others’ written words. Somehow, when the work of parenting shifted away from hands-on care to helping my kids find their way in the world outside our home, I got lost.
Two weeks ago, I had a pocket of time hidden in all the other things I needed to get done, and it happened to be in the neighbourhood where our town’s record shop is located. Knowing I wanted to get a gift for my husband’s birthday, I went in determined to check it off my to-do list. There was a long lineup at the cash, so I wandered over to the vintage record bins. Nothing is in order; records are placed there as they arrive. It takes time to flip through each one, lifting any that catch your eye. I found Tapestry by Carole King and knew I had to have it. When I got home and played it, it took me back to the girl who sat on her bed filling journals and notebooks with words. And I wondered why I let her get away.
I have wanted (for a long while now) to share photos of this incredible gift, as both a thank you and reminder that I am deserving of my own space. Initially, I imagined it would come together as a feel good home decor post about a cluttered closet becoming a bright writing space — but that doesn’t feel right anymore.
It’s a story about a transformation that’s waiting to happen. And I’m the only one who can tell that story. It’s waiting for me.
And you have treasures hidden within you — extraordinary treasures — and so do I, and so does everyone around us. And bringing those treasures to light takes work and faith and focus and courage and hours of devotion, and the clock is ticking, and the world is spinning, and we simply do not have time anymore to think so small
~ Elizabeth Gilbert
So today, on the morning after my birthday, I looked at it with new eyes and I let my compass show me where I need to go: through the door, to my desk, and wherever the words take me.