Reclaiming My Creativity Cloak
Learning how to recognize is the first step
The first step to unwinding a problem is recognizing that there is a problem. Until I can see it for myself, I can not begin to address the issue. Recently, I had such a moment when I discovered I am a writer who was no longer creating.
It should not have been a surprise. And yet, it was.
It caught me off guard. I remember the familiar sting of no longer being able to hide something about myself that I would prefer not to address. Each time I step out of the fog and see what is right in front of me, I wonder how I could have been so blind.
Why did I not notice this earlier?
Often when faced with a new reality, I want to fight against the information. In the past, I would find a way to discredit or deny it all. My first thoughts would be filled with excuses or thinking about who I could blame. Now, I prefer to search for clues to answer the age-old question: How did I get here?
I choose to unwind this revelation playfully and with curiosity, like a kitten exploring a ball of yarn.
Sifting for Clues
Looking back, I see that my writing slowly declined around the time my first book was to be published. There were headshots to take, a website to maintain, and public speaking skills to hone. There were other decisions, too. Venue for the launch party? Finalize the book cover? Schedule book talks?
Everything was new, some of it scary, but most of it shiny, catching my eye and holding my attention.
Then, all of it came to an abrupt stop on that dull day in March, when I hurried the kids home from school and hunkered down to wait for the virus to pass. (How do you pronounce it again? Like the beer??) We watched the news and played board games and started that Netflix series we always wanted to watch as a family. We worried about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs like food, safety, and toilet paper.
One day, while my in-laws stood outside our home, six feet away, for a social distancing visit with masks and gloves, I opened a thin, brown-paper package that contained my long-awaited book proof.
A month later, with little fanfare, my first children’s book was published and available for purchase. Yet, all the brick and mortar stores remained closed.
Two weeks turned into months, and suddenly, there were lesson plans to review, virtual meetings to attend, and spirits to lift over missing friends, canceled events, and a longing for real life. Drive-thru birthday celebrations and wearing masks became the norm as we trudged through to the last day of school.
By then, we had “sheltered in place” for some sixty-plus days, and the last day felt like any other.
Recognizing My Role
If I squint hard enough at those months, I can almost see myself abandoning my writer’s cloak on the hallway chair, the one where no one ever sits, while slipping on an old t-shirt with the word SAVIOR splashed across the front.
Saving others is a role I am intimately familiar with and can easily decide it is mine to wear.
A savior’s mind includes thoughts like: others need me and, therefore, there’s no time for my pursuits or I don’t want others to suffer. I should take it all on instead. This dialogue plays on repeat like an old familiar song, informing my actions and how I move throughout my day.
For a brief moment, playing the role of savior brings me joy. (This is the trap, isn’t it?) It reminds me of when my kids were little and needed me in that exhaustive, all-consuming way.
And it feels good to be wanted again.
When that feeling fades and the reality sets in, I am reminded of the expression, Don’t do anything the first month of marriage you aren’t planning on doing for the rest of your life.
This advice should be applied to quarantine living, too.
I recognize now that I reverted to a past dynamic that no longer serves me. I was making choices based on old beliefs about myself and my family. I tossed aside my wants and made everyone else’s needs my responsibility, even though no one asked me to.
I also know now, I was acting out of fear.
The more I could control the situation and manage other’s feelings, the less anxious I was about what was going on in the world. I swooped in and took over, leaving little room for others to find their way.
It was like I was on a quest to finish everyone else’s games of solitaire while altogether abandoning my own.
Acknowledging I am the only one who can fix it
Now I can see how I contributed to my problem. Each time I stepped in, I did not allow the members of my family to manage their own emotions. My actions sent messages like: You are not capable of handling hard things. Creative endeavors are only for the best of times. A parent’s job is to give from an empty well. When I examine the clues, I begin to put the pieces together to form the larger picture. With this clarity, I am also able to see new opportunities to make a different choice.
In my mind’s eye, I fling off my tattered SAVIOR t-shirt and put on a simple blue sundress. I walk over to my writer’s cloak, still draped over the chair. I picture my fingers gently gliding across the silky fabric, brushing off the dust.
I choose to slip it back on.
I recognize the issue. I acknowledge that it is mine to fix. Now I am ready to take action and create the space needed to start writing again.
What cloak have you put down that you want to pick up again? What clues help you recognize the problem? What led you to put down your cloak in the first place?
Want more? Join here to live life in the flow. Get ready, get set, go!
