pinsel needles
on being stuck creatively or something
My son wobbled up to me earlier. He’d been kneeling down playing with a Furby, a music box, and a small action figure of David Tennant. (All recent acquisitions from my sister. The kids have never watched Dr Who so they just think he’s a normal bloke in a trench coat. Also if you wonder why I can never successfully declutter my home, this is why.)
‘MUMMEE!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got pinsel needles!’
I chuckled. ‘That’s because you’ve been sitting on your legs for a long time.’
And then I thought, ‘THIS WOULD BE A GOOD METAPHOR FOR LIFE!’
So here it is. The metaphor. This is me, essentially. Having pins and needles but, you know, in a mental way.
I like my job. I get to write! As a job! I think I write quite well. I get to work from home. Not just because of Covid but because that’s what I do. Sometimes, like today, if I’m feeling a bit tired or rough, I can work from my bed. It’s flexible. I’m good at it. I think.
But the only problem is, writing for a job means that sometimes you get sick of it. And you forget that you can do it just for the love of it.
I need to write creatively. Or I start to feel really anxious and irritable and stressy. I don’t mean this to sound pretentious, it’s just an unwinding thing. Like some people need to exercise or watch trashy TV or just lay in a dark room with their eyes closed for a long time. I need to write stuff that isn’t work stuff.
That is what happened recently. And I genuinely think it has contributed to my poor mental health especially recently. I just totally forgot to write for fun. Because every moment that I haven’t been spending a) looking after the kids or b) running around picking up Furbies and action figures, I am writing. And so when I sit down of an evening I don’t want to then open up my laptop again, because it feels like work.
A cycle. That’s what it is.
Anyway, so I’ve been writing for fun again. And it works. Sometimes you just have to find things that work and actually do them, even if life feels busy and you feel like taking time out is selfish.
A family member of mine, who is mildly addicted to yoga to the point of taking her yoga mat on holiday with her, summed it up like this: ‘I felt guilty about it, because I thought it was selfish, but it’s not selfish. It’s self-care.’
How can I bring this back around into something meaningful? I guess, maybe you’ve been so stuck in the everyday grind of life that you’ve failed to realise you’ve become stagnant and you’re just sitting still. And now when you try to move, it dawns on you that it’s been so long that you’ve been cutting off your own circulation without even noticing.
And so you need to go do yoga or writing or something. That one thing that gets the blood pumping back into your legs again.
Ah, I dunno. I’ve run out of steam now. Have a good Friday. Find your ‘thing’ that you do for fun and not just for money. Unblock your pinsel needles. Self-care isn’t selfish. And so on ❤
