health – By Autumn Rain

I’ve spent the last four months wondering if I actually enjoyed fiber arts, or if it had been a coping mechanism for a stressful life.

I can’t announce that I’ve reclaimed my hobby or come to any sort of conclusion about it. In one sense, I think I still enjoy it — and in another sense, it still seems twisted up in stress.

As a related point, I spent 16 years doing tons and tons of cooking. It felt like creative exploration. I liked trying out new recipes and it felt good when something turned out well. But I was also deeply depressed over the hours I spent alone in the kitchen, and I flat out hated the clean up. Of course, there was also the sting whenever a child declared, “That’s disgusting!” and refused to eat. Cue the other parent asserting, “You eat what’s put in front of you,” and I felt responsible for creating more familial discord than harmony, all because I printed a recipe off of the internet.

Then one day when I was standing alone in my kitchen, it struck me that I could not care less about cooking. That same predictable flavor from a can of Bush’s baked beans was more comforting to me than anything I made; no more worrying about whether something turned out too bland or too salty. I realized that I was never getting a dopamine hit from eating — it was all about having a limited number of areas that I was allowed to excel in, and desperately wanting to feel like I was good at something. Plus, there were all the literal hours that I gained back from not slaving over a stove, and I sure enjoy having those.

Which brings us back to fiber arts.

There were a number of months in which I didn’t do any fiber arts at all. Then there were months where I did a burst of fiber arts, and the kids talked me into weaving table runners for all the holidays (except I missed 4th of July). Then four months ago, I … quit. Or rather, took another break from it. Still trying to figure out my head. I’ve been wondering if it’s something that I enjoy, or momentum from a past that feels increasingly disconnected from who I am now.

Who am I now?

Eh I dunno. The question wears on me. Maybe I’m someone who loves TV and hates cooking. One of those inferior stupid people. I really can’t be bothered with seeking enlightenment anymore; it never delivered what it promised anyway.

Now that all of my stressors are increasingly conquerable, I’m wondering if I’ll still reach for a crochet hook when my blood pressure is normal. Is crafting something that I enjoy for it’s own sake? Or was my prior life too limited to explore anything else?

The other day I began a new weaving project. I haven’t felt anything positive or negative about it, just remembering how easy it is to meld into the repetition while time slips away.

Which, I admit, repetition has its own value.

I’ve been channeling my inner Paula Deen and indulging in Southern comfort foods. Banana pudding and lemon curd pudding? Yes please! Chocolate popcorn, potato salad, beer can chicken (though I used apple juice instead) … It’s feels really good to throw off all concerns about sugar and fat and just indulge in the fuel of life.

Besides, I was never the one who cared about reading ingredient labels anyway.

The weather is nice and I’ve been getting out a fair bit, going on nature walks and identifying bird song using a handy app I downloaded. I like how I have a better understanding of the world around me, not to mention the excitement of hearing a bird that’s marked as “uncommon” or “rare.” My kids and I also keep our eyes out for fish in the river, any other critters that we can spot, and plants that are interesting … I enjoy these excursions quite a bit.

I patched a hole in the back tire of my daughter’s bike. I haven’t done this sort of thing since I was a kid, so it was satisfying when I got the bicycle put back together and it worked … especially with getting the chain back onto the gears, since that was rather tricky for me. I like discovering this inner reserve of handiness that’s gone untapped over all these years, and it’s really boosting my confidence. It’s not that I couldn’t fix things, but rather that I was never allowed to before.

Occasionally, after all of these busy days of outings and improvements, I have days when I feel completely unmotivated to do anything. I’m doing my best to frame these as days of rest, and not judge myself by their existence. I’m rebuilding a lot right now, and it would be unfair to expect myself to keep doing so much every single day.

It is surprisingly hard to write about myself. The internet is full of people who go on and on about the ordinary things that they do, while here I am struggling with summarizing my weekly activities. I don’t believe that I have the “it” factor, so I’m not going to gain any attention through journal entries, but this is something that I want to do for myself. I grew up in a shadow, then married into a different shadow, and now I want to feel like I have the right to shine with my own light. No permission required.