Exertion is sometimes worth it

The older I get the more I like my home environment to reflect where I am in my life right now. My values, my hobbies and interests, my friends and family. 

Last summer I updated my special room. I made an art corner and bought a beautiful desk. Everything in the room is special to me and exactly the reflection I wanted it to be. But now...

Upon my epiphany that I want to commit more of my time to my art I realized my space for my beloved ceramics was woefully wanting. My "art table" had become a "catch all" for everything from future craft projects to things I need to return. Even a bath mat found its way in. ACK! 

Is there even a craft table in there!?

Then I realized that the space (once de-cluttered) would be great for TWO art tables. One devoted completely to ceramics and clay and the other for my other art. Painting and drawing mostly. Then my desk (which I'm at right now) for computer things.

Voila!

But as I said previously, I am disabled, so I need to do this in stages. Something I HATE TO DO! I love to swoop in like a vulture and make the space perfect all in one day. I think this will take me well into the weekend. But I see the vision and it's coming along nicely.

Sweating like a sinner in church.

My "Visible" device telling me to stop. I listened.

Even though I have to stop and do this project in spurts I'm excited for the end result. I have time booked at my ceramics studio tomorrow and will buy some clay to take home. Anything I make they can then fire for me. 

I'm also excited to get some of this clutter out of my special room.

Hey Me! You're Disabled Dummy!

Holy hell. I had a big "aha" moment the other day. 

I needed to complete a certain number of hours of training when I renewed my license. A very large number of hours. I've been procrastinating completing them. This past week I finally got down to work. It took me about three hours, but I finished one course successfully. 

Then I spent the rest of the day exhausted and seeing double from so much reading for so long.

Completing just a very small section of what was being asked of me left me feeling physically ill. Why was I putting myself through this? 

No... seriously... why? The more I thought about doing this 10 more times the more nauseous I became. Was I even this person anymore? Didn't I leave all this behind because I'm disabled and can't do it any longer?

Yes. Yes I did. And no, silly. I don't have to do it 10 more times. I don't have to do it ever again if that's what I chose. Because why put my brain and body through that? I can help people in many other ways.

I feel like I've been in limbo ever since I left work. At first I was too ill to do hardly anything. But the last (almost) two years I've been torn between art and therapy and not really doing either that well.

I've always been an artist. I am an artist. I adore making ceramic pieces, drawing and painting. It's time I drop all the studying, quizzes and shit that makes me ill and get back to creating things. Like many disabled women artists that came before me.

Frida Kahlo

Yayoi Kasama

Lisa Bufano

Emily Barker

Judith Scott

And many many more. I'm honored to join their ranks

Me taking a much needed chill pill

Processing Grief

I lost a lot when I became disabled. 

A big part of my identity was wrapped up in my job. No... my career. It felt like I had just barely scratched the surface of a huge part of my life when everything was turned upside down. First by my muscle disease that cause my energy and mobility issues, then again by my brain tumor that left me with potentially life long side effects.

I am very resilient and landed quickly on my feet. I also have fantastic family support. However I don't think I entirely processed what had happened. I feel like I was just taking it one day at a time in survival mode going from one medical appointment to the next. My identity as a helper of others had been turned around completely and now I was the one in need of help. 

I realize now that the dust has settled a bit (and even though that we're still in a global pandemic) I'm finally processing what happened to me. It was very shocking, completely life changing and horrible. Now I'm having to grow my other identities (and dust off old ones, like being an artist) to rebuild myself. 

A Sharpie drawing I did for my Mama

One thing that hit me hard this weekend was that I had been feeling entirely unattractive. My sexuality had been smashed along with my confidence. Not very long ago I was a full time wage earner, busy but invigorated. Now I feel like a "fat, old crippled lady." (My words)

Of course one fix is slow. Weight loss (which I REALLY need to take more seriously!) The other is my sexual confidence. When I look good, I feel good. But let me back up.

For the last 7 years (since I turned 40) I have flirted with my "natural" hair color. I had been a life long dye addict and was curious what my real hair color looked like. So began a very long repetitive process of growing my hair out, coloring it, then whacking it short to go back to my natural color. After my brain tumor I tried out Henna and shunned the drug store box because of the chemicals. But that was a long process that was also very messy.

Well, this weekend I decided to color my hair again. Not henna, but not the drugstore box either. I went with a natural botanical brand of permanent dye and I picked "Licorice." I wanted a black vixen look like Elizabeth Taylor. 

My Mama took me to our local co-op and they had just what I was looking for. Then she colored it for me at her casa. I actually really love it and do feel much sexier and confident in my looks. It's silly how such a little thing can help me mentally, but it did. 

For me this was less about dying my hair and more about regaining some much needed body autonomy. I often feel like my body runs the show and I'm just along for the ride. This time I took the (black) reigns and got some control back. I also happen to think it looks great, which helps my self esteem. All that for just $18. 

I know I'll continue to process and grieve for what I lost, while being aware the whole time of how very lucky I am. My feelings aren't exclusive and I give myself full permission to feel both.