It is many months since I last blogged, almost a year since I blogged with a frequency you could perhaps generously describe as regular. It’s not as though I have nothing to blog about: 2014 saw me travel to the USA and Bangladesh where I taught my first workshops with eating disorder units and in schools. I had my first article published in a magazine. I rediscovered my love of craft, advancing my knitting skills beyond my wildest dreams and took my first tentative steps in crochet. I published my favourite ever issue of The Green Bean.
But 2014 was also unkind to my mental health. I will try to write about that soon, but for the time being things seem better. I am surfacing after months underwater.
As I’ve returned to (art)work, I’ve felt overwhelmed and hopelessly behind. The more time passed since I last blogged, the greater the pressure on that first post. It wanted it to be spectacular, attention-grabbing, and make up for all the time that was lost. The expectation grew and I was never able to meet it so I wrote nothing, thinking perhaps I’d feel more up to it another time. Time passed. Writing that first post got harder still.
Until I remembered my work has always been about being honest. Instead of lumbering myself with expectations, trying to plan out weeks’ worth of exciting content and pretend no time has passed, it seems both logical and infinitely more achievable to begin right where I am. Excited, yes. I have lots of news to share and ideas in the cooking pot. But nervous too, and struggling still with the bit of me that always wants to do everything, everything, perfectly and right now. I am protesting by writing a blog post that shares how it is, rather than pretending it’s all how I want it to be.
And I intend to continue in this manner.