Wendy Blacke

emotional wayfarer

Tag: mental health

  • Refilling the Shell

    a life update

    Dear Reader, life changes fast, and I’m here with an update. My website has been sitting for a while unused. I’ve been reflecting on why that is, and I think I’ve lost touch with the purpose of this space. Some of that is because I started posting somewhat-polished pieces on my Substack, and even started a podcast called THOUGHTSCRAPES on there. I’ve made 5 episodes so far and I’m really enjoying the process of creating them, but the hustle and bustle of summer and my kiddo home from school means I get to spend a lot more time with family doing fun summer things, so my priorities are settled into experiences right now rather than creativity.

    And boy has it been hot! If you’re reading this and not drenched in sweat, what is your secret? I’ve had to cut back on my mental health walks simply because I may perish in this heat. We went to the Royal Saskatchewan Museum on the weekend to say our annual hello to Scotty the T Rex and see the new owl exhibit, and even inside that building, which I’m sure is temperature controlled to protect the artifacts and displays, was almost unpleasant in its mugginess.

    It’s also been quite a rainy summer so far. I love rain and I’m grateful my house has held up its integrity with no leaks. Other parts of my city haven’t been so lucky. The cool thing about the added moisture though, is that there have been a lot of mushrooms popping up everywhere. A sign of a healthy ecosystem, so I’m always happy to find them in my yard. It’s also made me curious to learn more about mycology and mushroom foraging. I started following this really awesome woman named Alexis Nikole who goes by @blackforager on Instagram, and her entire energy around foraging is so infectious. She’s a well of amazing information and I’ve been slurping it all up, poring over books on local plant life, and can’t wait to start recognizing things in the wild.

    Possibly my biggest news is that Taylor and I are engaged. He surprised me by getting down on one knee on a video chat all the way from where he lives in Texas. He had mailed me a ring and the moment was so perfect and beautiful. I’ve never felt so seen and accepted by someone, so the yes burst out with an enthusiasm I didn’t know I was capable of considering marriage is something I’ve actively avoided in the past. Turns out I wasn’t anti-marriage, I just hadn’t found someone who loved me the way I needed to be loved to feel safe.

    As a natural reaction to getting engaged, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’d even want from a wedding. I’ve decided the most important things to me (in order) are:

    1. Darwin is there
    2. I make my own dress
    3. It’s in a forest or garden

    Other than that I really don’t mind the details. I’m just so happy to love and to be loved by someone who I can share a mutual vulnerability with, and who never tries to dull my sparkle.

    I’ve picked up the knitting needles again. Strange timing, given the heat, I know, but from my air conditioned basement TV room, the seasons don’t seem to matter. I’m just making a simple dishcloth right now, or rather, finishing one I started probably 6 months ago or so, knit one corner of, and then abandoned in my knitting bag. I am going to need more practice with lace, so once this is done, I’m moving on to a nice summer top with a lace panel on the body and sleeves. I’ll make it out of this lovely dark teal cotton/linen blend yarn I’ve had in my stash for a few years.

    I started a new book a few days ago called Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, a Mexican-American woman who is also a Jungian psychoanalyst. I really enjoy Carl Jung’s work, and this book seems to be a wonderful mix of Jungian concepts through a feminist lens focused on empowerment and return to form. Getting in touch with our inner wild feminine, so often suppressed in patriarchal society.

    Speaking personally, most of the men I’ve known in my life, and plenty of women too, have tried to control, hurt, suppress, or shame me into a box. I’ve lived feeling like I need to shrink to fit, and I’m sorry to say that I did. I lost parts of myself along the way. I’d bend and twist and cut off the pieces that weren’t acceptable until what was left was someone I didn’t recognize. I was someone who existed trying to be loved and learning I couldn’t be without adding or subtracting, hiding and abiding. I’m learning to love myself exactly as I am, and I’m refilling the shell I became.

    Maybe the new purpose of this space will be documenting the joy I’m rediscovering in life; the things I’m learning on my path back to the me I was before the world told me that wasn’t acceptable. I’m building back my creativity, my curiosity, and my connection with nature and my personal spirituality. I’m in the middle of healing and it’s a beautiful place to be and grow.

  • Smoke Signals of Thought – Self Sabotage

    Smoke Signals of Thought – Self Sabotage

    For as long as I can remember, creative pursuits have been important to my wellbeing. As a small, terrified child, drawing or writing or really making anything with my hands was an escape from the anger and abuse that surrounded me. As a teenager, visual art took on an essential role – I drew and painted with reckless abandon as a way of working through a lot of deeply laid anger, resentment, and fear. As a young adult, art and writing continued and I learned to hate myself less. I picked up other creative hobbies like knitting and sewing. I even spent a few years making a very comfortable living freelancing as an artist, writer, and knitwear designer.

    And then I stopped.

    As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed a cycle. As soon as I start to see some success with any creative pursuit, my instinct is to pull back, or to quit completely. It’s like I want the success but at the same time I’m afraid.

    • I have been successful with art, with companies sending me free art supplies, and barely being able to keep up with commission orders.
    • I’ve been successful with writing, making a living writing ghost-writing articles, running a successful blog with my personal writing and even had reviews published in art magazines.
    • I’ve been successful in knitting, having many knitting patterns I designed and wrote published in calendars, magazines, and a book of patterns.

    All of these things I quit once I started to see the success I did. But, what’s interesting is professionally, in my “day job”, my “career”, I’ve found a lot of success and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Why?

    I’ve pondered and looked internally searching for answers. I become so frustrated with myself when I feel that deep, essential part of me pulling away. I want to reach inside and shake myself, to snap myself out of that fog of self sabotage and stay the course when it’s going well.

    Part of it is impostor syndrome, I’m sure. I’ve never felt quite good enough. When someone compliments something I’ve made, my first thought is that they’ve made a mistake. My first inclination is to play it off, or make an excuse, or insult my own work. I’ve gotten better over the years at just saying “thank you!” and taking the damn compliment, but I still feel all these things inside. Maybe I always will.

    I’ve wondered why I seem to have this fear of success for my creative pursuits, but not my career pursuits and I think it comes down to creative pursuits being so much closer to me. Sharing a painting feels like opening my heart a little and pouring out a little blood onto everyone who looks at it. When I share something I’ve written, it’s like opening a little window into my psyche and inviting people inside. That is scary as hell. What if I paint out my soul, what if I lay bare in my writing and it’s rejected? Perhaps pulling back so I never know is safer. Perhaps hiding it all behind a wall again keeps me whole and unknown. Maybe that’s why I’m more comfortable sharing paintings I’ve done of characters and celebrities and less comfortable sharing the art where I’m really saying something.

    I want to feel brave. I want to shrug off mistakes. I want a thicker skin.

    Hell, reading back through this post, I’m scared to even hit publish.

    Perhaps I need to learn to let go and reclaim the unapologetic creating with reckless abandon of my youth and who gives a shit about the rest.