This is a perfect descriptive picture of what my life has been like for the past four plus months:
Photo courtesy of Photos8.com
From Bill being sick, to his kidneys shutting down, to his diagnosis of multiple myeloma, to a prostate cancer scare, to looking at a possible year of chemotherapy, I have been scared to the point of being frozen with fear. When I have looked out of my (perhaps) self-imposed cage, the view was no better. Wars, earthquakes, natural disasters. Unrest. Anger. Political vitriol is hard to escape – it seems to have invaded everything. Prices keep going up and packaging keeps getting smaller. Everywhere I looked the message seemed to be saying that yes, the world was beginning to come to an end.
If my outer world felt like a barbed wire cage, my inner world provided no solace. Another pictorial description:
Photo courtesy of Photos8.com
I have felt like this more days than not. The screams could find no voice and even if I could make a sound, I felt there were no ears to hear it. I did talk to Bill but I didn’t want to hinder his healing with my being maudlin. Before you get too worried about me, the fact that I am writing about it means that I am finding my way out of the cage. Look at the first picture again, there is an opening there at the bottom right.
Fear is an interesting thing. I’ve never realized its power until now. It really can paralyze you. I don’t know how I let it overcome me but it did and I didn’t like it, but then who does?
I’ve tried to justify it with no satisfaction. Mostly I’ve just let it creep into anything and everything. And the worst part is that it made me emotionally fragile and physically sick myself. Every moment I was waiting on the next bit of bad news and catastrophe. I actively searched for evidence that everything was going bad and of course, I found it.
Here’s what I’ve been so scared about:
- Fear of losing Bill
- Fear of losing myself
- Fear of losing Pamelot
- Fear of losing my lifestyle
- Fear of losing my faith
- Fear of losing my creativity
- Fear of losing my talent
- Fear of losing my world
As many know, I will not touch my fabric or bags if I can’t do it in total love. Well, I’ve not been able to do that while living in fear. The last bag I created was this one:
I was so darned proud of that bag. I grinned and grinned while I used it. For one lousy day. Then the vinyl on one of the D-rings started tearing. It was unusable and I was devastated! I was more devastated than a person should be. I mourned for that bag. It sat in the studio for months. I would see it every day and mourn it all over again. My mind was so muddled by fear that I could find no solution, just sadness and shame.
Why shame? I have been sewing for 80% of my life. My first sewing teacher was a wicked taskmaster. She insisted that my work be perfect. If it wasn’t, I had to rip out my work and do it again and again until it was perfect. I learned relatively fast how to do things right the first time. Of the hundreds of bags I have made, I have never had one fail like this. When I am making a bag, it has been built over and over in my head before I ever cut fabric. I never have to rip out seams because I am doing something I’ve done many times before. So this beautiful bag, the best one I had ever made, failed on its first day of use. In my world, that is shame.
A week ago tomorrow, I deconstructed most of this bag. The problem with doing this is sewing on vinyl (and leather) leaves irreparable holes. For weeks I had been trying to find a way to fix it only to come up empty. When I started ripping out seams, I still had no solution and was going to salvage the lining and just make a new bag. My heart hurt every time I thought about that. Just before I started on the zipper seams, I had a thought. I could see a doubled reinforced D-Ring tab that should withstand the forces the weight of the bag would place on it. I made a sample tab and pulled and pulled on it. It didn’t rip. So I engineered new tabs that would cover the needle holes, sewed them on and re-made the bag. (All the while holding my breath.)
So far, so good. But. Something in me won’t allow myself to be as proud as I was the first time around. The bag actually looks better and I do love it. But back at the same time when my wicked sewing teacher was demanding that I be perfect, religion was being literally beat into me too. “Pride goeth before a fall.” Proverbs 16:18. And yes, I did learn “fear of the lord.” In my twisted and fearful world, I wondered if my beautiful bag broke because I was too proud of it. It’s interesting how things beat into us come back to haunt us. It’s also interesting how those hauntings restrict us.
I’ve not been able to create anything yet, though I can feel those “seeds” about to break the surface. Meanwhile, I continue to fight the fear.
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