Is this thing on?

I make art because I'd lose my mind if I didn't. But who am I kidding, I want to be seen.

I’m not sure if I’m doing this because I think I have a unique perspective and want to share it with the world, or if, as I’ve come to suspect, what I’m really looking for is to find others who are in a similar situation and feel connected. If I’m being honest, I’m really hoping that this thing goes out into the ether and finds you, a reader, and you recognize some small part of it, and you feel seen too, and you let me know, and that’s how we find and build our community. So here goes.

Was that OK for my first paragraph of my first Substack post? My inner critic is snorting and rolling her eyes. She can kiss my ass, I’m posting it anyway.

Here’s my story. I have always been an artist, but my parents were worried about how I would make a living. It turned out that I was also pretty smart, academically successful, and a good writer. When it was time to go to college, I went to Vassar for the liberal arts education. And the vibe. And maybe a little bit because there was a cute boy who had graduated from my high school the year before I did and he went to Vassar and my guidance counselor suggested it. Anyway, I started out an English major, and then discovered psychology and thought, “wow - I can learn why people are the way they are, and also make good money as a therapist!” (This was the 1980s, the Time Before Managed Care.)

I had taken an intro-level studio art course (the teacher was intimidating and I had self-esteem issues) and I couldn’t see any other avenues to explore or pursue art as a career - but hey, maybe my parents were right, I could do something practical and I would always have a nice hobby. I decided I was going to graduate school and I was going to move to California and become the therapist for all the messed-up children of the wealthy families in LA or Santa Barbara. Did I mention that I grew up in New England and I hate winter??

Well, I did go to graduate school, and it was in California. Fresno. I don’t regret that experience. By the time I finally finished my PhD I had just turned 30, I had moved “back east” to PA for my internship, and I needed to pay my rent. I had a job in a mental health clinic and had started working my way up the nonprofit career ladder, burned out on being a therapist, became a supervisor/manager, and was running part of a children’s program. Two years later, when they offered me a position as the director of a residential (“group home”) program for adults with ID and Autism, it was the logical next step. I was interested in program administration, and besides, it was a $10K salary bump!

Are you still with me? Are you wondering what ever happened to me being an artist? Yeah it turns out, I needed to figure that out. Having jumped into the role with no programmatic background or knowledge of the applicable regulations, my first few months as a program director were … eye-openingly nightmarish. I would say that I literally had nightmares, but I was not actually sleeping that much. I think I actually interviewed for some other jobs but didn’t get them (I’m sure my sleep-deprived mental state contributed to that). And, like I said, I had bills to pay. So I got through the first year somehow.

I’m pretty sure it was summer 1998 when someone in a therapy group told me about The Artist’s Way, and someone else gave me a copy of SARK’s book, Succulent Wild Woman. Julia Cameron and SARK may have saved my life. I had lost track of my artist self, and I felt lost. Trapped in someone else’s idea of what my life should be. I needed permission and encouragement to BE my artist self; and I needed to know that it was OK to do that while also continuing to further my career in human services.

And here I am, 25 years later. I can’t say I was able to quit my soul-crushing day job(s) and become an artist full time, but I was drawn to working with glass and making jewelry and have been honing my skills ever since. I’ve been accepted into juried craft shows, have sold my work in the shop at the local arts center, and have had trunk shows at the lovely homes of two supportive friends. My 84-year-old mom is my best jewelry model. As I learn a new technique and work it out, mom gets to be the guinea pig, and she proudly wears pieces I made years ago that make me cringe but let me see how far I’ve come.

If you’re interested, my website is here.

I’ve been in my current position working for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s Department of Human Services for almost 15 years. The past few years have been increasingly challenging and stressful. I’m 58 years old. Can I survive until I can retire? Maybe. But I know for sure I couldn’t have gotten this far and would certainly be an anxious stressed-out miserable angry hopeless wreck if I didn’t have my creative adventures at the torch to bring me back to my center and keep me in touch with my passion. Making art feeds the fire in my soul. Gotta keep that flame alive. (The layers of meaning around feeding/nourishing myself … and eating disorders … is another story for another time.)

Oh, and also, I have a partner who supports me, a beautiful home with an art studio in the basement, and two goofy rescued french bulldogs for pure love and daily shenanigans.

Luna and Ruby want you to know that they are INNOCENT

I am aware of my privilege and I am grateful. The powerlessness and frustration and despair I feel in my day job is very real too. I know I’m not alone in this experience. Maybe next time I’ll share some other ways I’m learning to sit with the stress and also allow for self-care and healing and joy. Either that, or my next post will be all photos of frenchies and flowers.

See you soon.