Lost At Sea

Trying to use my voice when it all seems so pointless and scary.

It has been months since I’ve written anything of any depth or duration. Months of watching the world devolve in ways I never thought possible. Of watching myself shrink back again and again, diminishing and denying my own need to create and publish. Like so many of us - my brain can’t process the horror of our times, the death, destruction, corruption and inequity. So much is objectively better and yet, why does it all feel so much worse? My words feel pointless, vapid and inconsequential. They are stuck in my brain, swirling, angry and unvoiced, rebounding back on myself, echoing the words I have heard my whole life “what is wrong with you… “, “why can’t you just…”, “everyone else just get’s one with it…”.

It was against this psychological self-terror streak that yesterday came as such an unexpected and simple revelation. Floating along on the seas of life as usual, I ended up on an unplanned trip to the beach. Under cloudy skies and intermittent mists of soft summer rain, the kids played with wild and reckless abandon. We ate crisps seasoned with salty sand and washed them down with sticky, sweet lemonade. Phone abandoned in pocket, there was a simple silence and ease to it all.

It was one of the very first moments of peace I have felt in months. I wasn’t worried about where my rent was going to come from, the overdue car payments, the giddy weeds threatening to evict us nor the crushing feeling that I am only ever a few steps from the edge of the abyss.

Staring at the sea brought one of my favourite quotes of all time to mind:

“A ship in harbour is safe, but that is not what ships are built for”
by John A. Shedd.

Being something of a wild card, never fully able to fit in, nor fit out (I was never really cool or quirky)… this quote deeply resonates with me. I want to venture out into the open sea, to pull up anchor and sail with the same reckless abandon and joy shown by my kids - to create and communicate abundantly. Every few months, I build up the courage and excitement to peek out of the harbour, starting this Substack, recording my first video on YouTube video and even, would you believe, uploading a few TikTok’s.

However, any time I launch towards visibility it takes gargantuan effort, that is closely followed by nervous excitement, then exhaustion that allows in the irrational horsemen of crippling anxiety and fear of being seen in.

This has happened so many times, but one memory that has been niggling for recognition for some time comes from my 20’s. In an attempt to undo a negative school experience around art, I decided to go to an open, friendly sketching group. I felt great, sitting in Crawford Art Gallery, attempting to sketch a doorway and excited to meet with the other lovely doodlers for a chat after. I was wholly unaware that the ritual was to pass our sketchbooks around for critique. I hadn’t drawn a line in 15 years, this really was a maiden voyage so when my people pleaser forced my shakey hand to pass my infantile efforts to the next sketcher, I couldn’t breathe. I was, in turn, passed a series of highly accomplished sketches that further fuelled my sense of dread, igniting my cheeks and clamping my trap shut. Thankfully, as mine was passed around, people just smiled and passed it on without comment, except for one shaggy dog, and he had a lot to say about how disproportionate, badly framed and generally awful it was.

Tears burned as I kept my head low. One kind soul muttered some encouraging words in an attempt to ease the sting but as that sketchbook landed back on my lap with all eyes on my red rimmed eyes, I cemented my previous belief that “I am not creative”. It had been 15 years since I had put pen to paper and it would be another 15 years after that point before I attempted any type of pure ‘art’ again. I still can’t sketch without feeling shame and disgust at my efforts.

This story isn’t about my “I am not creative” belief, that’s a cargo ship for another day, it is about my fear of visibility. I put my head up and it was chopped off. Someone else, would have shrugged this experience off and said, “whoops, I didn’t realise that group was so advanced - better try again in a safer environment next time”. For me, the public humiliation was like kerosine poured on top of my already fragile sense of self.

Visibility has always felt unsafe to me, that fact was drummed into me from childhood. Keep your head down, only speak when spoken to and of course - to be talked about was the worst offence of all. The ‘truth’ was clear as day to me - to be safe I needed to be invisible and so I was.

I moved through life being just good enough to not get in trouble, but never so good that I’d draw attention. My invisibility cloak allowed me to hide my inattentiveness, my forgetfulness and my insatiable need to explore new ideas, crafts, foods and experiences without ever really finishing or finessing anything. I explored everything up to the point of being seen, once there, I’d recoil like a snail back into my carefully crafted shell of invisibility.

And so, I find myself in a tricky spot. As someone self employed, I need a degree of visibility to attract clients but every cell in my body screams ‘danger, danger, high voltage’ every time I press publish.

You would think, that with this knowledge, I would do the easy thing - get a J.O.B. and consign my creativity to the sidelines - safe and secure with my ship solidly moored to someone else’s dock. If only. All jobs, I’ve experienced, follow the same pattern:

Wow, that is amazing, you are amazing, we are amazing, this is going to be great 🎉

What do you mean you can’t do that same amazing thing again today and every day from 9-5 - that is what your job is?

Well can you just do this simple set of regularly repeated tasks until we have a new suitable project for you to work on?

How the heck did you get those wrong / forget that / make that mistake? What is wrong with you? I can’t trust you with a big creative project now. Just keep doing these menial tasks that are invisible to you while I micro manage you and continue to inadvertently destroy your soul.

What… wait… where did she go… I thought she was here a minute ago?

It’s gotten very popular lately but I feel like I invented quiet quitting 20 years ago. I slowly and painfully shrink down into a ball of anxiety and self loathing to avoid the beam of disappointment in my employers eyes. Like many people with ADHD, I just wasn’t made to fit into the 9-5 box. The paradox of my neurotype means I am either spectacular or painful - there really is no middle ground. Corporate doesn’t love that, come to think of it, I don’t love it as my own boss either but at least I accept and know how to manage it after 40+ years experience of it. The only problem is that the wages aren’t great…

I am aware that I am both the problem and the solution.

This very same brain type makes me excellent at what I do - helping other people to create exciting, beautiful and aligned businesses of their own. Flitting like a butterfly from one project to another with renewed enthusiasm every time I alight on a new client’s bud, helping coax it into a beautiful flower. Exploring new ideas, making them accessible to others, learning about other people and bringing out the best in them. It’s what I love to do. So with this knowledge, I keep trying to research, write, create and connect. I keep trying to launch my ship, yet the fear remains and I also keep retreating back to safety… or so I thought.

As it turns out - this time I haven’t sailed back into the harbour for safety - instead I scuttled below deck, like a child - closing my eyes and hoping this fear would go away and I’d be ready to come back up again.

Now, as I open my eyes and alight on deck - I realise… I am not in the safe harbour - I’m actually lost at sea. Anybody got a map or a compass?

I’m asking for a friend 😆