I
never really enjoyed sewing. I mean, both my grandmas were
professional seamstresses, my mom is great with a sewing machine and
well, I
cannot follow a simple pants pattern without cursing… But you know,
that’s OK. I had made peace with the fact that my sewing machine would
be used only to
hem pants or sew bean bags… until I saw this great upcycling workshop
advertized by an acquaintance of mine… It sounded simple enough, no
patterns,
no serger needed. Only a big bag of used clothes and creative ideas. I
had
both.
I had selected my projects weeks in advance, had created a
Pinterest board of ideas and well, I had great big plans and a vision. Yeah,
you see where I am heading… It started going downhill as soon as I picked up
the scissors… or maybe just a bit before, when I started layering the clothes on
myself in front of the mirror and could not see anything anymore. Other
participants were suggesting ideas but I could not see what they were seeing. I
had no idea where I was heading or even where to start. This is when the
teacher said that at some point, you just have to take the plunge and start
cutting. And she suggested cutting open the front of my Myco Anna dress from top to bottom. I asked if she was sure. She nodded and said yes. And I proceeded. Now,
she said, put the blue t-shirt underneath and play with the cut up dress in
front of the mirror. But I still could not see what to
do. And then, there were other
participants that also needed help so she left me alone to figure
out what to do. So I stood there and tears welled up in my
eyes. I ran to the bathroom. As I sat there, sobbing like a heart-broken
teenager, I tried to figure out what was going on. I realized that I
felt
inadequate.
I
finally came out of the bathroom, all red-eyed and puffy-faced, feeling
ackward among the participants. I asked for help (again) and
started pulling apart the Myco Anna dress, the way my girls dismember
their Polly Pockets.
As focused as I was on the project (I have lots of flaws,
but I sure am persistent), the rest of the day was a daze of other people
chatting, laughing (which made my misery even worse… we all know misery
loves company), drinking tea, eating dark chocolate and holding back the tears of frustration.
When the day was finally over, I climbed back in the safe space of
my frozen car. As night was falling and I was heading home on the highway, tears trickled down my face as I cried like a toddler after a hard day at daycare.
I was hoping to leave the workshop empowered. I thought it
would get my creative juices flowing once again. I had thought about all the
great projects I could tackle by myself after the class, but I only felt dumb. I
was no seamstress. And then, as I embraced all those ugly feelings, I felt something shift inside. A softening.
Then, as I took the highway exit, I felt a twinge in my lower abdomen and remembered that it was
almost my moon time. And maybe I
had drunk too much wine last night and that made me hypersensitive today. Maybe it was
not just about the freaking dress that I could not make.
There is something stangely comforting about blaming
your hormones for emotions that feel wildly out of proportion.
As I
pulled into our driveway, with a thick layer of dry tears on my
face, I took a deep breath and smiled. Sure enough, as I walked in, I
was
greeted by excited little girls who wanted to see *all* my creations. And, I
was
able not to fall apart when they said: Just that, mama! That’s all you
did in
your class??
Because, hey, hormones got my back!!
