sewing while anxious

(Please enjoy this ridiculous photo of when someone left me alone in a studio with dressmaker's mannequins)

Anxiety and depression are long-time enemies of mine, and I've been dealing with them again for the last year or so. I spent about six months of last year unable to work and basically lying in bed all the time feeling alternately hopeless and terrified, seeing an array of different doctors, taking an array of different medications (none of which worked), trying anything I could think of to make myself better and becoming increasingly discouraged as one by one, everything failed. Towards the end of the year I took the frightening step of quitting my job, and since I became unemployed things have started to look better. There's still quite a way to go, but at least I can see where the exit is.

Fortunately, just before the sequestered-in-my-room stage of depression hit, I took an introductory dressmaking class. The spark of a new interest managed to stay alight even as I stopped caring about a lot of other things, and I was able to persuade myself to move from the bed to the sewing machine a few times a week. Coming out of a period of depression with the ability to make clothes makes it easier not to beat myself up about wasting time, because I learned a whole new skill. "But I learned how to make clothes" compares quite favourably with "But I watched a truly dizzying number of episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway?" which is what happened last time. 

Sewing is also a great thing for an anxious mind, because it's required to be completely occupied. When I have a project to focus on, there's no space to rifle through old memories and toss up a stupid thing I did/rude thing someone said once eleven years ago (why do I hold on to all this? Why do I never forget anything except where I put important documents and necessary medication?). Spending a few hours sewing is a great way to have a few hours' break from the frankly exhausting spin cycle my brain is on most of the time. Having this blog is a similarly useful thing - I've had writer's block for ages, but having a specific subject and giving myself a pretty defined posting schedule has helped keep me productive and making content of one kind or another fairly consistently. It's also a good record for me, and helps me to not to bore my boyfriend's face off talking about it all the time (I do still talk about it a lot, and he's very good at listening to me, but blathering on about a hobby to someone who doesn't share it isn't a very considerate thing to do). 

Of course, dressmaking brings with it a whole new set of things to worry about. Here are a few things that have stopped me sewing something, or wearing something I've made:

The wrong type of needle is in the machine and my brain has become momentarily convinced that changing it is too huge a task

I paid more than £10 for this fabric, and if I cut into it I'm bound to ruin it

I'm never going to make anything that doesn't look sloppy and amateurish

What if this seemingly amazing pattern I bought is playing evil tricks on me and will make me look like a platypus when I've finished it?

Remember that random blog comment from a woman who said that thing you just did is the worst possible sewing crime and anyone who does that thing should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves?

Last time you tried this, you messed it up

AAARRGHHHH

I can't wear this today, someone's bound to notice I messed up the hem and it doesn't quite fit in the shoulders

Too conspicuous too conspicuous take it off NOW

See, now you're dressed just like [friend/flatmate/relative] and that's ridiculous

Some of this stuff is fairly universal, and I'm sure some of it looks straight-up nuts to people whose brains don't work this way. Mine, under the guise of being "realistic", will often tell me that if I'm honest with myself none of my garments are any good, and I don't really like any of them, and I only force myself to wear them to justify my silly indulgence of a hobby. Of course, it also tells me that I only force myself to wear a lot of my store-bought clothes to justify having bought something that was clearly a mistake, so I don't think it's especially trustworthy. 

This is where sewing is worth a lot more than just the clothes to me. That voice in my brain is always there, basically always has been, I'll never get rid of it entirely. But every so often I make something that quantifiably, demonstrably proves it wrong. I put on something like my grey Wren and it cannot argue that I'd rather not be wearing that. There is literally nothing it can say to me, and it has no choice but to shut up. The power dynamic in my own head is forced to shift and I feel strong, and free. It all comes back again distressingly quickly, of course, but the more of these moments I can string together the weaker it gets.