Giving Yourself Permission
It took me a long time to clue into the idea of giving myself permission to do the things I loved.
I would look at the dishes in the kitchen sink, the laundry in the hampers, the long list of errands that never seemed to get any shorter, and place any dreams I had for myself somewhere far away from where I could access them.
This can be the hardest thing to give ourselves. We can clean off our desks, we can buy the art supplies, and have our journals ready and waiting to go, but I feel that women, in particular, have a hard time of giving themselves permission to take time for themselves.
But we need to give permission to ourselves because if we don’t take time for ourselves we can never fill our souls with the things that it needs and we need that fuel to survive.
I lost myself in my marriage and in the raising of my children. I found time to do some of the things I enjoyed. I read books. I played hockey. But, I wasn’t truly nourishing my creative spirit. I started painting again, in small spurts, in my visual journal, two years before my divorce, and my husband wasn’t even aware that I was painting. That is how closely I hid it. For some reason I felt guilty about taking the time to sit with paints, and images, and glue and let my thoughts float, but now I realize how necessary it was for my soul.
And the best part is that giving myself permission doesn’t have to happen in big crazy spurts. That is another place where I’ve allowed myself to get stuck in the past. Thinking that I need huge chunks of time to spend painting, or to sit in a chair and write. Instead, all I really need is five minutes a day to myself and sit and put some paint on a page. Or search for just the right image that I want to work with. Some days I spend more time working on my art, but those are extra great bonus days when I just get lost and look up three hours later.
I challenge you to five yourself permission to spend five minutes a day tending that creative fire that burns down deep inside.
Find an extra five minutes tucked in somewhere to write in that journal, to put some paint down on that canvas, to play the opening chords. Because your soul depends upon it.