Since the weekend, I have been intending to share a motherhood type post.
My daughter got tonsillitis unexpectedly with a raging 40-degree temperature and my son got concussed in the last play of a rugby match.
These two things completely out of the blue have sent me into a mini spiral of worry and stress.
So I started writing something along the lines of how worrying doesn’t stop as your children get older and how the control you had when they were younger has been replaced by your child’s autonomy and is a double-edged sword.
But the worry, frustration, discontent and upset took my brain somewhere completely different.
The parental side of me has been to doing all the things you’d expect – taking practical steps to look after my kids, even though at 17 and 18 they often see it as “harassing” and smothering.
But the emotions have continued to bubble away furiously. The only relief from and dissipation of these visceral emotions has come from writing songs and listening music.
My usual ‘go-tos” of meditation and exercise have left me pacing, without the relief I was hoping for.
As I have tried to calm my brain, lyrics have come so fast I struggle to write them all down. It’s the only release, for me, that is truly cathartic.
I sing new melodies without even thinking about them. They seem effortless and cohesive, which is odd as sometimes I find this troublesome…It has been one of those weekends when I am reminded that the artist and mother in me are so intertwined. I have been a mother for nearly 20 years. But I have singing, performing and writing poetry since I was 7, so I suppose separating out these two fundamental parts of me is not always possible.
The mother in me cannot bear the worry or upset and I try to rid myself of it swiftly.
But the artist me almost enjoys picking it apart, putting under a microscope and magnifying the most sensitive and painful points.
I have realized I do this a lot. It is one of the most effective ways of draining negative emotion and discontent from me. It is almost like an addiction and the most effective medication at the same time.
To be clear I am a happy person, fundamentally. But shit happens sometimes, in all manner of guises, and it seems to fuel inspiration for me in a way that happiness just doesn’t.
And I know I am not alone in this.
In October, Florence Welsh was quoted by saying “her career was basically over as she has nothing to write about at the moment because she was so content”. She joked she needed someone to break her heart again to give her inspiration.
Some years ago I remember reading an article in which Lily Allen said, something along the lines of - when she needed inspiration she would start an argument with a boyfriend to fuel her creativity.
Why do discontent, sadness, anger, drama, trouble and heartache make the fires of creativity burn so brightly? Especially when we are all often saying we are pursuing happiness and peace of mind…I don't know the answer, but I'd like to...What do you think?