At a particular point in a stressful life, I stopped painting, sculpting, or doing any needlework. I went weeks without thinking so much as one thought about colour or texture, without an idea for a new garment or song lyrics. And I didn't notice. What I did notice was that I felt awful. Depressed. Empty but at the same time stuffed with some anxiety that used my heart to bang on the bars of my rib cage in the middle of the night so that I sat upright in bed to fight or flee. Read more >
RobynMcIntyre : MyBlogHer Profile
Interesting to be back at BlogHer. Looking forward to checking it out.
- April 26, 2010 @ 5:17 pm
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