Creativity is therapeutic. I spend my days -my working life- in a cubicle, immersed in spreadsheets, emails, pricing structures and manufacturing schedules. I work alongside engineers and salespeople, so there is a LOT of nerd activity around me at all times. So in my downtime, I like to tap into my creative side to balance out the pressures and stresses of work energy. I enjoy the process of creating something physical, with my own hands, using my brain to work out how to execute the task and what materials and tools I’ll use. Sometimes I wonder if I even have a dominant side of the brain, or if I function in a more liminal way. Back in school, I majored in Design with a minor in Business… but I digress…
So I have my studio. My refuge. My therapy, if you will. My latest creative endeavor has been with fabric. I wanted to make a bag for groceries. I know, I know, you can buy reusable bags at the grocery store for $0.99. But they’re ugly and floppy and I just don’t want to do that. I thought I could make a better design, something that fits better into everyday life. And, something more meaningful, less likely to be lost or discarded.
So I tapped into my hoard of fabric in the studio. Broke out the sewing machine. Poured a glass of wine. Started matching fabrics, cutting, pinning, and stitching. Swearing, ripping seams out, pouring more wine, restitching. What can I say? It’s a process.
As I worked, my mind wandered from time to time. Sitting at the machine brought me back to my very first job, I was about 11 or 12. My mom worked in town for a lady who made custom flags and banners for yacht clubs, marinas, and the like. So in the summers I would ride my bike over and work there for about 3-4 hours a few times a week. I learned the basics, and I did pretty well. Mostly just prep work like measuring, marking, cutting and basic hemming. The ladies did the fancy custom patterns on the backgrounds I prepped. I worked carefully and didn’t make too many mistakes.
Anyway, I remember I was paid minimum wage, which was about $4.75 at the time. For some unknown reason, my mom repeatedly mentioned how generous that was, how the lady didn’t have to pay me at all, and that I should be under-reporting my actual time worked. My dad pretty much expressed the same attitude. What in the FUCK was that all about? I wonder if it was some leftover Depression-era mindset. Part of me is curious, part of me thinks it’s better to let the past rest. Because when I think about it now, I’m furious. All those messages added up to one thing: You are (monetarily) worth less than others.
Fast forward to today, and I realize how damaging those messages have been to my salary. I took the first offer and did not negotiate. I have not been proactive about annual performance reviews (my company manages to get around to them about every 3-5 years). Why have I been complacent with self-advocacy, when I’m a beast in most other areas? Is it due to those ingrained messages from my primary heroes, who was perhaps flawed in this area?
Why is this whole issue is striking a such a raw nerve with me right now? I am currently navigating a situation at work where I have the opportunity for advancement. Trust me when I say this does NOT happen often at my company. People stay forever. I have one chance here.
So I’ve been spending a lot of mental bandwith prepping for all the possibilities and outcomes. If I get the promotion, there will be salary negotiations and conversations about new expectations on both sides of the table. If I am passed over and the position goes to an outside hire, what does my future look like at the company? What are the reasons for the decision? How can I translate those reasons and spin them in my favor? Can a new job title ( and salary) be created for my responsibilities, which really expand far beyond my current job title.
So coming full circle, working on this market tote, and subsequently reflecting on my portfolio of job skills, has tapped into a pretty fierce competitive streak that was fostered during my time in gymnastics and NCAA diving. One way or another, I’m ready to lay it on the line once again.
How’s that for unpacking some baggage with creative therapy? And an actual bag. And wine.
