Creative enough

I’m tired of this voice in my head telling me what type of writer I am supposed to be. I’m supposed to be artsy, I am supposed to be a “creative”, I’m supposed to be writing fiction, stories. I’m supposed to be a journalist, a YouTuber, a Podcaster. I am supposed to be an English major, a literature/ Mass Comm major, or journalism graduate. Anything but me.

All I want to be is a mom with a work-from-home (WFH) job who takes care of her kids. A simple lifestyle. How bad is that? And I want to do is take care of myself too. Because, finally, at 40+ years of age, I have recognized that my needs are important too. And if I continue ignoring my needs like I used to, I’ll end up modeling bad behavior for my children. Also, I risk a relapse of anorexia.

Do I really want to be part of the small, elite literary circle? Likely, no.

Then, I need to stop idealizing it.

What do I want then? The answers depend on my goals.

What are my goals, then?

And more importantly, why do I even need to use goals as my gauge?

The thing is, I have always been goal-oriented person.

It’s no coincidence, since that my Myers-Briggs Indicator Type is INTJ / ENTJ (I am a true ambivert).

So, what does this realization have to do with being a writer? A creative? And in a more holistic way, a person?

A writer is an artist. An artist is a creative. Creative people make art.

I think that everybody walking on this earth is a “creative”. Simple WFH moms like me included.

You may not see yourself as an artist or creative person, but you do create things.

We all need to create something, some invention, some new way of doing things. That creation is a work of art. Works of art are not limited to paintings and musical compositions.

To sustain us in our lives, we all make-do, we patch pieces together. (Ginawan ko ng paraan.) Somehow, we make things work. As Filipinos/Chinoys, we know how to get by with what’s available at the moment because we’re used to limited resources.

When I say “art”, I’m not talking about high art—you know, art you see in museums, literary arts that are required reading by your English professor. I am talking about everyday art done by normal folks. Art done by people like me. I’m a nobody.

My art is planning and organizing things. Sorting things out, delegating. Making things move so that my household runs well: The kids get to school, get back home safely. There are meals on the table, and there are clean bowls to use afterward (always). Nobody trips on toys scattered on the floor, the shopping is done and sorted as soon as possible, and I can drink a cup of coffee in peace on my 5S’d home office.

My art too, in a major way, as you all well know, is writing.

Sometimes, the writing predominates, and sometimes the organizing/planning is front row and center. Sometimes these two art forms combine, and when this happens, it’s perfection.

In my previous essay about finding my Ikigai, I talked about the different elements that make a person’s life meaningful. The intersection of what you are good at and what you love is called your passion. I am good with these things, and I would do them for free, in a heartbeat. That’s one of the major reasons why I am a WFH mom.

Do I have a place in the world of creatives if I express my creativity like this?

Nobody can write + organize + plan the way I can.

But I don’t see myself being chased by publishers because I do art this way.  

Again, let’s circle back to the concept of goals and why it’s important to use goals as a measuring stick of being successful as a creative.

What’s the point of art expressed in writing or any other form anyway?

I don’t believe in art for arts’ sake. Do you?

Maybe you do, and that’s perfectly fine. But that doesn’t make sense to me.

I’m in favor of functional art. Art hung on walls, art gathering dust on shelves annoy me to some degree. If it’s hung on my wall, there should be a compelling, personal reason why. For example, the art piece is something my child made.

I believe that without purpose or goals, doing something for its own sake is meaningless. But the goal does not have to be always something grand. Sometimes, the goal is very low-key. Like, “I do this to relax”.

Sometimes, though, what the goal is important. For instance, I recently worked out a way to bring my child back and forth from school so that I am not overly tired, and she is safe. That is a functional piece of art. It’s not pretty and exhibited in an art gallery, but it has a tangible effect on my life and my daughter’s life. Everyday damn school day.

On the subject of meaningful art, doing the Ikigai taught me that meaningfulness is fundamental. Humans seek it—it’s an existential matter. As in, it’s we tend to ask ourselves, “Why do I exist?” But to achieve meaningfulness, we need to connect with other people.

True, there is meaningfulness when I look for it in my inner world. But after a while, this inner world becomes an echo chamber. I get lonely, feel isolated.

An artist needs an audience. A writer needs readers. A mother needs her children.

I think it’s just natural that I want an audience, I want readers. I have goals, and the harder the goal, the more I yearn for an accountability partner.  

I write to reach other people. When my readers react and we interact, my life is enriched. So is theirs.

In the same sense, this hunger is a yearning for connection. This yearning to connect with others, I think, is a natural urge. We often extol rebellion against social approval, but we do need others’ acceptance of our actions. It’s something programmed in the human brain. We need each other to survive.

But craving social approval does not mean being a zombie. There is a mid-point between wanting others’ approval and total submission.

I realize that I need to strike a balance between conforming and just being myself. This speaks of my approach towards motherhood, towards being a creative, and how I carry myself in public.

There is a gulf in me, created by repeated chants, “I am not good enough.”

The chants say, “I am not creative enough. I am not much of a writer, I am a so-so mom.”

A deep sense of insecurity has plagued me since childhood—it is anorexia’s fountainhead.

Maybe it’s time to give these Furies a rest.

Maybe there’s also a loud, repetitive voice inside you telling you that you aren’t good enough. Maybe it began piping its evil tune due to circumstances beyond your control. And maybe, like me, you’re fed up, and now you want to tell it sto hut the f*ck up.

Well, I want to ask you, why do you keep on listening to it? Why the self-sabotage?

Conversely, I ask this question to myself.

I am seeking an audience. Seeking social approval. Meaningfulness. These three things are connected. Low regard for my ability is a hindrance. I need to get rid of it, fast. I need to start believe in myself more.

The funny thing is, I cannot believe in my innate goodness if I do not get some sort of feedback from others. So, maybe, the trick is to find people who care for me enough to believe in me. I need to plant myself in a nurturing environment, aside from reprogramming my brain with, “I am enough” messages.

Finding a supportive community—is this the next step?

At this point of my life as a writer, I have very few readers. I want to have more readers, and this is the hunger that gnaws.

The bottom line is, I need to tell myself that I enough, and what I am doing with my life is enough, no matter what “they” say. Because the “they” I am listening to is the wrong channel. I have to tune it out, better yet, mute it, find another station that broadcasts better songs.

I was the one who started saying what “they” said matter anyway. I’m the one who’s listening to harsh voices in the first place.

Maybe the questions I need to ask now are, “Who are you good enough for?” “Who are you creative enough for, Melany?” “Whose lives do you want to touch?”

If my goal is to share what I know with people that mean something to me so that I can make a positive impact in their lives, I better know whom I am talking to (or writing for).

In the Ikigai, this intersection is described as “what the world needs + what you love to do = mission.”

But the word “world” is too big, so I’ll narrow it down to my universe. Who are the people that matter most to me? My family, specifically, my two kids. And to some extent, my spouse.

My world revolves around my kids. Take away everything, the unpublished words, the material possessions. What I can’t live without is securing the mental health/ emotional intelligence/ well-being of my two children. (The basic needs are already met.) Let me do this important task in my lifetime, and I can die happy and fulfilled.

That being said, it would still be nice to be noticed. By whom? Again, people who matter. Do the literary critics matter? No, I don’t know them. Maybe in the future, their opinions will matter.

Now, whose else matters? Who do I care about aside from my family? My few friends. My boss.

Maybe I need to find that community. Maybe I will stumble upon it accidentally, or maybe it will find me. But right now, I don’t belong to any community. Yet.

So, in the meantime, the questions that I have to answer are, “Am I good enough for my significant others? My family, and my small circle of friends? Am I creative enough for them?” Yes and yes.

And, am I creative enough for myself? I don’t know. I think I am.

I am doing my best, honestly my best. Because this is me…

So, yes. I am creative enough for myself.