THE SEWING MACHINE

I was unrestrained and did not let anything get in my way, including sleep. In addition to redecorating, I was getting a lot of satisfaction and relief from anxiety through my sewing. I was judging myself by a set of deadlines that I personally generated. It started when I invested $365 in a new Bernina sewing machine. I had heard that these were the best and my Kenmore was always on the fritz. In addition, I needed to be able to fly the fabric through the machine and this kind of motion disabled the average thread tension. I was desperate to make sure that the new sewing machine paid for itself. I kept track of what I spent on fabric, notions, and what I was able to produce and consequently save. It was an irrational time and place but I was somehow able to justify my sewing mania by all the wonderful things I was making. When you are productive, not only did I justify my own mania but also all of my friends and family were constantly giving me great feedback. By the time I stopped sewing in 1987 everyone on our six- house-street had drapes, clothing or both, that I had made. The intensity of my sewing had me up at three am so I could get a solid three hours of uninterrupted work before anyone else was awake. This meant in addition to being a slave to my sewing I was always at least a little tired and often exhausted. Sewing was the perfect avocation for me; it was a creative outlet, I had full control of my production schedule, there was a tangible output every day, I could rationalize that I was saving the family money and I could burn through my incredible level of manic energy. It kept the tiger at bay while at the same time created an atmosphere almost completely lacking in calm and peacefulness. My exhaustion, added to my anxiety made me constantly irritable and impatient. It was and is still very hard for me to relax and do nothing. Then it was impossible. My children lived in a house of tension and love and wanting to do the right thing. I was short with them and their dad a lot. I wonder what this did for Andrew who was averse to over stimulation. I remember one time I was in the basement where I had my sewing room which I had built myself, to wall off my work from toddlers. This way I did not have to clean it up every time I left my sewing; I just shut and sometimes locked the door.

Anyway, I was down stairs sewing away and Andrew and Lou were trying to get me to stop and do something for them—cannot remember just what at this point. I was asking them to give me a few more minutes to finish whatever I was working on. They waited patiently for a few minutes and then very quietly Andrew cut my tape measure in half. It got my attention. I actually laughed. I was aware that they often needed to do something dramatic to get my attention.

The sewing machine obsession eventually ran off the tracks. By 1985, I was losing my ability to get the same level of satisfaction. I was getting bored and sad. I began to cry and for one week, I stopped even getting dressed in the morning, where beforehand I had barely taken time to undress. I cried for this entire week and really got John’s attention. I told him I could not take it anymore and that I had to get out of the house. Self-editing had run its course. I needed something more. After exploring going back to medical school, I ended up going back to work.