a blackbird, a woodpigeon, a dunnock and finally, a Robin.

Hello everyone.

I hope this post finds you well, I know it’s been some time since I lasted posted here.

I wanted to share what’s been going on for me while I’ve taken a break from social media (I’m no longer on Instagram, but wanted to keep my Substack open).

The last time I was with you all, I was halfway through my first year of my MSc in Art Psychotherapy and living in Edinburgh. I’m happy to say I completed my course with a distinction, and I am still in Edinburgh living with Ed. I didn’t know how best to describe how my time has passed since I last posted (and also my brain has become mush) so I’m calling on excerpts from my dissertation and some birds to help me.

Whilst I am sitting here writing this, I notice the blackbird, resident of my street, flitting back and for, landing here and there. A hedge, a lamppost, a window ledge, a roof rack. Every texture and surface, different. As I interpret it, this blackbird is flying tirelessly in defence of their territory, flying, perching, watching, waiting, and then flying again. I find my own process of writing this work reflected to me in this moment, my mind going here and there, watching and waiting to see where I’ll perch next.

This excerpt is from my dissertation, in which I attempted to understand why my artmaking had reduced to nothing during my studies. When I paused my substack in January, I never thought I wouldn’t create artwork for myself again for over a year. Confusion over the role of art weighed heavy on me, coupled with a resurgence of mental material I was rootling through in my own personal therapy (a weekly requirement of my course). I could see my coursemates thrive and discover themselves through mark making and colour, and I accompanied clients playing and exploring art materials with curiousity. Yet, I felt stuck in the mud and quite frankly apathetic to anything creative. My dissertation helped me understand some reasoning behind why this was happening to me - that I would love to explore with you in future newsletters. Oh well - thought I - I suppose once the course is finished I’ll have more time to create and maybe it’ll all come back… But life had other plans!

Towards the end of my second year of study, I became pregnant. During the time of writing this research, my pregnancy resulted in a rapid process of slowing down due to a diagnosis of hyperemesis. For weeks, and then months, I was barely able to leave my home or scarcely do anything within it (I managed only one sketchbook page during this time). With a beautiful spring blooming in Edinburgh, my favourite season, I felt increasingly uncomfortable with my lack of physical activity and began to resent my situation for which I knew I was grateful. The rumbling of resentment was with me until I noticed the male woodpigeon sitting on his nest in the tree outside my kitchen window. He would sit there all day long, until the light began to dim when his female mate would take over. She kept the nest warm for the entire night. So grateful I was to these pigeon parents, who showed me that to incubate another required the sacrifice of movement, or the gift of stillness.

Hyperemesis gravidarum - or HG - is severe sickness and nausea during pregnancy. When I say I was barely able to leave my home, I really do mean it. Hyperemesis is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. The sleep deprivation, nipple blisters, mastitis (the infection of a milk duct), wild hormonal swings, and c-section recovery I’ve experienced since my little one’s birth, truly have nothing on those months of HG. And I had it mildly compared to other baby-carrying people. I am fortunate that I could receive free medication that wasn’t harmful to my baby and that actually prevented me from becoming dehydrated. Even so, I could barely move from one chair, and all I could do was concentrate on watching Netflix and drinking ice cold sips of orange juice. I watched the entirety of Lost in under two weeks and felt psychologically soothed when I watched them find and drink fresh water. Ed was an absolute hero throughout this time and basically had a crash course in how to tip toe around an (adult-sized) baby. Fortunately, the worst of this was over by 20 weeks and I was able to venture out into the world again - including a van trip to France and Spain with Ed where we surprised Ed’s family with the baby news and spent some quality time together looking forward to/freaking out about our baby’s arrival. I also finally had the time and headspace to complete my dissertation, months after it was due!

After our holiday, I found myself approaching the end of my third trimester, heavy and with sciatica sat at the kitchen table once more. My part-time job let me go sooner than I had anticipated, and I was struggling to complete any basic task around the flat. Venturing outside was made more cumbersome and tiring with a baby bump. As I sat there, I was able to pick up my ink pen and draw. This gave me so much joy at this time, spending what little brainpower and energy I had creating ink brush work in my sketchbook - particularly after such a long time of not creating anything. These small attempts of regaining some autonomy and sitting with myself were kept company by a plucky little dunnock, who hopped on and off the feeder outside the kitchen window. Once at the feeder, the dunnock threw out a few seeds until they’d found the one they wanted and flew off with it. Again and again, come rain or shine. Sitting with the uncertainty of my first experience of childbirth, my financial situation, and of course caring for a newborn, this dunnock reminded me that to continue to turn up and make small efforts of creativity was an act of bravery that I had not felt since I last posted here. I just had to keep finding the seeds, despite the rain.

And here she is. Our beautiful little Robin. I’ve always wondered what it must feel like to create a human being with the person you love; what would they look like? Does it feel surreal? Does the magic of it fade? I feel like I’m too early in the journey to be able to answer these with much sincerity, but I do know the surreal magic quality certainly doesn’t exist all the time. I know I love her more than anything, and as much as I can tiptoe around while she naps in desperation for a bit of solace from being a mum, if she naps too long I miss her and want to wake her up. As I type this, I am watching her wiggling in her crib (on a monitor) - knowing we are already late to meet friends due to living on this little one’s schedule (I feel both begrudging and also defensive of her in these moments). This newsletter has taken me weeks to write and I don’t even know if it’s coherent as my brain feels like Tigger and Eeyore simultaneously at all times; bouncy and anxious, tired and slow. I am yet to formulate proper thoughts about motherhood and hope to explore this subject more in time, as I am positive it will evolve. But right now, she’s awake so I’ve got to go!

I hope to write to you all again soon, and I genuinely do hope you are all well.

Big love,

JB.