When I was 10 I dreamt of becoming a fashion designer. Just the once, mind.
I had been pottering (snooping) in my mothers bedroom as she was busy downstairs and ‘found’ some stretchy, slightly see-through nylon in her fabric stash. It had hints of purple and pink (my favourite colour combination for more years than I care to divulge) and a huge flowery print. Somehow I worked out that if I folded it in half and lay down on top of it, with my little shoulders along the fold, I could trace two lines down either side of my body, pin and hand sew along the lines and ‘Hey presto’ I’d have a kaftan! Granted, it was translucent, far too tight and, clever as I thought I was, I hadn’t been savvy enough to leave enough space to walk. So I hobbled and tripped up and down my mums bedroom checking my tiny body out in her mirror until I became bored and hungry. In that moment I WAS a famous (always famous) fashion designer.
My little brothers birthday party. Camera ready as ever.
Image description: The 60s. Sepia tint photo. 6 year old Karen smiles straight at camera. Her little brother and their friends look excitedly at his birthday candles (just seen). Their mother sits behind them looking on.
A few years later I discovered that I loved dancing so I did that (and Drama and Music and Arts Administration as part of my Performing Arts degree) at University instead. My dad wanted me to be a doctor. No, really. Fortunately (and I mean that), he left for Canada with his new wife and without us just as I chose my options.
My school careers advisor told me to apply to be a bank teller. She looked quite taken aback when I said I was going to go to university. It wasn’t expected by the likes of me in our small market town. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wouldn’t go. My mum told me I could do anything as long as I was happy. So off I went. Thanks mum.
“I put one metaphorical foot in front of the other and concentrated on one thing. Survival.”
I sewed through Uni years and throughout my teaching career. It was always my go to creative outlet. I cut and hacked patterns wherever there was space. I used the living room floor in my first flat when I was limber and my knees moved smoothly and silently. I graduated to a big table in the kitchen when we moved home with our young daughters, four years and 2 months old.
When my girls went to uni the kitchen table was rarely free of sewing paraphernalia. I loved coming home and working out when I would have time to sew. My back complained and every now and then I’d have to stop and stretch in the early hours but I loved it. Sewing was my safe space. My haven.
Things changed when I left teaching. At first my poor mental well being meant that I lost the will to do anything remotely creative. When my health started to improve and I evolved into fashion designing for women, working from my kitchen table no longer held its former allure. There was no coming home to relax from work. I was at home all the blimmin ‘time. Yet I didn’t realise how close I was to a solution. And, to be perfectly honest, I was still too scared of being found out (Imposter Syndrome 101) to even THINK of looking for a separate space.
One day in September 2016, I went to a local fashion show and witnessed a wonderful collection by then Emperor Empress brand (now Sanaa Smith) founded by Michelle Smith. After the show I somehow found the courage to talk to Michelle and congratulate her. I heard myself say ‘It’s my dream to have my own studio’. I’d never said that out loud to anyone before. So when Michelle responded with ‘I have space in mine. Why don’t we share?’ , I froze. I declined politely but inside I was panicking. When I mentioned this generous offer to my then business coach slash therapist slash guiding light, she gave me The Look. You know that look that perhaps an elder would throw at you to remind you that you’ve done or are about to do something stupid or make a big mistake. By the way, she isn’t my elder. Suffice to say, that afternoon I was in Michelle’s basement studio chatting happily like we’d known each other forever. A few months later I had moved in. My kitchen table tidied and clear, coming home after a day at the studio was satisfying again.
First day together at the studio!
Image description: A selfie taken in their shared studio, Karen in foreground in pink tee and Michelle behind her in black sweatshirt. Both smile excitedly at the camera.
Sharing a studio with a fellow fashion designer (yeah I said it!) ushered in a period of growth for me that I couldn’t have imagined working at home on my Jack Jones. This inter-generational duo laughed and commiserated and guided each other as we created. The studio was situated in the basement of a barber shop and a loc-titian. Ujima Unisex hair salon and Don Gills respectively. The familiar sounds of the men and women above us loudly discussing the topics of the day would drift down the rickety stairs to accompany our craft. When I first arrived I peeked tentatively upstairs during what I thought was a particularly heated discussion. I was greeted by amiable grins as the football banter continued unabated ‘Oh they’re always like this!’ was Michelle’s bemused response when I relayed the scene to her later. ‘You’ll get used to it!’. And I did. A year or so later, when Michelle moved on to pastures new and I was left alone, but rarely lonely, these generous characters grew into confidants and, in some small way, protective of Aunty Karen. I looked forward to emerging from the basement to take a break and chat or dance with them to the latest Afro beats.
“I loved coming home and working out when I would have time to sew...
Sewing was my safe space. My haven.”
In all this time I thought I would be joined by another basement dweller. I discovered that I didn’t want to share. I had loved being with Michelle but we had just clicked. What if I didn’t like the new person (that I was imagining by the way).
I continued like this for a year. Alone but never lonely.
I returned from a trip during this summer and realised it was time to up my game. I wanted a space that I could work at my laptop, design and create AND see my clients. I wanted sunlight. I wanted to see the seasons change. When I mentioned this plan to my eldest daughter she advised me to put a date on my move. In this way it would be written. So I chose four months hence. 1st January 2020. My new studio was on its way to me. I could feel it. I simply didn’t know where it was.
New beginnings with my window of dreams.
Image description: View from new studio with various equipment in foreground. Large window showcases the beginnings of a glorious sunset.
That was two months ago. Yesterday I spent my first full day working in my NEW place. I took a packed lunch. I had bought a new commemorative mug. The day flew by. As the light began to fade, I glanced up from my cutting table and was greeted by a glorious sunset from my window (yep). I must admit I welled up. I feel grateful. I’m doing the thing I wanted to do and I feel elation My heart is full.
Why am I telling you all of this?
Because five years ago, during this very month, I confessed to one of my closest friends “If I was run over by a bus tomorrow I’d die unhappy”. That simple sentence lit a tiny something in me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Less than a year later, diagnosed with anxiety and depression, a bereavement and a poorly daughter under my belt, I left teaching. With little clue about what to do next, I put one metaphorical foot in front of the other and concentrated on one thing. Survival. I can hardly believe where I am now but I do know I’m not stopping. “This too shall pass” has never been a more apt mantra and I live by this daily.
So please don’t give up. Keep going. Whatever you’re experiencing now will get bored and move on. I promise you.
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Thank you for reading this.
K x