Ink and Vein

Community is one of the most overlooked needs we have in our hyper-individualized society.

It’s also incredibly difficult to build and to navigate community, especially as an introvert, who also happens to be neurodivergent (neuro-spicy, neuro-sparkly, neuro-kinky, whatever label you like), who also happens to throw herself fully into people and things, who also happens to be a creative type that needs downtime to recharge.

I love to show up and support my friends’ projects, going to their art openings when I can, sharing their events on social media, telling people about it so they go, too. I love to show up and support new creative endeavors in the community, whether it’s an open mic, art spaces, writing groups, or house concerts. I love to show up just in the simple act of asking people about their work and encouraging them to keep making their art, whatever it is.

The community I have where I live developed because I showed up. I went to author readings, music shows, to art exhibits. I didn’t show up as much as I wanted to, but I showed up when I could, and then I found myself in community with others who make art, others who create. And I kept showing up, more and more, to show my support and because I truly enjoyed the music, the art, the experiences, the conversations.

What happened to my own creativity during this time?

In some ways, it flourished. At the beginning, I was inspired to write more poetry, inspired to restring my guitar and try, again, to learn how to play. I was inspired to write about the artists I was spending time with, inspired to want to write, to set goals for my memoir. I made some significant revisions in November, but found myself spending much less time writing than I wanted to, needed to, if I was going to complete it by the new year.

The new year came, and the new year is almost three quarters over, and yet the memoir is mostly where it was at the end of last November.

All my creative energy was going to others. I was showing up for everyone but myself.

I was jolted into this realization when I found myself rather abruptly cut out of some of the spaces I had been finding that creative community, first one and then a couple months later, another, and there I was on the outside of things again, and realizing how little I saw parts of my community when I wasn’t showing up where they already were.

I’m not a person who likes to keep tallies. Reciprocity isn’t about an exact exchange. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice who was around and who wasn’t, because I was missing them, and realizing that I probably would not see many of them because they would have to go outside of their norm instead of me moving out of mine.

It was good for me to break out of my norm, for me to expand my comfort zone, for me to go to shows, get a little high and a little buzzed on music (and more tangible substances). I’ll continue to do those things, though less than before, because I’m tired.

I think back on times when I was a drain on others, when I was so caught in my own personal issues that I couldn’t see how much I was taking. Those memories come back to me with shame and regret, and with gratitude for the friends who put up with me for as long as they did before they ghosted, unable to deal with me any longer. I don’t blame them. What I was going through required professional help, and the burden I placed wasn’t fair.

Sometimes, I overcompensate now. I show up and show up and show up and then I’m drained.

I have to show up for myself. I have to keep some of my energy back for myself, because, frankly, few people are investing energy in me the way I invest in them. That is my choice to give as much as I do, as quickly as I do, and I gladly do it.

I’m finally realizing that I deserve to give that same kind of attention and energy to myself.

Part of the problem: showing up for others makes me feel connected, makes me feel as if I belong, so I gain from it, too.

Showing up for myself is lonely.

I ask myself, and other creatives: How do we build community, show up for each other, support each other, while still being able to do our own creative work? How do we keep something back for ourselves? Or, how do we make sure that when others fill our cup, we’re also filling theirs? How do we take care of ourselves, and also step out of ourselves and realize that we owe others care, too? How do we figure out reciprocity in a way that honors all parties involved?

I don’t want to always put myself first, or above. I do need to make my creative life a priority, and that will require saying no, and not showing up as much as I want to. It will require hurting feelings, even my own.

I ask my friends for this favor: keep asking me to things anyway. Sometimes I’ll have to say no, but sometimes I’ll say yes. And if I disappear for long, please make sure I’m still here.