Why Making Something May Be the Self-Care You Need Right Now
Last month, I found myself snowed into an AirBnB apartment with my husband, toddler son and in-laws. We were stranded by design. A bigger snowstorm had hit our hometown and my husband and I had tickets to see Hamilton about an hour away. It was well worth the overnight fees and family adventure to move our homebase within a mile of the theater, just in case the roads were too slick to drive.
Some time in the morning of what seemed like a terribly long day ahead, I wondered what we were going to do to entertain each other for the next 8 hours. I had spent much of the week before fretting over our plans and trying to decide the best course. Such contingency planning is in my nature, but it also takes a lot out of me. I was tired, and we had already run through the handful of books and toys we brought along and watched about as much TV as we wanted the two-year-old to see that day.
And then something in me remembered.
I pulled a yellow legal pad out of my bag and tore off a few blank pages. I began folding and then cutting (there must have been some kitchen scissors) and in a moment I had a paper snowflake.
My son was not as impressed as I hoped he might be, but I made a few more anyway. My memories of childhood creativity continued to guide me to snip here and carve there. And even though my science teacher husband (lovingly) informed me that snowflakes have six points and not eight, I found a trace of calm in the making of these imperfect, yellow papercuts.
As I stuck them into the frame of a mirror—a temporary decoration for our temporary home—I felt a little calmer. A little freer. A little more grateful to be together (even having reached a no-lock-on-the-sliding-bathroom-door level of togetherness).
All of my clients are creative people. They are dancers and writers and singers, and they have vivid imaginations enhanced by a love of reading or nature. But interestingly, they don’t think of themselves as makers. As children they may have crafted bits of this or that, but for most of these women, I don’t think they’ve had the pleasure of creating something with their hands—just for them, and not for their children—in quite a long time.
I could dive into the many reasons behind this shift, but what I’m more interested in now is making as self-care, as a centering practice, and as a spiritual experience that can itself create calm in our busy lives.
Science tells us that crafts are good for our mental health, and, in fact, something we need as we deal with the stress and tumult of our daily lives and the state of the world. Clinical studies have shown that knitting and quilting, in particular, reduce stress and anxiety and enhance well-being and interpersonal connection.
Making opens up pathways to play, an important practice that we grown-ups often miss out on in the name of responsibility. Making stretches our curiosity, and we all become scientists in our own creative laboratories. We experiment with color and texture and flavor. And in that way, making connects us to all of our senses, whether through paint or clay or baking.
So many folks are uncomfortable making because they believe they are not “crafty.” But did you know that the association between “craft” and “skill” is unique to the English language? The original word translated more closely to “strength,” “power” or “virtue.” And several other languages have maintained those definitions.
Author Marjory Zoet Bankson asks, “What if we were to shift our view of ‘craft’ from being a skill for a few to being a sign of the inner life force in each of us?”
As humans, our inner life force is inherently creative. We change and manipulate our environment all day long. And whether we’re making poetry or packaged frozen pizzas, it’s the making that sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom.
And our spiritual traditions echo this back to us. Biblical texts tell us our inborn creativity is present from the very beginning of humankind, when God created humans in God’s own image. God the creator. Human the creator.
Making something—a collage or a scarf or a playdough snowman or a papier-mache puffin—connects us deeply to the one who shaped us and left a stamp of the divine within us.
For those interested in trying making as a self-care practice, I have a few tips:
Get physical. Make something three-dimensional if you can. And if you’re really being called to write or draw, get offline and do it on actual paper so that there is a physical representation of your creativity.
Keep it simple. Making three trips to the craft store and planning a grand masterpiece in advance is more an exercise in expectations than it is in making. Use simple materials you already have, or choose one thing you feel called to. This is not a vocation, it’s a meditation.
Keep it to yourself. Now this is ultimately a personal choice, but I do recommend making something for yourself rather than as a gift or a showpiece. You know yourself best—if showing off your work will turn the attention from the making to the feedback, then maybe keep it under wraps.
Ignore the result. It’s the act of making—of using your hands to shape and guide and change—that is important here. Make a city or a gourmet meal out of your kid’s playdough and then smash it back in the container when you’re done. Recycle those paper snowflakes and eat the pie without taking a picture, if that’s what feels right.
Focus. Set a timer for 10 or 20 minutes and just make, with as little distraction as possible. Like so many grounding, centering practices, the duration less important than the action itself.