Last night I did a craft project. I haven’t done any crafting since the stroke. I think I had been scared to. Well, that’s part of it.

Another big factor is that I haven’t had a place to do any crafting. Soon after the stroke, I was living back with my mom. I lived out of a suitcase. And anyone who has been to my mom’s house could tell you that I didn’t exactly have room for anything else. I went from there to living with Paige in her house. It’s taken me a while to get to the place where I somewhat feel like it’s my house too. And, even now, I kind of still stick to one room.

Due to the moves and living out of assorted suitcases, I haven’t had access to my craft materials either. But Paige made room for everything and it’s actually accessible. Well, most of it is.

So anyway, I got out the stuff to make a journal for a friend of mine who is sick. I picked out the color, picked out the stamps, started measuring, and then began the process.

It took much longer than it used to but there were other factors that could play a part in that. I didn’t have the same tools accessible that I used to, my scissors desperately needed to be sharpened, and I didn’t have a big area to spread out on. At any rate, when I was done and looked at the finished journal, I was so disappointed.

Paige thought it looked good. And she tried building my confidence by praising it until she saw my reactions were to point out every flaw. She said, “Oh, you’re a perfectionist. Nothing I say will help.” And she was, as usual, correct.

The spacing was terribly off – because my hand still lacks the steadiness to hold a stamp in position like I need to. The edges were bulky – because my hand lacks the dexterity to fold things tightly. Some of the embossing was not the best – because my hand wasn’t steady enough to hold the iron.

At any rate, I was depressed. I’m still a little depressed. And this is what I was scared of, the fear that kept me from looking for a way to make it happen. My fear has been realized.

I am not the same as I was before the stroke. I probably won’t ever be. And that depresses me.