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Make, do and mend yourself: From anxiety relief to building self-worth, creativity is the hands-on way to heal

Published: 19:02 EST, 21 November 2015 | Updated: 19:02 EST, 21 November 2015

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From getting over a divorce to dealing with bereavement, getting creative has helped these four women swap the therapist’s couch for easels and knitting needles

'SEWING HELPED ME GET OVER MY DIVORCE'

Financially and emotionally bereft following her divorce, Deborah Harwood, 52, from Singleton, West Sussex, started sewing to fill the void.

'Sewing requires just enough concentration to be totally absorbing, which stopped me mulling over problems,' said Deborah Harwood

Turning 40 was a horrid, horrid time. My husband and I had just got divorced after months of arguments, and I left a career as a literary agent and my flat in London to move to my parents’ holiday home in Sussex with our then six-year-old daughter Carmen.

I had no money and no work. I’d drop Carmen at school then come home and cry. I was comfort eating so my weight ballooned to 14 stone, and my self-esteem plummeted.

A couple of months went by before I noticed a sewing machine in the spare room. With Christmas approaching, I saved money on presents by making cushion covers. The repetitiveness of the task gave me a sense of peace. Sewing requires just enough concentration to be totally absorbing, which stopped me mulling over problems. I missed the routine of my old job so I developed a ritual where I’d be at my sewing table by 10am and work until it was time to pick up Carmen from school. Creating gave me such a sense of achievement.

The reactions of my family were sweet and surprising and commissions started coming in. I was hooked, and in 2005 started a three-year degree in textiles at Winchester College of Art. Looking back at my sketchbook, you can see how my confidence grew: my tiny, timid drawings became stronger and larger in scale.

In 2010 I felt ready to share what I had learnt and rented a converted barn where I now hold classes in everything from felt making to silk painting (thetextilespaceshop.com). There are around 12 workshops a month (lasting a day or weekend), with a maximum of six people – usually all women. It’s amazing how bonding textile art can be.

Students have broken down in tears as they’ve opened up about their lives, including a woman whose son had recently died. She was doing the class as part of the healing process. It’s a safe environment and it can be easier to talk when your hands are occupied and you have a focus.

I’ve got my own house now, have lost weight, and have a new partner, Darren, but still crave the solace of sewing. Whatever mood I’m in, there’s something so soothing about handling fabric.

‘PAINTING IS A GREAT STRESS-RELIEVER'

Jeannie McGinnis, 42, a model and voiceover artist living in Sheffield, finds painting the ultimate way to destress and refuel.

'I no longer take (art) classes, but I have converted our loft into a studio. Painting gives me a valid excuse to retreat there and be alone,' said Jeannie McGinnis

I’ve turned to painting as a stress relief so many times in recent years. The first time was in 2008 when my children (Madeline, now 12, and Aiden, ten) were small and my husband Daniel, now a lecturer, was doing his PhD.

Being with the kids full-time as a stay-at-home mum while going through a transitional period because of Daniel’s studies meant I craved space for myself. After seeing a friend’s efforts, I joined a weekly adult education art class.

I was a total beginner, having shown no promise at school, but it didn’t matter because my pastels, drawings and watercolour paintings were just for me. For two hours a week all the stress that had built up could be released on to paper in glorious colour. It was as if pent-up emotions were finding an exit point; as if my soul was settling. I wish I’d been encouraged to express myself through art at school, rather than squashed by a teacher who criticised my technique. I’m by no means great now, but that is irrelevant. I don’t have the pressure of doing this as a job – if I like a painting, I might put it on the wall; if not, I’ll file it. Each work shows my mindset at the time, like a visual diary.

Eighteen months ago, I became a commercial model and voiceover artist after being scouted while on a course at my local college. I’ve since done commercials for Barclays and The Range. While it’s exciting and flattering, it also throws up a range of emotions. It’s stressful because every job is last-minute, I’m being judged on my looks alone, and I can get excited about a casting, spend days worrying, then hear nothing. I often paint during these times, usually acrylics or pastels of figures or flowers, because it’s a way of managing my emotions and expressing the inexpressible.

I’m an introvert in an extrovert’s job. When I’ve spent lots of time around other people on shoots I need to refuel on my own in front of my easel.

I no longer take classes, but I have converted our loft into a studio. Painting gives me a valid excuse to retreat there and be alone. When I’m stressed, the kids will say, ‘Mummy needs time out in the attic!’ Being creative is a productive way of processing thoughts. Something tangibly positive is created out of negative emotions.

'WRITING POETRY EASES MY ANXIETY'

When Natasha Benjamin, 32, a company director from London, was floored by a nervous breakdown, poetry became her way to vent.

'I’m dyslexic so assumed my verse was garbled rubbish. But after having a life-coaching session I felt encouraged by the counsellor: she said writing helps you confront who you are,' said Natasha Benjamin

Two years ago I couldn’t have been in a more different place emotionally. Negative, obsessive thoughts, low self-esteem and panic attacks meant I wasn’t going out, wouldn’t answer the phone and didn’t bother brushing my hair or putting on make-up. I had my first panic attack in 2009 while on a train, and, gasping for breath, was convinced I was dying.

It was triggered by the culmination of a series of unhappy events, from falling out with an old school friend to being diagnosed with the autoimmune disease lupus (which causes depression, alongside headaches, fatigue and rashes).

When I was in a traffic accident in December 2012, writing off my car and suffering whiplash, it was the final straw and I had a nervous breakdown. I left my job as a social media manager because I couldn’t function and moved in with my mum in Birmingham.

I was prescribed antidepressants and my moods became so low I wanted to hide from the world – quite literally. Mum sometimes found me crouching behind the sofa, crying. I believed I must be a bad person who somehow deserved everything that was happening.

In early 2013, out of nowhere, I felt utterly compelled to write a poem. I’d never written one before and didn’t read poetry but, as I sat in the car with my dad, I got out my iPhone and started furiously typing in Notes. I called it What I Learned Today and it was about the way some people say one thing, yet do another.

Thoughts are fleeting and unstructured and seem to naturally lend themselves to poetry. I felt a sense of relief when I’d written the six-line verse, as if I had physically removed bad thoughts from my head. Vocalising my anxieties was impossible, but writing them was much easier.

That poem opened the floodgates and I couldn’t stop. I penned several poems a day, never thinking about the composition. It was a compulsion but also a way of ordering my thoughts and achieving perspective.

I’m dyslexic so assumed my verse was garbled rubbish. But after having a life-coaching session I felt encouraged by the counsellor: she said writing helps you confront who you are, and told me to share my experiences. I set up a poetry and prose blog, which quickly gained 300 followers. This inspired me to set up a not-for-profit organisation that encourages others to write through their pain (freeyourmindcic.com).

It doesn’t have to be structured or rhyme – it’s just an honest expression of feelings.

I’m almost back to my bubbly old self: I’m living in London, working full-time, off medication and able to socialise again. I produce a poem a week now and can honestly say that doing this has healed me.

‘MY HUSBAND’S MEMORY LIVES ON IN THIS QUILT’

When her husband died, Clare Kingdon, 35, a nurse from Cardiff, continued the quilt he’d started.

'On the first anniversary of Ga’s death I ran out of the material he’d cut for the quilt. It was time to start my own design for the second half. Making it has given structure to my grief,' said Clare Kingdon

My 33rd birthday fell three days after the death of my husband Gareth [Ga] in March 2013, and I asked my parents for a place on a sewing course. It felt right somehow because sewing had been something Ga, a photographer, loved to do.

We’d been together for seven years and married for four when he died of cystic fibrosis aged 30. I’d gone into the relationship with my eyes open, knowing that the incurable, inherited disease (which clogs the lungs and digestive system with mucus) would shorten his life. Of course it was hard having that black cloud hanging over us, but it also gave us a zest for life and we were determined to make every minute count.

One of the ways Ga did this was to be creative, whether cooking, decorating or sewing on the machine he inherited from an aunt. He renovated our home and he taught himself to sew. Two months before his death he started making a patchwork quilt for our bedroom. When he died three weeks after getting a chest infection while working in Africa, it felt important to carry on his work.

I’m not naturally creative, although I did teach myself to knit while Ga used to sew each evening. It was a great stress reliever through difficult times but with Ga gone I needed more than just a relaxation tool. Sewing made me feel closer to him. It’s on difficult milestone days that I’m drawn to the machine.

On our wedding anniversary last July, I let the memories of our life together flood in as I worked away. Knowing what to do with the shirts he would no longer wear would have been a horrible task if I hadn’t used them to create pretty bunting that hangs on our banisters and reminds me of him every day.

On Christmas Day 2013, I felt ready to pick up where he had left off with the quilt. I tried to get inside his head as I looked at the complicated design he’d created. I didn’t want to forget my grief but to focus on it, give it space and ultimately have something to show for it.

On the first anniversary of Ga’s death I ran out of the material he’d cut for the quilt. It was time to start my own design for the second half. Making it has given structure to my grief. The first year was about continuing where Ga left off and honouring his memory.

Now, as I choose my own fabric, I’m able to look forward to the future, while still keeping Ga’s memory alive; his story will live on through the quilt we made together. I know he’d be chuffed.

WHY DO CREATIVE THERAPIES WORK?

We asked Genevieve Smyth, affairs officer at the British Association and College of Occupational Therapists, to explain.

● Women have fewer legitimate ways to express themselves because there’s an expectation to be stoic and unemotional at work and to keep the household together at home. Artistic pursuits provide a way to explore our feelings.

● Creative hobbies develop a person’s sense of competence. People with depression often lose confidence but engaging in craft can be a physical reinforcement of the fact they can produce a thing of value.

● ‘Doing’ is a way of achieving a state of flow, a term used to describe total immersion in and focus on an activity, where you’re so absorbed you lose track of time. Being in this state is regarded as psychologically beneficial because it leaves you energised and joyful.

● While art begins as self-expression it can become a communication tool. When it’s hard to talk about your feelings, showing others your artwork can help them understand what you’re going through.