Unravelling the Threads
A life update.
At 7:30 this morning, I got up, fed the cat, downed a mug of instant coffee, wrestled my daughter’s wispy brown hair into not-quite symmetrical pigtails, slapped SPF on the both of us, and walked her to daycare—stopping to say hi to each and every dog on the way.
By 8:30, I am alone. Here, the familiar rhythm of my weekday mornings begins to warp. There are no terror-inducing dings from Slack emanating from my pocket. My gait is slower and I’m inadvertently smiling at strangers—I discover, to my horror, when they grin back. I am enthralled by the colours and textures of this short walk, like I’d been walking around with smudged lenses every other time (very probable). I notice gold finches weaving through a familiar patch of sunflowers and pause to watch them because why the hell not?
Then, it hits me: what have I done?
Last Tuesday, exactly one week ago, was my final day of work at a company I’d been at since I was a fresh-faced graduate. In a reversal of the traditional pack-up-your-office-in-a-cardboard-box trope, I ended the day by lugging back a heavy monitor in the rain, along with my laptop and office keys.
My departure from this job I was once devoted to—after eight years of service—was a long time coming. Ever since I returned to work from parental leave two years ago, something has felt wrong. I will spare this audience the unsavoury details, but things escalated to the point where I felt disrespected, isolated, and taken advantage of all the time. The air there was more noxious than being downstream from a raging Canadian wildfire and I needed to get out before I choked to death.
At the same time, I feel more creatively stimulated than ever. My head is overflowing with ideas—to the point where I often have to dramatically pause what I’m doing, scribble down fragments that are barely coherent but feel utterly important—just to quiet my brain enough so I can carry on with peeling carrots or reading aloud the pile of picture books brought to my feet.
Motherhood has also made me more eager to put pen to paper, thread to needle, what-ifs to action. Before, I would toss concepts around in my head until they were bruised and no longer appealing. Now, I am near manic about following through on as many of my creative impulses as possible—before the excitement fizzles out and they end up like forgotten toys under the couch.
But there is never enough time. I have an endless list of hypothetical projects, enough to fill several lifetimes. And while I am proud of what I’ve managed to eke out in the margins of my days as a working toddler-parent—the words I’ve published; the pieces I’ve knit, sewn, and mended—I still want more.
This want has manifested in chaotic, self-punishing ways, like staying up until 1:00 AM to stitch clouds on a 12” x 12” appliqué block. It made me feel creatively frustrated, yet increasingly guilty about pulling away from family time to indulge in my own little world—even though it felt like a life-saving measure after long days mired in a job that made me want to tear my hair out (actually, the stress was making it fall out on its own).
So, a month prior, I quietly sent in my resignation. No job lined up. No concrete plan. Just some savings to fall back on and the desire for something radically different.
Taking a Summer Break
Around this time last year, I was jokingly telling people I wanted to take a sabbatical to write, make art, and forage for berries. After a year of contemplation and some emotionally raw conversations with loved ones, I can’t believe I am actually doing a version of this.
I had envisioned finding an alternative full-time job—ideally with a pay bump—before I jumped ship. But in the last few months, it became abundantly clear that I could no longer stick it out. Either I was going to take control and proactively run from the fire, or I was going have a serious breakdown and get carried out on a stretcher—with a doctor’s note for short-term disability leave on grounds of mental heath. The latter scenario does come with financial benefits (how fucked up), but I didn’t really want to stick around to find out what rock bottom would be like.
For people experiencing a housing crisis, there is the concept of housing first: a “recovery oriented approach that centres on quickly moving people experiencing homelessness into independent and permanent housing, then providing additional supports and services as needed”. In an ironic way, I needed unemployment first: to have the breathing room to properly take care of myself, before I could make a well-considered next step. How lucky I am to have this option.
I chose to begin this self-initiated career pause-and-recalibration in July because I selfishly wanted to enjoy the summer. There is so much I want to do to for myself, my family, and home—from chemically stripping our grimy bedsheets to finally activating that two-week pass for the new pilates studio in the neighbourhood. Instead of spending Toronto’s finest weeks buried in laptop work, I envisioned long, restorative walks admiring gardens and picking up curb-side treasures. An hour knitting in the park on a shady patch of grass. Preparing elaborate golden hour picnic dinners. Allowing the sun’s rays and seasonal produce to mend the worn-out parts of me, so I can pull myself off the ground and strategize on how else to support my family, without harming my soul.
Picking up Stitches
Alongside my desire for rest and relaxation, is a burgeoning curiosity to learn, experiment, create, and collaborate. I don’t want to put too much pressure on myself too quickly; at the same time, my notebook of ideas and dreams is raring to go.
Right now, the directions I want to explore are a tangle of threads without clear beginnings and ends. They include:
Writing: Plunging into my Substack drafts, experimenting with form and topics, perhaps making a pitch or two? I have a loose goal of “making money” from writing this summer, though no exact plan for how I’ll accomplish that. I am thinking of enabling paid subscriptions at some point, but still plan (for now) to make the majority of my writing available for free.
Wardrobe and style: Reorganizing my closet, playing dress-up, altering pieces to better suit my style and body, tackling my lineup of sewing and knitting projects. I’m overdue for a real closet edit and may try to sell a few items for extra pocket money. I’ve also thought about testing styling and wardrobe planning services—it would be a dream to help others reimagine, rebuild, and rework their closets by adapting the approaches I’ve devised for myself.
Sustainable design: Making a collection of garments from my stash of secondhand pillowcases, prototyping kids’ clothes that grow with them, offering bespoke mending services, envisioning a community dye garden and learning lab. I am a product designer by training and have been itching to work with the tangible again. I have no expectations for any of these passion projects to turn into viable businesses (though one could hope), but want to take some time to work on my design portfolio again—in that inspired, student-like way.
Textile research and art: Exploring traditional Chinese textile practices, experimenting with appliqué and embroidery, collaging sentimental scraps into future heirlooms. Working on this piece and seeing it shown at 100% SILK has awakened something in me, while quieting the voice that always told me a career in art would never be feasible. There is a part of me that would love to go back to school and complete a master’s thesis on textiles, or find a grant that would gift me a few months’ time devoted to cultivating my artistic practice.
The overarching project of my time off will be to explore what self-driven, creative-fulfilling work might look like for me when I’m clear-headed and open-minded— conducting little tests and putting out feelers to see which threads may weave a new career direction.
It’s possible that this is just an interlude. I don’t know if I have founder energy. Or if a hustling, entrepreneurial life is suited to me. I’ll still be scanning LinkedIn—that cursed site which makes my blood pressure rise—for life-lines back to the safe, dry land of a predictable yearly income. Beneath the bubbling effervescence of becoming a woman unchained is the real fear of a lengthy unemployment, of deeper depression and feelings of lostness.
But what if something does work out? What if spending these critical years of my life trapped in unfulfilling, unhealthy work was actually the danger? What if I have more value than I can see right now?
If you’re still reading this wild departure from my usual content, I appreciate you so much for being here. And if you have subscribed recently because of shoes—don’t worry, that’s still to come!
While I don’t want to tarnish this space with all the mundanities of my “funemployment” (as my husband calls it), I do think it’ll be interesting to capture and share some of my experiences: how I’m budgeting for a cleaved household income, the little projects I’m doing with my hands, and the big ideas I’ll be trying to get out of my brain.
It’s also been calming and nourishing to read about others’ experiences with leaving work—some of the posts that have really stuck in my head are linked below:
What happens when an anxious, existentialist person who likes to have moves planned out three turns in advance suddenly finds themself with an abundance of free, unstructured time?
I’m about to find out.
Congratulations to new beginnings! I love all the creative intentions you’ve drawn up. In my 30s I quit my job to reset myself but I’ve never regret it—I would have found it harder to do the same now; more fearful perhaps of what I would have to give up. Having done that once I realise I can live with uncertainty and outside of the big organisations and systems that will never love us back :)
I loved reading this departure. You have a lovely way of articulating and your voice shines in your writing. Excited for you!