coming home

I sit in my childhood room looking for something to do. I grab a piece of paper and a pencil, then pick up one of the bird ornaments my mum has put in my bedroom and try to draw it. Before I know it several hours have gone by. I have drawn the ornament from every possible angle, practising light and shade and scale without knowing it. I should be tired, but I feel alive.

***

I sneak out of the house and down to the local church, hoping nobody I know sees me. Living in a non-practising family, in a largely non-practising country, I feel torn between my deepening but unexplored faith and fitting in with my family and peers. I stick around after the service, take a deep breath, and ask the minister to help me make sense of my feelings and the scriptures.

****

I swallow back the disappointment. I’m in a busy pub in central London, two days before I’m due to go back to  Sweden, and I’ve just been stood up. I have been nursing my drink for a while, hoping against all hope that the friend of a friend I made a casual date with for tonight will still show up. It’s my last night out. I don’t want to go home yet, but I know I should. I decide to finish my drink and leave.

Suddenly the tall, dark haired man with the sparkly green eyes I’ve noticed several times since I arrived approaches me.

“It’s not safe for a young woman like you to stand here alone” he says.

“I know. I’m just about to leave” I say, grabbing my handbag to prove my point, but make no attempt to move.

(more on how Alan and I met here)

***

“Congratulations! You got in!” The voice on the other end of the phone line chirps. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I try to get a handle on the situation. I have just been offered a space at Lund University’s coveted speech therapy course, which only takes on new students every 18 months. I should be ecstatic, yet my soul feels heavy. Seemingly out of nowhere I hear myself say “No thanks, I have decided to move to England”.

***

“Last, but not least”, Father C says, “we welcome Carin, the Swedish girl with the Irish accent”

Several years after that first talk with the minister, I find myself sitting surrounded by friends and family in a different church in a different country, totally at ease having just converted.

***

We walk around the house with the estate agent. I try to look neutral and fail miserably. This is perfect. The house needs a heck of a lot of work, but we always said we wanted to do up a house up anyway. I dream up changes on the spot and can picture myself in every room. I am giddy at the sight of  a garage with an extra room at the back of the lush, but oh so badly planted garden. I see myself lovingly turning it into an arts and crafts room, dragging my easel out on the decking outside the room in the summer, and splashing paint around with wild abandon.

***

“Are you here about your test results Mrs Cullen?”, Dr F asks, “I just got them this morning and they’re fine!”

“I know” , I say, beaming, “I’m pregnant!”

11 years after becoming husband and wife, we are finally blessed with our gorgeous daughter Aoife. And 4 years after that, we welcome our son Kirby.

(more on my journey to motherhood here)

***

I gladly accept her friendship request on Facebook, agreeing we are artist friends. Little do I know this simple act changes my profession on my timeline.  When I realise, panic sets in. I feel exposed. Me being an artist is kind of an open secret. One that my bloggy friends all seem to know, but that I have kept well hidden from both old friends and myself,  persisting I’m “just” a mum who does a little bit of art on the side. I consider changing it back to SAHM.  Then a calm comes over me. I connect with it, let it wash over me, and start to own it.

(more on me claiming my artist self here)

***

Some moments in life feel like coming home. To your true you. To who you are meant to be. You know you still have a lot of work ahead of you, but you don’t mind because you know you are on the right path.

Starting Artfully Carin felt like that too. I have been here three months now, and although I’ve had a slow start, this place makes my heart sing. I want to put the work in and make it the best it can be, for you and me. So I’m planning on doing some tidying up and tweaking over the next few weeks. It shouldn’t affect you too much, but since we are all in different time zones there may be the odd blip as our paths cross. If that should happen, please bear with me. It’s only temporary.

***

This page was made using a Union Jack paper napkin, acrylics, watersoluble crayons, stamps, stencils, watercolour paper, pen and personal photos.