Finding My Way

Note: This is a long, rambling post, that gives lot of history to get to a very short point. If you don't want to slog through it, just skip to the last two paragraphs.

I feel lost in my hobby.

I have been playing in our medieval hobby group for 17 years, and Hubby has been playing for 13 years. When I first started playing, it was on my own. I was married and had a toddler, but he didn't play (long story). Even so, between Primus staying home with his father and the help of friends minding him, I was able to do a lot of service, teaching, and art. And I had big dreams: to advance my art to the point that the people I look up to and admire in Society would find my artistry acceptable, and that the way in which I conduct myself and serve others would enrich this game we all play to the absolute highest standard. In the next few years, I had a second child, and my friends continued helping me to do everything that brought me joy. In early 2007, BD and I broke up, and several months later, I met and began dating Hubby.

Now that I had a partner that was an active participant in our hobby, the help with kids started to dry up. I'm not bitter about that; it was to be expected - we now had two active, involved, and engaged parents, and I didn't need as much help from others. Besides, everyone wants to hold a baby, but toddlers and preschoolers? Not really. After all, they want to be on the ground, running around! And then I got pregnant. We wanted four kids altogether, so this was the plan. During that pregnancy, I had the opportunity to serve in the largest capacity of my "career" in the group, in a key retinue position. I worked hard, and feel like I acquitted myself well, even with a new baby. One job blended into the next, and I took on an administrative role in our Principality. 16 months later, I had another baby, and I was a very active player until sometime in 2011, when I hit the proverbial wall. I had a "helium hand", and wanted to do as much as I could for as long as I could. I wasn't a good steward of my own resources, and as a result of that, I burned out - HARD. I no longer loved my hobby, so I took a hiatus of more or less two years.

In that time, Hubby took a brief break, then resumed playing. And I began to question my place in the group. Had I made an impact? Had the work I'd done made things better for everyone? Had my efforts in promoting courtesy resulted in a more courteous Society? I felt that there were no concrete answers to those questions, and as a result, it took me longer to come back to it than I had originally anticipated.

The collateral damage of taking a hiatus is that your "career path", for lack of a better term, tends to veer off the map into limbo. People forget who you are, what you did, that you ever did anything, or what you are capable of. And sometimes, you forget, too. In that stretch of time, I really feel like I lost touch with who I was within the greater context of Society. I was boiled down to "wife of" and "mother of", and didn't feel like an entity unto myself

I reluctantly returned, at least part-time, in 2013 because I could see how much Hubby wanted me to. My first event back was when he petitioned our local Baroness to be her Courtier. I wanted to be there to support him, but I wasn't really feeling it, and I spent a good part of the day feeling very isolated. And I know it was me isolating myself; people I hadn't seen in a year or two seemed happy to see me, but I felt nervous and shy. Hubby was playing much more actively than I was. He went to events that I didn't feel like going to, and sometimes, he went to events that we couldn't afford for both of us to go to. His arts mentor encouraged him to attend more and larger events, and these were also events that I did not attend, staying home with the kids so that he could follow his dream. I encouraged it, because he was still passionate about it. I was having a lot of difficulty rediscovering my passion, and I really needed to sit down and think about why that was. Over time, the thought of walking into an event where Hubby had a cadre of friends I didn't know became more and more daunting for this introvert. They certainly wouldn't know who I was, apart from "spouse of that Really Cool Dude Who Does The Neat Stuff"; would anybody know - or care - that I am an embroiderer, weaver, knitter, illuminator, archer? Or am I just support staff for the guy who is clearly on his way to a peerage? What would I do now?

My artistry was suffering. I had hardly picked up silk and needle, or brush and paint. Goodness knows, there isn't a lot of time in the day to create art when you have two kids in diapers. Serving for a year as Treasurer on our elementary school's PAC executive took time and energy, as did the day-to-day work of being a wife, mother, daughter, sister,friend and home-based business owner. I was exhausted. The strain that was placed on us every time Hubby entered a competition was difficult; his focus was singular, particularly in the few weeks leading up to the deadline for documentation, and then leading up to the competition itself. That singularity of purpose, often borne of procrastination and the resulting feeling of last-minute panic sometimes made him short with us, and the lion's share of the work of running and maintaining the home fell on my shoulders. The one saving grace was that he still did the bulk of the cooking - a thing that I appreciate to this day. But it was hard, and I admit that I bristled inwardly each time he announced that he was entering a competition, because I didn't feel like he considered the impact it had on everyone else in the house. It took a lot of difficult talks for him to understand that instead of announcing that he was entering a competition, talking it over with me *before* making a decision was going to go over a lot better, and result in a more supportive and encouraging spouse.

I fully came back to the hobby when I was ready. I missed eventing, and I really missed the people. I missed creating. I missed serving. Most of all, I missed the me that I was when I was doing all of those things. But by the time I came back, my path was untended, and I didn't know how to cut away the overgrowth; how to stand up and allow myself to be seen. Hubby had this whole new group of friends with common interests, and I felt very much not a part of his SCA journey. And I started to feel forgotten. Resentment crept in, which is a horrible thing, because I was truly happy for his progress. But I felt like I had sacrificed my own path in order to secure his. And really, that's exactly what I had done.

I spent seven years feeling like that. So we spent some time talking about that, and getting on the same page.

This past March, just ahead of the shutdown of so many things due to COVID-19, Hubby was recognized as a Peer of the Realm. He had achieved what he had worked so hard for - recognition of his scholarship, his intelligence and his talent. And I was there, right behind him, as I always have been; I saw the look on his face when he realized what was happening, the look of pride on his mentor's face as she called him up, and proceeded to both beam and weep throughout his elevation, the looks of joy, respect, and admiration on the faces of his peers, and the look of delight on the faces of our King and Queen as they bestowed this accolade on him. The Queen was gracious in indicating that Hubby should hug me first before being embraced by his peers, but there was still a part of me that felt very much on the outside of things. He is the first to introduce me to his friends, and to try to include me in conversations with them, but invariably, the topic turns to something I know nothing about, and I get quiet and withdrawn. I still feel very much like I exist on the periphery of his world. The pandemic shut our Kingdom down the day after his elevation, so the isolation and lack of eventing that has ensued has only served to magnify those feelings of disconnect for me.

Where does that leave me? I have spent some time considering not only what I want to pour into my hobby, but also what I need to get from doing so to maintain balance and not spiral into another burnout. I need to figure out who I am in Society now, and who I want to be moving forward. I don't want to spend my days as only "spouse of Peer X"; I want to distinguish myself and be seen as a valuable member of Society in my own right.

So how do I do that?

I'm figuring it out, and I've got a lot going for me. I have the good fortune to be surrounded by beloved friends, truly the family of my heart, that are invested in my happiness and success. I get really sound advice from people I trust implicitly. I have been asked to assume leadership of a large project by a Peer that I adore and admire, that feels I am that perfectly suited for the task. It marries both artistry and service. I am also on a team of people tackling another large project.  Hubby has told me that he's ready to support me on my journey. I think most importantly, I am embarking on a new path, with a new service mentor whom I admire and respect greatly. I have set myself short-, mid-, and long-range plans for both my artistry and service that will allow me to focus my energy on the things that really bring me joy, and I'm learning where the edges of my resources are, so that I'm never pushing the envelope again.

I chose the elements of my personal heraldry when I first joined based on my interests at the time and personal preferences, but the heraldic meaning of it is so much more meaningful now: well-governed industry. So my intention is to ensure that my industry is always well-governed, that I am not taking on too much and risking burnout again, and that I am pouring my energy into activities that always bring me joy. Because if you're not finding joy in your hobby, why are you doing it?