A man's home is his castle.

A woman's home is her sanctuary. 

Writers, musicians, artists and crafters all have in common the need for a space that is dedicated to their craft. We need that space where our messes won't be untimely cleaned, where our creativity is left to be explored and broadened unhindered--if only temporarily--by the realities of responsibility and constraint.

For an artist crafter it's in our space that we can cuss out the world in paints and inks, sob out our hearts in paper and lace, or dance out our joy in markers and ribbons. 

When we're in that space we can put ourselves in the zone, the kind that speeds up time so fast we're surprised when we finally look up at the clock or someone tells us it's time to go, to cook dinner, to bathe the kids.

So what happens when that space is gone?

In the time between moving and unpacking I felt uncreative and a bit lost. I had no space to allow myself the freedom to detach. I don't have friends I could hang out with, let alone friends I can craft with, so there wasn't anything on "the outside " to distract me. It was depressing, to say the least.

But little by little and with the help from my wonderful husband, my space was slowly built and unpacked, sorted and put away. It's amazing--by which I mean it's strange--how once that was done I felt my creativity coming out again. 

And yet it wasn't something I could jump back into with full force. I had to approach my creativity slowly, not because it could be chased away, but because it was almost like seeing someone who was my childhood friend whom I hadn't seen for 20 years. I knew it, but didn't know it as well anymore. 

I started slowly, doing just the simple things that didn't require much thought. Just doing some coffee dying and the like. Plus, with a newborn added to our family, not much time can be spared anyway. 

The important thing though, is that as I befriend my creativity I'm once more regaining my sanctuary.