What is this feeling I am feeling? Oh, I think it's Joy.

'What is this feeling in my body?' I wondered during week 2 of Melbourne, Australia's first shorter lockdown. It was an unfamiliar feeling, not unpleasant, a bubbling in my chest, a little like a teenage crush.

Joy.

I marvelled at the disconnect between my mind, (reeling from the sudden lurching of face-to-face academic lecturing to an online connection with my students) and my body, which felt a simple and delightful joy. As the obligations of modern life fell away, joy had a chance to resurface.

As a busy composer, and primary carer of three gorgeous teen boys, I am usually very aware of, and try and tap into, what lies in the negative space within myself (a visual arts term); an undefined, edgeless place we feel and know – yet do not consciously acknowledge. A place I go, to find the music. Writing music forces me into being deliberate in turning on the light in this darkened room; to meet and make friends with the elephants there and to open the can, to reveal the worms. I often find delightful surprises too if I can stay there long enough.

The negative space often reveals my true values, my real boundaries (professional and personal) and the state of my heart. The negative space allows me to burrow in and discover where I have disconnects between my head, heart and intuition (over-thinking anyone?). It's where I access my intuition. Creatives of all descriptions, not just composers, are usually good at accessing their artistic intuition which is why I felt surprise when Joy showed up in lockdown. Joy arrived in the stillness. I was not expecting it although as an introvert and highly sensitive person (HSP), I should have been.

Throughout Melbourne's long second, much stricter lockdown, I started to listen to my body more closely. I discovered I am burnt out (another story), I missed the gym (wait, what?) and I wanted to use my voice in other ways (I founded Dinner For Breakfast: Illuminate. Challenge. Change where I help brilliant, creative, quiet people get out of tangle and into artistic flow). I discovered values (adventure, independence, leaving room for magic) I didn't know I had but I can see have leaked out sideways for years. And, I noticed and acknowledged, I crave stillness. In fact, one of the few musical pieces I managed to compose in lockdown was for The Australia Ensemble titled Still.

And now, when I bother to sink into the space that waits for me, I decide to honour the quiet voice of my body and give it what it needs. A proper rest, a chance to speak louder and be heard. I soon embark on a 5-month time away from work, to think, feel, move, be kind, dream and most importantly listen to my body. I will notate this time of stillness (in amongst the parenting), not with musical dots on the page but with words and joy.

Dr Katy Abbott is a composer, academic, artist mentor and mum. https://www.facebook.com/katyabbottcomposer https://www.facebook.com/dinnerforbreakkie