The Light in the Dark

Floaty pill, sinky pill, little orange pill.

Crack, crunch, ouch.

Crushing weight, struggling through a molasses swamp, thinking through a jellied fog.

This is my morning every single day. My name is Megan, and I live with a chronic illness. Life is hard; a delicate balance of medications, therapies, doctor appointments, procedures, and mandatory rest. Its isolating. A long dark tunnel, empty and echoing. Its just me. I’m shuffling, stumbling. This is not a tunnel with a glimmering light at the end, beckoning me to a better day, it’s an endless maze of intersecting corridors, many with dead ends. I move forward nonetheless. It takes unseen courage because there are hurdles in here. Scary hurdles that poke and prod. Needles, scalpels, fear that I can hold in my hand – claimed as a miracle but equally likely poison. From my pocket, a hero. Shining silver, gleaming with the strength of all the women in my family, handed down from mother to daughter and now passed to me. In a body which can’t handle the most basic tasks, can I possibly carry on such a legacy? They carve through fabric like a hot knife through butter. Soft flowing silk, warm husky wool, bright bold prints and subtle delicate florals. Wrapped in beautiful textures and shades, the hurdles aren’t so scary anymore. I walk on, silver scissors in hand, and with each step comes strength from confidence. There is now an arena in which I feel equal. It may take me longer, I may need frequent breaks, but with these glorious yet worn scissors, I can release the artistic forces from my mind into the real world. Explore who I am, what it means to be me, my potential. As I go, I collect: knowledge and ideas – the gasoline to the fire of my creativity – scissors, many now, my mother’s black scissors from her school days, the big orange pinking shears, the tiny fuchsia butterfly snips, an old hand-me-down sewing machine upgraded to computerised model for my 30th birthday, a momentous milestone I wasn’t sure I’d see. It started as ‘pretends’, playing a game where I could be normal, where life wasn’t so dark and scary and isolating. Fabric as a mask, garments as a costume. Now the game is reality. With fabric and shears I create beauty and transform my world. Touching fabric, shaping it, taking a rectangle and turning it into a resplendent dress, brings me the purest joy and sense of accomplishment.

This dress was inspired by strong women and embodies all of the skills I’ve learned through this journey. There’s Alice, represented by the tea cup and her feature novels (Through the Looking Glass and Wonderland). Alice’s ability to conquer a nonsensical world inspired me as I live in my own somewhat nonsensical world. Featured in the fabric is May Gibbs, a woman who succeeded in a time where women had limited opportunities, and is still a household name decades after her death. My mum, an unwavering support, and my grandma who always encouraged my creativity, are both represented by the scissors, new and old, the silver handed down through their family now entrusted to me, and the Fiskars pinking shears, given to me by my mum. My best friend, another unconditional support, represented by the bouquet that she gave me on her wedding day as she had invited me to be her maid of honour, a role beyond my wildest dreams. Finally, there’s me. Sewing helps me see myself as a strong woman. It makes me feel like I’m living and not just surviving, it makes me feel that, although I can’t beat this illness, it won’t beat me either. This dress was a culmination of all my hard work and practice. It combined all the skills I’ve learned thus far; patience, approaching a problem from a different angle, taking a break when needed, as well as sewing-specific skills like shaping a pattern to my body through multiple panels, using inserts to create flare and volume, sewing opposing curves to one another, lining a dress, hand sewing, this dress had it all! It took many weeks of planning, adjusting, cutting, and sewing. It embodies everything that I have worked so hard for and was achieved with the support of those closest to me. It shows that, although my disability has taken a lot from me, it can’t take everything. There is light in the dark.