From Behind the Shield

As a teen, I posted videos of myself singing and playing songs on YouTube. It was back in the days when YouTube was fairly small (I’m thirty-five now), and there was a really nice sense of community. It was a big part of my life, growing up — to be able to connect with people through music, and to be ‘accepted’ in a sense. I think a lot of teens struggle with their identity and where they fit in the world. As YouTube grew, I went from being a medium-sized fish in a relatively small pond to a plankton in the world’s oceans combined, and I didn’t have the talent or drive to keep up, so I stopped posting videos.

I was pondering the difference between my online presence now versus then, and how I’m so much more comfortable with now. I think the main difference is that now, the online presence isn’t ‘mine’ — it belongs to the work I create.

In the YouTube days, I never liked the fact that I was attached to the songs…as in — that I was the method of delivery. Because the comments were never just about the music. They were about me — what I was wearing, whether my face and voice fit the songs, and sometimes whether I’d put on weight since the last video. Looking back, it was unhealthy. I got a hit of validation when I received a nice comment, which was quickly replaced with a massive knock to my confidence when someone left a comment saying they didn’t like the music or me.

This summer, after years of letting the videos sit there like a time capsule, I took the videos down. My daughter tells me off for doing so as she liked watching them, but I didn’t like receiving notifications of sometimes good, sometimes bad comments on myself aged between sixteen and twenty-two as if that version of me is the current one.

You might be wondering what this has to do with my little felt creations! I suppose the reason I feel happier with my online presence these days is that first of all, people see the work. I’m attached to it inherently, but I’m not the first thing you see.

And even though I feel a lot more comfortable with this situation, it can feel lonely sometimes. I sit at my desk, quietly working with wool, music on in the background, dreaming up new Woodlanders, and I couldn’t imagine being in a happier career. I feel grateful everyday, but I also feel like I still struggle with the lack of community.

Putting the Woodlanders online is an offering of connection, but they’re also a shield, in a way. I get to hide behind them, and feel the validation that comes with each appreciative message, or sale, but without the risk of judgement.

But I’ve realised that without the risk of judgement, you can’t feel a genuine connection. And this time, I'm more sure of who I am, and that I have a little control over my own narrative...so I’m going to tentatively start writing in this journal and sharing my thoughts and myself. I’ve wanted to do this for a little while, but I’ve always given myself a reason not to — usually by not being enough, or too much (usually the fact that my working space isn’t tidy and photogenic, I permanently feel like I’m too scruffy, people will think I’m a bit too oversensitive/deep). But I’ve realised the reward of connection is greater than the risk of someone judging me for a dirty mug in a photo of my desk.

With that in mind here are a few snapshots of my life. Thank you for making it to the end of my ramble!