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My inability to express myself creatively is always on my mind. I clean the kitchen, buy the groceries, do the laundry, exercise the dog, cook dinner, put away my children’s mess all the while feeling like I am missing something—a limb, or all my clothes, or…my identity.

It’s the Emperor’s New Clothes, but in reverse. People see me in mother’s or wife’s or maybe even artist’s clothes, but the truth is I am naked. What they see is an illusion. Those identities don’t fit. They are not really there. I know this because there are no magical threads or fabrics to make me whole.

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