After I learned that I was an Enneagram 3 I mostly ignored the fact that I was also a w4. The 4 types are the artistic creative types that thrive on being original and creative and moody. I used to say that “I’m not creative” but boy is that not true. I think I put some stock into creative having to mean artistic in that we can paint, draw, or sculpt or play an instrument. But being creative, or feeling that need to create… to exist in creative spaces and to put beauty into the world is vital.
As I’m writing this I am sitting in my “Room of Requirement”: the home office that functions as playroom, den, tea parlor, lady cave, guest room, home school, and sometimes office. I painted the room in a beautiful grassy green and I have a mauve couch, pink chair, and yellow sideboard. There is a disco ball and plants and framed art and drawings made by the kids and all kinds of colorful and happy things surrounding me. I wanted this space to be a reflection of me and the things I love and you would never guess the person that owned this room was ‘not creative’.
I made mention of the troubled relationship I had with my mother but there is another figure that exists in my life that is half of me… my father… Federico Camacho.
During the pandemic, my mother decided to go to the denial route and fell to conspiracy theories and all that. My father on the other hand decided to do the right thing and stay home, make masks, tended his garden, took up drawing, and befriended the neighborhood cat and bought it a jacket. While I grew increasingly frustrated with my mother and had to block her toxicity, my father was regularly texting me Bible verses and FaceTiming me to show off his latest garden adventures and I mine. Since I lived with my mother, that was the most influential person in my life and I realized that it was a squeaky wheel gettin the grease type situation. I kept focusing on the parts that were like hers but I rarely ever thought about how my father had made me who I am today. It was always so strange how my mother loathed all living creatures and my father would go out of his way to talk to my dogs. That part of me that is curious, creative, in tune with nature, that is my father’s contribution. I don’t know why it took a pandemic to slow me down enough to realize all I was missing out on and neglecting my relationship with my father but better now than never.
Sometimes we feel out of place or that there’s a part of us that is not paid enough attention to. A part of us that is quieter than the other. That part of me took a whole new meaning during a time when I was unable to perform or achieve the way I normally would. I leaned into that quiet and that curiosity and found myself bewildered by it but it was right there all along, living and breathing in my father.
It finally all made sense.
I was Federico Camacho’s daughter too.
