I’m known as an ambassador to creativity. I firmly believe in the soul altering powers of honoring and co-creation with your muse. I also really wanted to believe that creativity was the way out of my anxiety. But as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t quell my anxieties with my creativity. That’s a simplified version of the long and painful anxiety filled process. I wanted to Fix myself with my creativity.
I thought if only I could begin making art on a regular basis, I would increase my self-trust and esteem enough to shove my anxieties into the back seat. But as I pushed through with holding a workshop on creativity, I had a horrible panic attack and admitted I just wasn’t moving forward.
But even when I finally asked my doctor for an anti-anxiety medicine, I stayed mad as a hornet that creativity hadn’t cured me. My expected outcome was going to make my uber-creativity my super power and exonerate me from all my imperfect anxiety. I should have been happy that I had found a way out of my anxieties but I just felt mad creativity hadn’t cured me.
I didn’t throw out the creativity baby with the bathwater. I have continued to practice making. I have come to treasure the lack of constant anxiety in my life and I think I am even more devoted to my creativity.
Perhaps I just wanted that outcome so badly, like wanting my divorced parents to reunite, that it would inevitably fail. Maybe creativity is too precious to ask for it to be or do anything but bring joy. We shouldn’t ask our creativity to lift the heavy burdens. Make it responsible for our sanity or our livelihood. But only to continue to keep up in touch with who we truly are and what brings us joy.
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