Shame is a Shitty Muse
I'm learning to forgive myself so I can create again.
You won’t find any "how-to" advice or ten-step life hacks here. I’m not here to tell you how to fix your life. I simply share my own thoughts, ideas, healing and creative journey. Take whatever works for you, and leave the rest.
Sometimes you just have to sit back and watch. Observe, endure.
I haven’t been terribly creative in a while. Months that feel like years.
There was a lot going on when I set all of my art supplies to the side. People leaving my life, relationships being redefined, an ex stole a piece of my art, and then my dog died. So I crawled up inside of myself to hide.
But like a good little native Mid-Westerner, I found ways to guilt and shame myself weekly for not drawing, painting, or otherwise creating. My writing went from constant (even in my dreams!) to a full on drought. I was trying to harvest a field I hadn't watered in years decades.
That’s the thing — when you’re empty you have nothing to give. How can you conceive, carry, and give birth when you’re starved to death?
The shame and guilt trials weren’t working. So I decided to try something else. Love and forgiveness.
Sometimes you can’t tell how dark a room is until the sun comes out.
I have my usual daily rituals for my health, but I gave them more conscious attention. I touch my hand to my body and talk to it. To my heart, “it’s okay, I feel you beating hard right now but you’re safe and allowed to calm down.” To my abdomen, “you’re healing, you’re safe,” and the next day surprised to find my period finally start (hormone issues have been a lifelong challenge for me).
After five years living in an ambulance, doing the van life thing, I moved my ass out to the desert and into a tiny house. It’s light years away from my previous existence. It’s slow and quiet, largely devoid of in-person connection, but the few I have are much deeper and grounded. The people here mean it when they say things, they’re opinionated for reasons that go beyond whatever is social-media trending.
I didn’t realize how stressful van life was. Or really, my entire life until now. Sometimes you can’t tell how dark a room is until the sun comes out.
I stopped trying to draw, write, or paint. I read books that I felt pulled towards, and shelved the popular ones people told me, “you have to read!” I peeled and cut fresh ginger for tea until it burned the skin on my fingers. I bought a weighted blanket and Millie discovered the magic of midday naps curled up against my stomach.
I planted some fruit trees and passionflower vines on my property. Bought worm tea from a man down the street. Laid on the hard floor with noise cancelling headphones on, silently. Thought about the ways I’ve twisted myself up trying to be the right kind of thing.
Finally took care of my dying orchids, repotted them while saying nice words they should hear.
And one day, I took an hour to wash up two old front porch lights, put mirror film on the glass, and run solar LED lights inside. Hung them on my fence and waited for them to light up.
I finally created something, organically.
Baby steps, it took a few more weeks before I sat down with a plan. I wrote a book last year and left it sit. So I gave myself a date — 30 days to publish it.
Today, I just ordered the first physical print of that book. 🫢
I have some more breathing room. Yesterday, I finally drew something small and representative of myself.
It feels like I’m coming out of rehab. Slow and steady wins the race, be a turtle, be a turtle, be a turtle — goddamn it!
That’s the thing about being an artist, life still happens through it. You still have bills to pay and relationships to navigate. In sickness and in health, and people you know might die. You still have to find ways to fill up your cup.
What’s the one small, ‘organic’ thing you’ve done lately that felt like a win? Tell me in the comments. I’m leaning into the turtle life—tell me I’m not alone.