The Creativity Wound

Recently I sat at a six year old's birthday party tucked inside a little creative art studio, watching a table full of children paint ceramic mermaids in whatever colour palette their hearts desired, destined to be glazed and fired into something permanent.

And as those small hands slapped colour onto ceramic in the most gloriously mismatched, unbothered way possible, I noticed an interesting reaction happen to me.

Parts of me became very active. I mostly sat back, warmly amused by the whole beautiful chaos of this artistic process in action. But another little part of me woke up and was also very… judgy.

I sat there with both of those feelings alive in me at the same time, genuinely curious about what was being activated and why. Because curiosity is always the invitation to uncover more of the inner work that needs to be done.

A creative rumble has been happening inside me for a while now. I can’t quite name where it is going yet, but I have learned to trust what shows up. It has led me to fascinating books, drawn me back to old favourites like Big Magic, and this week it pulled me back into a recorded talk by Brené Brown, called “Rising Strong with a Spiritual Practice,” where she spoke about something that caught my attention.

The human creativity wound, to paraphrase a big section of the audio.

So many of us walk through adult life carrying a quiet, deeply embedded belief: I am not creative. And when you trace that belief back to its origin, really distil it down to the moment it was born, it is almost always a childhood wound. A moment where someone criticised a piece of art, or said it was bad, or told a child they had not done it right for whatever reason.

And those moments change people. The criticism, rejection or embarrassment have an immediate and lasting impact.

I remember one of mine. It was about colour, layers and depth and how I had done it backwards. I was maybe fourteen. And if I am honest, my inner voice at the time was basically: screw you, I'll paint however I want.

But simultaneously, something else also shifted. A part of me that did not want to be criticised anymore became activated. A part that needed my art to be precise, considered, defensible grew. A part that would rather not show you anything than show you something imperfect was born.

And there she was today. That very same part. Sitting at a birthday party table watching children mix colours that had absolutely no business being anywhere near each other, internally screaming: Oh my god, those are SO messy. Can we not just gently guide them toward something more orderly and systematic? WHY are they mixing THOSE colours together?

While out of my mouth came: "Oh wow, look at those gorgeous colours. What beautiful details you chose."

And I meant it. Both things were completely true at the same time.

I genuinely love children's wild, crazy, unfiltered creations. This experience only made me love them more fiercely. But I also noticed that other voice underneath, and I felt strangely grateful to see her so clearly without judgement or shame, just with the kind of warm curiosity she probably has not always received.

This is exactly what expansion feels like for me. Not the tidy, linear kind. The kind that shows up at a six year old's birthday party in the middle of a creativity swirl that I can’t yet fully explain and hands me a perfectly timed mirror.

I am sitting with the understanding that my Creativity Wound has not disappeared. It has simply been integrated into my story. It became the part of me that strives for precision, that wants things to be beautiful and considered and right. And that part has gifts too. She built something. She learned technique and care and discernment. She makes things pretty.

But she also needs to be held gently by the part of me that still knows, deep in her bones, that life is an adventure. That art is an adventure. That the whole point is to throw yourself into it without knowing exactly how it will turn out or if it will even turn out at all. To be the midwife for whatever wants to be born without gripping too tightly to the form it takes.

I think this experience was a breadcrumb on a trail I have been following without fully realising it. Something in me is ready to explore this more deeply. To tap into my Creativity Wound with honesty and love. To ask what parts of my own self-expression have been living in a smaller, more defended space than they deserve.

Because that is what I am here for.

To translate pain into power.

To take the moments that shaped me and turn them into stories that might free someone else.

I am always learning and growing.

And apparently this week, the classroom was a ceramic mermaid and a table full of fearless, paint splattered six year olds who have not yet learned to be anything other than completely free.

Here are some books with topics of creativity that I’ve read and found interesting:

• Big Magic - Elizabeth Gilbert (I read this every year to reignite and remember how important creativity is)

• Rising Strong with a Spiritual Practice - Brene Brown (I’ve listened to this talk about 5 times)

• Beyond Anxiety - Martha Beck (A surprist twist into resolving anxiety with creativity)

• The Artists Way - Julia Cameron (When I consistently practise this I always find my life in such better flow)