Creativity as a Compass During Major Life Transitions
When the story of who you were no longer fits, and the story of who you are becoming has not yet formed, creative practice becomes a place to listen.
There are seasons in life when everything familiar begins to shift. These moments do not always come with warning. A move. A breakup. A diagnosis. A death. A birth. The quiet but profound realization that the version of yourself you have been carrying is no longer sustainable. Sometimes it happens slowly, sometimes suddenly, usually some weird combination of slow then sudden.
Transitions like these tend to rearrange us. They interrupt our routines and relationships. They unsettle our sense of identity. And often, they temporarily disrupt the creative practices that once brought us grounding or joy. The very habits and rituals that felt like home can suddenly feel foreign, inaccessible, or irrelevant.
If you are someone who identifies as a creative person, or who has found meaning through making in the past, this disorientation can be especially painful. You might begin to wonder if you have lost something essential. You may feel guilty for not creating, or confused about what you even want to make anymore. The tools are still there, the ideas still simmer beneath the surface, but the connection feels frayed.
It is in these moments that I try to return to a simple truth: creativity can be more than an output. It can be a compass.
Creativity is Not Always Productive. Sometimes It Is Directional.
When people think about creativity, they often think about finished work. A painting. A poem. A piece of music. Something that can be named, shared, exhibited, or sold. But in times of transition, the value of creativity is not always found in its results. It is found in its ability to orient us. To bring us back into contact with ourselves. It’s process, not product.
A compass does not deliver you to your destination. It does not answer every question. It does not fix the landscape or smooth the path. What it offers instead is a way to navigate uncertainty. It provides a steady reference point when the terrain has changed.
This is what creativity can do during upheaval. When the story of who you were no longer fits, and the story of who you are becoming has not yet formed, creative practice becomes a place to listen. It becomes a site of inquiry and instinct. It helps you pay attention to what feels true, even if it is not yet clear. Even if it is not yet coherent.
You do not need to be prolific during these times. You do not need to be brave. You simply need to be curious. And to honor that creative impulse does not always rush toward clarity. Sometimes it just wants to hold you while things fall apart.
Returning to Creative Practice After a Life Change
Many people I work with come to me in the in-between. They have just left a job or changed careers. They are grieving someone or something. They are recovering from illness or beginning to understand their neurodivergence in a new way. They are at the edge of something that has not fully named itself yet.
One of the most common things I hear in those early sessions is some version of the phrase, “I want to get back to creating, but I do not know how.” This is often said with guilt, or urgency, or a kind of desperate hope. There is a sense that something precious has gone missing and needs to be retrieved.
But the return is rarely a matter of willpower. It is almost never about pushing harder or trying to recreate what once was. More often, it begins with allowing your creative life to look different now. It begins with noticing what your body and heart are drawn toward in this new season.
Sometimes that means choosing a different medium. If writing kept you in your head, you might pick up watercolor instead. If painting feels too vulnerable, maybe embroidery offers a quiet precision that feels safer. If you are too tired to sit at a desk, maybe recording voice notes on walks gives you a gentler entry point.
Sometimes it means choosing a different pace. Letting go of old expectations around daily practice or consistent output. Trusting that a slower rhythm is still a rhythm. Believing that small moments of expression, even if they do not lead to anything tangible, are still valid and real.
And sometimes it means simply allowing yourself to begin. Not perfectly. Not confidently. Just honestly.
Creativity as a Wayfinding Tool
There is something uniquely powerful about the kind of creativity that emerges when you are not trying to perform. When the work is not meant to impress anyone or generate income or prove your talent. When the page or canvas or thread becomes a space for honesty. A space where you can say, “This is how I feel,” even when you cannot articulate that feeling in words.
Creative practice, in these moments, becomes a kind of wayfinding. It does not necessarily give you direction in the form of clear answers, but it does create movement. And movement itself can be a form of clarity.
This is especially true during transitions that involve identity. When who you are is changing, whether that’s because of trauma, insight, illness, or growth, it can be hard to articulate that transformation verbally. But through image, sound, texture, rhythm, or gesture, you might find that something deeper begins to emerge. A felt sense of your own truth. Not fully formed, but unmistakably alive.
This is the kind of work that does not always look like “progress.” But it is. Because it is bringing you into relationship with yourself again.
You Do Not Need to Create Alone
If you are in a moment of change, and creativity feels far away or difficult to reach, I want you to know that you are not failing. You are in process. And process is sacred, even when it is messy.
You do not need to force yourself to be consistent or inspired or resilient. You are allowed to be tired. You are allowed to not know what comes next. And you are allowed to receive support.
In my 1:1 sessions, I often work with artists and creatives who are trying to find their bearings during these kinds of transitions. We explore what your creativity is asking for now. We look at the patterns that might be shifting. We co-create small, sustainable practices that honor where you are without rushing you into what you think you should be.
But even if you are not ready for a session, you can begin right here, with one small question: What is your creativity trying to tell you right now? Not what you should make. Not what you used to make. But what your inner voice, your sensory body, your quiet knowing is whispering.
Sometimes the answer is “Rest.” Sometimes it is “Change mediums.” Sometimes it is “Let go.” And sometimes it is simply “Begin.”
Wherever you are, and however lost you might feel, I believe your creativity can still be a compass. Not a demand. Not a solution. But a guide. A gentle, trustworthy guide that belongs to you.
If you read this far, perhaps you liked the work. The work takes work. Support it if you can.
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"There is something uniquely powerful about the kind of creativity that emerges when you are not trying to perform."
Thank you, I really needed this. 💜 I'm in that weird, gooey, messy middle stage and feel like I've been floundering for a while--a "weird combination of slow then sudden" is a good way to describe it.
Building a sustainable creative practice has inevitably led to me creating more, but I need to remind myself that even when I'm not producing as much, the work I do is still just as valuable-maybe even more so.