Rest, Redefined: How Creativity Helped Me Begin Again
Four Guideposts that Reshaped How I Rest and Create — Part One
I didn’t expect to have to start over—but I did.
I didn’t expect creativity to change how I rest—but it did.
After years of managing new diagnoses, chronic illness, and the slow unraveling of an identity I thought was solid, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. The work I’d once done, the rhythm I’d lived by—it was all gone. I didn’t know what came next, but I knew I needed something steady. Something small. Something that felt like mine.
What I found wasn’t a grand solution—it was a handful of ideas I kept circling back to. They weren’t rules. They weren’t goals. They were quiet reminders. Ways of seeing. Little anchors I could return to on the hard days.
Here are four key ideas I’m focusing on—ones I return to when I need direction:
Growth Mindset (and a Paintbrush)
What does a growth mindset actually look like in my day-to-day life?
1. Trying again, even when I want to quit.
2. Making imperfect art.
3. Letting curiosity lead instead of fear.
I used to think growth mindset was about grit and pushing through. But now I see it differently—it’s about softness. It’s about trusting that effort counts, even when the outcome is messy.
It’s about being willing to begin, even when there’s no guarantee it's going to work.
What surprised me the most? That I didn’t anticipate a growth mindset would help my body recover from all of the shock and stress.
Having a growth mindset—and a loose, gentle plan—started to calm my nervous system. Creating (even imperfectly) for just ten minutes a day became a lifeline. A way to remind myself: I’m not stuck. I’m growing on purpose.
And honestly? Some days, that’s all I have the spoons (energy or space) for. Between my own work, heart, mind, and body—and the mental load of running a family (calendars, health, one car, hormonal shifts, sibling rivalry, executive functioning drama)—the list never ends.
But in the middle of all that, picking up a pencil or a paintbrush—just for a moment—feels like reclaiming something. A thread back to myself. A breath.
This kind of playful making isn’t about results. It’s how I stay in conversation with the world I want to live in. One that values curiosity, presence, and care.
It’s not a solution to everything. But it’s something. And some days, that’s enough.
Joy in Color, Texture, Shape, & Space
You know what keeps me going sometimes? Just color.
The pop of magenta in a gray week. The depth my dry paintbrush brings to gouache's edge. The way space and shape can suddenly click into something that feels right in my body, even when everything else is chaos.
That feeling isn’t just relief—it’s breath in a day that’s been holding itself too tight.
I didn’t realize how essential that kind of play would become. Not decorative, not childish—just true. Mixing paint just to see what happens. Layering color until it hums. Letting joy lead for once.
Last night I found myself saying, “I really want to see what this little painting looks like with a different color palette. Want to paint with me?”—
and the look I got back told me just how deeply specific (and dorky) that excitement was.
And look, I know it sounds a little dramatic to say that color saves me. But honestly? Some days it does.
It reminds me that beauty doesn’t have to be justified. That joy is enough. That one bright moment can shift the whole day.
It’s not always profound. Sometimes it’s just good.
And good, it turns out, is powerful too.
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Question for you: What’s one small creative act that’s helped you feel like yourself again?
Next time, I’ll share two more guideposts that surprised me—especially the one that taught me how to tell the truth (and find connection) through art.
Can’t wait to share.
Miranda.