Hi dear friend.
Yesterday was one of those days. My energy was low, and as usual, my inner critic woke up bright and early, tea in hand, ready to work.
I walked past the canvas in my studio in the morning and saw nothing but boring. Colours that had felt alive the week before suddenly looked bland and confusing. I opened the article I am writing for my next send out and every sentence sounded like someone trying too hard. The workbook pages for my new program, the ones I call Funwork Books because I want them to feel light, felt heavy. And somewhere in the back of my mind a quiet voice started listing everything else on the go. The website that still needs finishing, the emails waiting for replies, the new business my partner and I are building, the land up north and everything that comes with turning a dream into an actual neighbourhood.
Within about ten minutes, I had decided that none of it was good enough, that I had taken on too much, and that maybe the creative fire I have relied on my whole life had simply gone out.
It hadn’t. I was tired.
The reasons we run low
As women, especially as we move through the mid and later chapters of life, there are so many reasons to feel drained. Sleep that breaks in the middle of the night. Hormones that shift the ground under our feet without actually asking permission. Workloads that grow quietly until they fill every corner of the day. Caring for the people we love, whether its parents, children, grandchildren, partners, or friends who need us. The mental load of holding many threads at once, even when each thread is something we chose and something we love.
That last one is the one I forget. Everything I am doing right now is something I want to be doing. Painting. Writing. Building a course. Making chocolate in my kitchen. Supporting projects that matter to me. Creating and dreaming up a neighbourhood in the mountains of North Bali. None of it is a burden in the way a job you hate is a burden.
Yet even beautiful things take energy. Joy still costs something. A full life is still full.
And then we sit down to create, or simply to think clearly about one decision, and everything looks greyer than it did the day before. We assume the problem is the work. We assume the problem is us.
Tired eyes see differently
Years of painting, writing, teaching yoga, and starting things from scratch have shown me one thing very clearly. My judgement is not reliable when my mind and body is empty.
A tired mind is a very harsh editor. It looks for what is missing instead of what is there. It reads a rough first draft as proof of failure rather than what it is, which is a rough first draft.
I have tested this more times than I can count. I close the laptop, leave the canvas, go to bed early, and come back the next morning to exactly the same work. That is what happened yesterday. The writing that felt hollow yesterday now has a heartbeat. The painting that looked boring has one corner that glows, and that corner is already telling me where to go next. Nothing changed on the page or the canvas overnight. What changed was me.
In yoga philosophy there is a simple idea that the mind takes on the colour of whatever state its in. When we are depleted, everything we look at gets tinted with that depletion. The work has not lost its light. Our eyes have lost some of theirs, temporarily.
Spark is not the same as energy
I think many of us confuse two very different things.
Spark is the part of you that sees colour where others see a blank wall. Its the part that gets an idea in the shower and cannot wait to write it down. Its the part that wants to make things, share things, and build things that didn’t exist before. That part doesn’t disappear because you had a bad night’s sleep or a heavy week. It has lived in you for decades, its not that fragile.
Energy is fuel, it runs out and it refills. It depends on sleep, food, rest, hormones, stress, and how many tabs are open in your mind at any given moment.
When the fuel tank run on red, the spark is still there. It simply has nothing to burn. And because we cannot feel the spark in that moment, we get nervous and believe it is gone.
What I do now instead
These days, before I think a project is dead or decide I have lost my creative touch, I check a few things.
I look at how I slept, at what I have eaten, how many different directions I have been pulled in over the past few days. I look at whether I’m trying to make big decisions or harsh judgements late in the day when I’m already running on empty.
If the answer to any of those points toward low reserves, I give myself a rule. No verdicts today. I’m allowed to keep working gently if I want to, but I am not allowed to judge the work, judging can wait until tomorrow.
Some days that means I don’t paint and zone out watching some comfort film online. Or I rest in nature doing absolutely nothing. And often it means going to bed embarrassingly early.
None of that is giving up. It is protecting the creative part of me from being assessed by the most exhausted version of me.
For you, if today is one of those days
If you are sitting with a half written email, a painting you want to throw away, a business idea that suddenly feels silly, or a project you have started doubting, be gentle with your conclusions today.
You most likely have not lost anything at all. You may simply need rest, water, food, a walk, a long sleep, or a few quiet hours without anyone needing something from you.
Your spark has carried you through a lot of life already. It is still there, waiting for you to come back with a fuller heart and more joy.
So before you decide you have lost your creative fire, ask yourself one thing first. Is it really about the creating, or am I just tired?
More often than not, it is the second one. And the second one is fixable with rest.
Until next time.
Stay grateful and curious. Light and joy,
Kim
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