Learning Out Loud: Why I Let Myself Be a Student Again

There’s something humbling—and surprisingly freeing—about letting yourself be a beginner again.

Not just in the obvious ways, like starting a new job or hobby. But in the quieter, more vulnerable spaces where you’ve already put in the hours. Where something isn’t quite working, but you don’t yet know how to fix it. Where the stakes feel high because you’ve already invested time and heart—and you don’t want to ruin what’s there.

This week, I let myself draw over a painting I knew wasn’t finished—because I finally asked for help. I didn’t want to ruin what was already working, and I didn’t have the knowledge or clarity to move forward. But when my instructor gently suggested what was missing—and encouraged me to draw directly on top of the painting—I chose to trust the process. And that choice reminded me that being a student isn’t a step backward. It’s an act of courage and growth.

The Painting I Knew Wasn’t Finished

One of the pieces I brought to class was from my Lake Ontario series. I had put time and heart into it—but I knew something was off. It wasn’t done. I could feel it.

But I didn’t know how to finish it.

I didn’t want to overwork it or ruin what was already working. I lacked the knowledge, the clarity—and, honestly—the confidence. So I paused. I stopped pushing. I brought it, along with a few other unfinished pieces, to my workshop and asked for guidance.

My instructor gently showed me what I couldn’t see on my own yet. She pointed out where the composition fell flat, where the eye had nowhere to travel, and what might bring it back to life.

And then she said the thing that made me hesitate:
“You need to draw directly on top of it.”

I took a breath—and did it.

What followed was not a mess but a map. That drawing became a guide. I filled in the new shapes with paint. I added light and shadow. I rebalanced the composition. And just like that, the painting deepened, defined itself, and came together.

And isn’t that true of life?

So often, we stop short—not because we’re wrong, but because we’ve gone as far as we can with what we know. And in those moments, when we’re willing to ask for help and stay open to redirection, the next step reveals itself.

Sometimes, growth looks like drawing on top of something you thought was finished—and watching it transform into what it was meant to be.

Letting the Website Teach Me Too

It’s not just in art.

A few months ago, I hired someone to build my website. When it didn’t work out, I was frustrated—but calm. I regulated myself, watched tutorials, and got back to basics. It took longer than I wanted. It was messy. But it’s mine now. And I’m proud of it.

Just like in painting, I had to choose process over perfection. To stop fearing the mess and start learning from it.

In Parenting, Too: Student Energy Helps

Even as a teacher and parent, I’ve had to reclaim “student energy.” When my child is dysregulated, when strategies fail, when a meltdown happens in public—I have to remember I don’t need to have all the answers. I need to stay open, curious, and compassionate.

Being a student of parenting doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.
It means I know there’s always more to learn about this child, this moment, this need.

The Creative Load of Caregiving

And here’s something else I want to say—especially to the women and caregivers reading this:

You are already using the creative side of your brain all day long—and often all night, too.

I hear it often:
“I wish I had time to paint. Or write. Or knit. Or do anything creative.”

However, that sentiment often overlooks the entire truth. It’s not just about time—it’s about capacity.

After planning three meals a day (plus snacks) for multiple humans, holding everyone’s schedule in mind, and constantly reworking plans for school pickups, sports, doctor appointments, holidays, birthdays, and more—it’s no wonder there’s nothing left in the tank.

And that’s assuming everyone is healthy, the car doesn’t break down, and you’re getting help (spoiler: most of us aren’t).

I remember when my children were young, and people would say:
“You should start painting again.”
I’d think: “When? Midnight? After everyone’s asleep, and I’ve finished the homework for my graduate class after working all day?”

The mental load that mothers and caregivers carry isn’t just about logistics—it’s inherently creative. It’s constantly solving puzzles, adapting plans, and using the emotional and imaginative parts of the brain to keep your family’s world turning.

And science backs this up.

One study found that a high cognitive load significantly decreases creative output because those mental pathways are already in overdrive (source: ScienceDirect).

💬 Another study showed that mothers carry around 71% of their household’s cognitive and emotional management load (source: Psychology Today).

So, if you finally get a quiet moment and feel too brain-fried to write a sentence or pick up a brush? That’s not laziness. That’s a creative system asking for recovery.

You’re not unmotivated. You’re exhausted.
And that’s allowed.

Let your art, your journal, or your messy draft be a place where you receive, not perform.

Staying Open Is a Practice

We often discuss growth mindset, but it’s easy to forget that being open requires effort. It’s a choice. Sometimes, it means letting go of a finished draft, a favorite brushstroke, or an approach that once worked.

Staying open doesn’t mean we lack wisdom.
It means we’re wise enough to stay teachable.

If You’re in a Learning Season...

Here’s your permission to be in process.
Sketch over something you thought was done.
Revise. Reroute. Restart.

Let being a student again feel like a return to possibility—not a failure to master it.

Because learning out loud is brave—
and you’re not alone in it.

With you in the process,
creating from the chaos,
Kate