Why Creativity Heals: My Journey Back to Art, Story, and Soul

Creativity has always been a part of my life—but for a long time, I didn’t call it that.

In elementary school, I used drawing and design to dissociate from the bullies who harassed me daily. It wasn’t just a distraction—it was a lifeline. In high school, I stitched quilts, drapes, and clothes after school to earn money. In college, after too many semesters of trying to be “practical,” I finally allowed myself to add art as a second major. Still, I struggled with the belief that artists weren’t taken seriously—that they didn’t work hard or couldn’t support themselves.

When I became a mother, I found creative outlets in the everyday. I crocheted through pregnancies and sleepless nights, took photos of my children, and built layered scrapbooking pages to hold the memories. After my divorce, I turned to writing—sharing essays, stories, and reflections as a healing practice. It became a way to make meaning from the chaos.

As a teacher, I create every day. Lessons. Schedules. Inclusive activities. I design ways for young children to feel seen, included, and excited about learning. That, too, is art.

For the past four years, I’ve been writing children’s picture books rooted in social-emotional learning—stories that reflect the real emotional lives of young kids and the adults who love them. And then, after a catastrophic injury and shoulder reconstruction, I finally paused. In that space of recovery, I returned to painting—something I hadn’t made time for in 25 years.

This time, I paint what I want to paint. Not what I think will sell. Not what others expect. I’m developing my style slowly and intentionally, taking classes, attending workshops, and staying open to growth. I’ve reclaimed the joy of learning for learning’s sake.

And something beautiful is happening in my family: my daughter, always an artist, is now studying medical illustration in college. My teenage son has begun capturing deep space through astrophotography. We are a family of creators, each following our curiosity in our own way.

What I’ve learned in recent years—through research, therapy, and lived experience—is that being creative is also a form of brain care. For those of us with neurodivergent wiring, creativity increases dopamine, boosts mood, and fosters a sense of hope. Even small acts of making—journaling, painting, knitting, crafting, cooking—can offer a reset when life feels overwhelming.

That’s not to say selling your art is a bad thing. Not at all. But if creating starts to feel like a chore, it’s okay to pause and ask: Is this bringing me joy? If not, why?

Creativity takes many forms. Maybe you knit once a week, plant a garden, bake bread, or doodle during meetings. Maybe you organize a space in your home with intention and care. Especially for women, creativity shows up in everything we do—when we nourish our families, tend to a porch plant, or write a loving note. What we focus on expands. What we pour ourselves into grows. That is miraculous.

I believe creativity heals—not just for artists, but for all of us.

So as I continue sharing my work more openly through painting, writing, and teaching, I invite you to do the same. Engage with your joy. Give yourself that daily dopamine boost. Make something that makes you smile.

Together, let’s raise the vibration of the world around us—one small act of creativity at a time.