Oh Susan—thank you for sharing this moment so honestly. I just want to gently say: it’s okay to feel that way. So many of us have stood at that same edge, wondering if we should pack it all up. But sometimes that exact moment is where something new quietly begins. No pressure, no big decisions—just a tiny breath of permission to stay, even if just for today. I’m so glad the words found you. 💛
Me too. It’s such a gentle reframe, isn’t it? Instead of seeing doubt as a flaw, we can hold it as a quiet signal that our heart is in this. That we care deeply. And that’s something beautiful to build from. 💛
Sometimes, when the urge has nowhere to go and an inspired idea is still unreleased in the void, I take a plain pencil and a fresh page in the sketchbook and sort of scribble. Draw swirling, tangling doodles. Bit of asemic writing. Some spirals, circles, neurographic patterns. Shading and building random forms. Sometimes I love what comes out. Sometimes it looks like trash. It doesn't matter. What matters is the pain of not creating is released. Like screaming into a pillow. In the clearer aftermath there is a space for inspiration to enter. Or part of the scribble sparks curiosity for a new drawing. Or I just feel better and start again. The seed of an idea eventually shoots when you give loving attention and space to your creative heart.
That’s so beautifully said, D’Arne. It really is like a creative exhale — releasing the tension so there’s room for breath again. I love that image of scribbling as a way to scream into a pillow. It’s raw, real, and healing. Thank you for reminding us that not all art has to be seen to be powerful.
After 33 years, numerous awards, and hundreds of happy clients, I ask myself, 'Am I a 'real' graphic designer?' far too regularly to admit. And, as an artist, I ask myself a similar question, and it is filled with so much contempt. I am not sure how I decided that "permission" was needed to enter the creative arena in any capacity. Yet, the irony is that the gatekeeping is not coming from anyone or anything, but rather from my mind. Even with the constant questioning, I still move forward, but it makes the journey a bit less sweet, and possibly prevents me from even more growth as a creative. It's an ongoing quest to quiet the doubts, and I have vowed to be victorious.
Victoria, your honesty is powerful—and so relatable. That internal gatekeeper can be so sneaky, can't it? Especially when no one else is questioning us but us. You are a real graphic designer. And artist. And brave soul showing up despite the doubts. I wonder what might open up if, just for today, you didn’t wait for permission? I believe your creativity is already enough—and your victory is already underway. 💛
Oh my friend, this shows up for me in so many ways too. Getting our hands and hearts and minds to all be on the same page at the same time is so hard sometimes. Right now my physical body is holding me back, but my heart wants to make something creative now. It’s tugging at me saying later, when you feel better.while my head says to just start and the action will move you along. I just can’t get the whole gang to get it together all at the same time.
Oh Kathleen, I feel this so deeply. It’s like trying to conduct an orchestra where everyone’s playing a different tune—body, heart, and head all wanting different things. That tug-of-war is real. What if the "start" didn’t have to be big? Maybe just a mark, a scribble, a gathering of materials. A gesture that says, “I’m still here. I still want this.” You don’t have to wait for full alignment to begin—sometimes beginning invites the rest to follow. 💛
For the past 25 years I've been a practicing artist, selling some, teaching, winning some awards, showing my work - even when I worked 2 jobs. I sometimes thought because I didn't go to school for art like I did for accounting (previous 25 years) that I was sort of play acting. But this week I received some sobering news from my retina specialist, which after crying and the why me's?, has had me saying How can this be I AM AN ARTIST? I feel it so down in my bones now, I am an artist, yet I may not be able to be one in a few years........ who will I be then? I'm trying to get up everyday grateful for what I see, using my supplies to capture it while I can. The fickle life of a human - as the song says "You don't know what you've got til it's gone"
Glo, thank you for opening your heart. That sentence—I AM AN ARTIST—gave me chills. It’s not about credentials or perfect conditions; it’s about how deeply your creativity lives in you. And even now, especially now, that truth is rising strong.
When fear about the future shows up, try gently asking: What can I create today with the sight, time, and tools I have? Let today’s gratitude become today’s practice. One mark at a time. One color. One gesture. Not to prove anything. Just to stay connected to who you already are.
Your story is still unfolding, and there’s no expiration date on your artistry. I believe in your voice, your resilience, and your vision. Keep going—you’re not alone. 💛
Thank you, as eyesight is so very important to everyone, and decline in any facet of life happens slowly to all as we age, I think knowing how to get a grip on changes as we age to our creativity and abilities with grace and self care is key. Learning this is different and difficult for everyone in a youth centric society. It’s my turn to discover how that plays out in my identity.
Glo, thank you for sharing this with such honesty and heart. You’re naming something so many of us feel but don’t always say out loud—the quiet, tender grief of change and the courage it takes to keep showing up anyway. You’re not alone in this. Your creativity is still yours, even as it shifts. And your voice, your vision, your art—it all still matters. I believe there’s beauty waiting to be discovered in this new chapter too. You’re already showing us how to meet it with grace. 💛
Ohhhhhhhh! Lynn
I swear you are reading my mind. Today! This minute! Today I’ve been thinking about quitting. Enough. Over. Planning what to do with art supplies.
Then this missive.
Thank you
💕
Oh Susan—thank you for sharing this moment so honestly. I just want to gently say: it’s okay to feel that way. So many of us have stood at that same edge, wondering if we should pack it all up. But sometimes that exact moment is where something new quietly begins. No pressure, no big decisions—just a tiny breath of permission to stay, even if just for today. I’m so glad the words found you. 💛
Thank you Lynn. Me too! Thank you for being there for me. With great love 💕
Aww Susan, I’m always here for you. You’ve been showing up with so much heart and courage. With great love right back 💛
"doubt means you care". I like that.
Me too. It’s such a gentle reframe, isn’t it? Instead of seeing doubt as a flaw, we can hold it as a quiet signal that our heart is in this. That we care deeply. And that’s something beautiful to build from. 💛
Sometimes, when the urge has nowhere to go and an inspired idea is still unreleased in the void, I take a plain pencil and a fresh page in the sketchbook and sort of scribble. Draw swirling, tangling doodles. Bit of asemic writing. Some spirals, circles, neurographic patterns. Shading and building random forms. Sometimes I love what comes out. Sometimes it looks like trash. It doesn't matter. What matters is the pain of not creating is released. Like screaming into a pillow. In the clearer aftermath there is a space for inspiration to enter. Or part of the scribble sparks curiosity for a new drawing. Or I just feel better and start again. The seed of an idea eventually shoots when you give loving attention and space to your creative heart.
That’s so beautifully said, D’Arne. It really is like a creative exhale — releasing the tension so there’s room for breath again. I love that image of scribbling as a way to scream into a pillow. It’s raw, real, and healing. Thank you for reminding us that not all art has to be seen to be powerful.
After 33 years, numerous awards, and hundreds of happy clients, I ask myself, 'Am I a 'real' graphic designer?' far too regularly to admit. And, as an artist, I ask myself a similar question, and it is filled with so much contempt. I am not sure how I decided that "permission" was needed to enter the creative arena in any capacity. Yet, the irony is that the gatekeeping is not coming from anyone or anything, but rather from my mind. Even with the constant questioning, I still move forward, but it makes the journey a bit less sweet, and possibly prevents me from even more growth as a creative. It's an ongoing quest to quiet the doubts, and I have vowed to be victorious.
Victoria, your honesty is powerful—and so relatable. That internal gatekeeper can be so sneaky, can't it? Especially when no one else is questioning us but us. You are a real graphic designer. And artist. And brave soul showing up despite the doubts. I wonder what might open up if, just for today, you didn’t wait for permission? I believe your creativity is already enough—and your victory is already underway. 💛
I wonder as well and will journal on that tomorrow.
Here are some ideas and pick one or all:
Journal Prompts: “No Permission Needed”
1. If I didn’t wait for permission today, what would I start, say, or share?
2. What does “being a real artist” mean to me — and where did I learn that definition?
3. What would my creativity look like if it didn’t have to prove anything?
4. What’s one moment I felt fully free in my art? What made that possible?
5. If I trusted that my voice and vision were valid, how would I move differently today?
6. What would I create if I knew no one would judge it — not even me?
7. Where am I still waiting for someone to say “you’re allowed”? What would it feel like to give that to myself instead?
Oh my friend, this shows up for me in so many ways too. Getting our hands and hearts and minds to all be on the same page at the same time is so hard sometimes. Right now my physical body is holding me back, but my heart wants to make something creative now. It’s tugging at me saying later, when you feel better.while my head says to just start and the action will move you along. I just can’t get the whole gang to get it together all at the same time.
Oh Kathleen, I feel this so deeply. It’s like trying to conduct an orchestra where everyone’s playing a different tune—body, heart, and head all wanting different things. That tug-of-war is real. What if the "start" didn’t have to be big? Maybe just a mark, a scribble, a gathering of materials. A gesture that says, “I’m still here. I still want this.” You don’t have to wait for full alignment to begin—sometimes beginning invites the rest to follow. 💛
For the past 25 years I've been a practicing artist, selling some, teaching, winning some awards, showing my work - even when I worked 2 jobs. I sometimes thought because I didn't go to school for art like I did for accounting (previous 25 years) that I was sort of play acting. But this week I received some sobering news from my retina specialist, which after crying and the why me's?, has had me saying How can this be I AM AN ARTIST? I feel it so down in my bones now, I am an artist, yet I may not be able to be one in a few years........ who will I be then? I'm trying to get up everyday grateful for what I see, using my supplies to capture it while I can. The fickle life of a human - as the song says "You don't know what you've got til it's gone"
Glo, thank you for opening your heart. That sentence—I AM AN ARTIST—gave me chills. It’s not about credentials or perfect conditions; it’s about how deeply your creativity lives in you. And even now, especially now, that truth is rising strong.
When fear about the future shows up, try gently asking: What can I create today with the sight, time, and tools I have? Let today’s gratitude become today’s practice. One mark at a time. One color. One gesture. Not to prove anything. Just to stay connected to who you already are.
Your story is still unfolding, and there’s no expiration date on your artistry. I believe in your voice, your resilience, and your vision. Keep going—you’re not alone. 💛
Thank you, as eyesight is so very important to everyone, and decline in any facet of life happens slowly to all as we age, I think knowing how to get a grip on changes as we age to our creativity and abilities with grace and self care is key. Learning this is different and difficult for everyone in a youth centric society. It’s my turn to discover how that plays out in my identity.
Glo, thank you for sharing this with such honesty and heart. You’re naming something so many of us feel but don’t always say out loud—the quiet, tender grief of change and the courage it takes to keep showing up anyway. You’re not alone in this. Your creativity is still yours, even as it shifts. And your voice, your vision, your art—it all still matters. I believe there’s beauty waiting to be discovered in this new chapter too. You’re already showing us how to meet it with grace. 💛