Permission to Begin Again (and Again and Again)

Even if your journal has more blank pages than filled ones

The other day I opened a drawer in my art room—you know the one—and found three sketchbooks, a dried-out glue stick, and a paintbrush with stiff bristles because apparently I once believed I’d “just rinse it later.”

There were also two full online courses I printed out during one of my optimistic bursts of motivation.
And I mean fully printed. Tabs, binders, color-coded labels. I was ready.

Except I never finished either of them.
Honestly, I never really started.

I stared down at that drawer like it was a time capsule of every good intention I’ve ever had.

And then I felt it: that little pang of shame.
“You said you’d follow through.”
“Why can’t you just stay consistent?”
“Maybe you’re not cut out for this after all.”

Sound familiar?

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Life Has a Way of Interrupting Good Intentions

You set aside time.
You get inspired.
You make a plan—this time will be different.

And then…

Someone needs you.
The dog gets sick.
You get overwhelmed by everything from laundry to headlines to hormones.
Or maybe you just lose steam and feel guilty for not feeling inspired.

The truth? You didn’t fail.
You just need permission to begin again.

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But Beginning Again Feels… Tiring

I hear this a lot from the women I coach—women like you and me who are in a season of transition.
They’ve spent years showing up for everyone else.
They’re brilliant, soulful, and deeply creative—but they’ve been running on empty.

They don’t want to start something they won’t finish.
They don’t want to gather evidence (again) that they can’t be consistent.

So instead of starting, they stall.
Instead of creating, they scroll.
Instead of beginning again, they wait for the perfect moment to arrive.

(Newsflash: it never does.)

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What I Know For Sure

You are allowed to return.
To your art.
To yourself.
To the quiet, sacred space where your soul gets to breathe.

Not because you're “ready.”
Not because you’ve earned it.
But because you’re alive, and that’s reason enough.

Every time you begin again, you’re building trust with yourself.
Not perfect trust.
But real, steady trust.
The kind that says, “I’m here. I’m still willing. I still want this.”

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Here's What Beginning Again Looked Like for Me (This Week Alone)

I sat on a bench in my backyard with a notebook and a black pen.
No expectations. No Pinterest board. Just five minutes of drawing squiggly lines, playing with shadows, letting the sun hit my shoulders and my nervous system settle down.

There was nothing groundbreaking about it.
It didn’t become a masterpiece.
It didn’t get posted.
But I felt that tiny flicker of aliveness return—the one I only get when I stop trying to be productive and just start being present.

That’s the magic.
That’s what we forget: it doesn’t have to be grand to be sacred.

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So Let Me Offer You This

If you need someone to tell you it’s okay to start again, here I am.

You are allowed to:

• Open a dusty sketchbook and make one mark

• Revisit a dream you left behind without explaining why you paused

• Forgive yourself for stopping

• Try again without needing a perfect plan

• Count today as a fresh start, even if you’ve had fifty

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You’re Not Behind. You’re Becoming.

That’s what I remind my clients, and myself, almost daily.

You don’t need to be fixed.
You don’t need another reinvention.
You just need a gentle return.

To your creative rhythm.
To what makes you feel alive.
To a life that feels like yours again.

And if you’d like a little support along the way, I’m here.
I coach women who want to make their creativity part of their everyday life—not someday, but now.

Because this isn’t just about art.
It’s about feeling like yourself again.

Let’s begin again—together.

With love and permission,
Lynn