Since the Supreme Court ruling in mid April, my routines and my energy have been badly disrupted. We are expected to continue as normal when these big political shocks come (and they really do seem to just keep coming, don't they!) but the reality is, my neurodivergent nervous system can only take so much.
There has been a toll on my creativity, despite being inspired to make a painting and a Zine about all of this fuckery, and now I feel like I am (once again) starting over.
So this week I headed to the studio, put the kettle on, made a nice cup of Earl Grey (no milk, half a teaspoon of Stevia) and - very gently - started again.
There’s a kind of courage in this starting over - especially when you’re tired, uncertain, or silently afraid that the spark might not come back.
If you're reading this, maybe you're standing at that threshold: wanting to create, but unsure how to begin again. Maybe you’ve been burned out, distracted, overwhelmed, or just paused. Maybe part of you thinks you should have figured it out by now, I know I feel that way!
This post is a hand held out across that threshold. Not to pull you through, but to walk beside you.
Start Where You Are (No, really)
You don’t need to leap. You don’t need to have a grand plan.
You just need to notice.
Notice what wants to emerge — even if it’s small or strange or slow.
Notice what you're drawn to — colours, textures, scraps, sounds.
Notice how your body feels when you don't make, and how it shifts when you do — even just a little.
Starting again doesn’t require the same you that left off. You've changed - so have I - and that's OK.
That change is not a failure, it’s your fertile ground.
Low-Pressure Steps to Restart
Make something tiny — a scribble, a three-minute poem, a collage from a receipt and a leaf. Let it be unfinished. Let it be weird. Let it exist.
Set a "low bar" goal — one that feels so gentle it almost feels like cheating. (E.g. “I will open my sketchbook and stare at it.”)
Create a re-entry ritual — light a candle, make a particular drink, play a song. These cues can whisper to your brain, “It's okay to begin.”
The Myth of Consistent Creativity
For neurodivergent artists especially, consistency can feel like a myth we’re supposed to chase. But maybe we’re not meant to be consistent. Maybe we’re meant to be cyclical. Seasonal. Wildly responsive.
Your creativity didn’t leave you. I promise you that.
It might just be waiting for a softer invitation.
Try This
This week, pick one small thing:
Light a candle.
Uncap a pen.
Choose one colour you’re feeling drawn to.
Write a haiku - about anything at all.
Now, begin again.
Not as a demand, but as a returning.
If you want some gentle accountability and company, please join us in Neurodivergent Art Club - we have a Facebook group and Discord and we meet every Thursday from 2-4pm (UK time) on Zoom to create (or just be) together. We'd love to see you.