How I realized creativity was always a part of my life — I just didn’t recognize it at the time.
In my last post, I shared how fear, self-doubt, and perfectionism kept me stuck for years. I ended with a realization that I had always been creative — I just hadn’t allowed myself to see it that way.
What I didn’t understand then was that this part of me had been showing up repeatedly, in small, practical, sometimes quiet ways. I just never labeled it as “real.” I moved through those moments without stopping long enough to recognize what they were offering me.
Looking back, I can see that making and imagining have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. As a child, I loved making pretend food for my brother and sister — cutting and coloring bread, fish, and other items out of paper and cardboard. We would host little “markets” where our family shopped from us.
I created elaborate make-believe worlds: restaurants, bed-and-breakfasts, classrooms. We’d play for hours. I was constantly decorating and redecorating my room — once cutting animals out of magazines and nearly covering every wall, another time turning it into a “night club” where we danced. At the time, it just felt like play, but looking back, I can see how naturally creating and imagining filled my days.
That instinct followed me through high school, even when it showed up in different forms. I started baking and decorating cakes, which led me to take a Pastry Arts hybrid course during my senior year. Without realizing it, I was designing, planning, and executing ideas — working from start to finish. I still didn’t think of it as anything special, just something I was good at and enjoyed.
College continued that pattern in ways I didn’t recognize at the time. My degree in food and beverage management meant menu planning, designing experiences, problem-solving, and managing logistics. It required constant idea generation and adaptation. It wasn’t sculpting or painting — it was thinking, experimenting, and finding solutions. I just didn’t believe this version counted.
When school ended, I didn’t suddenly stop making things. I just kept going — without ever calling myself an artist. After college, there was a short season where this urge for creativity moved beyond a hobby. I started making string art — something tactile, repetitive, and strangely calming. Without really calling it “art,” I began selling pieces here and there. And to my surprise, people bought them. That should have meant more to me, but at the time, it didn’t.
For a few months, I made and sold string art consistently and earned money from it — my first time ever selling something I created with my hands. I didn’t frame it as success or proof of anything. It was just something I was doing. Looking back now, I realize how much that moment mattered. I was making, sharing, and being received — and I still didn’t let myself believe it counted.
Now, I’m giving myself permission to create without rules. No need for perfection. No comparisons. This can be messy. It can be small. It can be just for me. Sometimes it looks like a craft project, sometimes it’s writing a blog post, sometimes it’s experimenting in the kitchen. What matters is that I’m starting — and letting myself enjoy the process.
I’m learning that this isn’t about how “good” you are at something. It’s about expression, curiosity, and showing up for yourself. It’s about trying, failing, adjusting, and trying again. That’s what it actually looks like.
In the next post, I’ll share why now — at this stage of my life — is the moment I finally feel ready to fully dive in.
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