Never was one for labels and it is only in the last 3 years that I have really accepted that I am considered a creative type. For a huge portion of my life I was scared to be labelled ‘creative.’ Afraid that with the title of being creative came the expectation that I was going to do nothing but struggle, that I would never hit that successfully employed mark, and that I’d never have a cent to my name. When people would ask me my interests I’d have to think of something quickly to make sure I was mainstream enough to be considered a person of success and pending greatness. Naturally I gravitated towards everything creative, but I just never took on the label. 

I had a bad relationship with ‘me’ because I was denying myself the very fundamentals on which I raised myself; to be resourceful, to be able to use my time to amuse myself with very little, to constantly be striving to improve and develop new skills. I still did all this, but all the while I repressed a true part of myself which was my creativity. I had people and family members in my ear telling me that no creative (or at least very few) has ever amounted to anything and I’d be wasting my life to pursue that creative career. When I originally wanted to study creative writing I was made to feel like I was banking up a huge student debt to learn about a hobby. To put it frankly I fucked around for so many years trying to work corporate jobs and get corporate based certificates and it literally killed my soul. I began to turn into the lifeless drone that I so despised. I moved into hospitality, this at least allowed me to interact with people on a more personal level and surround myself with other like minded creatives who are probably feeling the same strain I am. That couldn’t last either, I was STILL denying myself my dream of pursuing that creative career. So just over 2 years ago I broke my ankle, and my life came to a screaming halt and I had no job to even distract myself from my life that I disliked so much. I had a horrible relationship and the only thing that made me feel better about life was my dog. I had just begun getting back into painting, but it was just a test. Anyway when you’re in a state of idleness with an injury you get really introspective about what life really is and even if I did struggle for the rest of my days to pursue something I love, would it really matter? 

I know that friends and family probably just wanted me to feel comfort and security in this life, but they did me such a disservice by allowing me to suppress who I really am. I still cringe when I label myself “creative” out loud, but I cringe even harder when I think of all the time I wasted trying to find a purpose and a path when I was soooooo far off the actual path for me. 

 I am a creative type. I live and breathe creativity. I cook creatively, I clean creatively, I care for my animals creatively, I paint, draw, dance. I am a living breathing ball of self expression that needs to get out into the world, and this is what sets me apart, this is what is going to make me succeed. Not turning my back on who I am, and trying to be something I was never ever born to be. I really mean it when I say I was ashamed when someone would look at me and call me creative. I felt the need to correct them and tell them not to questions my intelligence like a creative person isn’t smart…

So finally, here I am. Right now. Letting creativity drive absolutely everything I do, letting that be my authenticity, and letting ideas flow through me like the perfect temperature cup of tea; and it feels good.