Somewhere between making tiny paper houses and bingeing TikTok with a cup of tea, I discovered a pattern: I start a creative project all fired up... and then? Poof. Disconnected. Bored. Not creatively bored, but bored in the "I no longer have the mental bandwidth to functionally move this forward" kind of way. My creative brain still wants to dance; my get-things-done brain has left the building.
It’s not burnout. Not quite. It’s more like a soft gray fog that rolls in, bringing with it a trio of unwelcome guests: meh, anxiety, and frustration. Together, they make a lovely little cocktail of "Why am I like this?" served with a twist of guilt.
The meh is a loss of spark. The anxiety is the pressure to keep producing, to not let the creative thread snap. The frustration is all about knowing the idea was so good and now it just... sits there. Like a leftover muffin that was once warm and perfect, and is now weirdly damp and existential.
I run an Etsy store selling miniature scenes and paper art. I dabble in POD on Zazzle. I nerd out on genealogy. And I also, apparently, run a full-time background process called "navigating my life while low-key waiting for a massive change to arrive."
And that’s the kicker. Change is coming — big, beautiful, terrifying change. The kind that is 100% planned and 0% fully arrived. So I’m in the waiting room of my own life. The creative pause before the next act. And even though I know it’s temporary, it still hits the same nervous system buttons I developed as a kid, constantly switching schools, floating through unfamiliar classrooms, never quite anchoring.
So when my brain says “nope” at the midpoint of a project, maybe it's not sabotage. Maybe it’s memory. Maybe it’s survival.
And yet… I wish I could keep going. Always. I want to follow through. I want to finish things. But my nervous system still thinks we’re moving any minute now, so why unpack?
What helps? Tea. TikTok. A little vacuuming. Not as avoidance — but as regulation. These are not escapes, they’re little grounding rituals. And lately, I’ve started to accept that maybe my shutdown moments aren’t wasted time. Maybe they’re the bridge between phases. Maybe they’re creative in their own way.
If I could turn this feeling into a paper scene, I’d make a shadow box with a street full of tiny houses and trees. A man standing on the ground. And me , tethered like a kite, floating among the clouds. The sky? It’d show every kind of weather: sun, storm, sunset, stars. Because that’s who I am. Not one thing. All of it.
So here’s my weather report for today: Partly foggy with patches of clarity, light winds of hope, 40% chance of emotional snacks.
And here’s my affirmation: I am not behind. I am becoming. Even in the pause, I am in motion.
To all my fellow kites out there , tethered, tired, tangled ,keep floating. You’re still flying.
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