Burnout, Creativity, and the Power of Being a Beginner Again

I recently joined Dr. Katie Estberg on the Dealing Healing podcast for a conversation about something that can quietly disappear when life becomes focused on achievement, responsibility, and getting everything done.

Creativity.

Not creativity because you're an artist.

Not creativity because you need to produce something beautiful.

Creativity simply because you're human.

That became the heart of our conversation: what happens when high-achieving women lose access to play, curiosity, and creative expression, and what can happen when we begin inviting those parts of ourselves back in.

Somewhere Along the Way, I Chose Science

I've always loved art.

As a child, I was constantly drawing, painting, and making things. But when it came time to choose what I would study, I was good at both art and science, and science seemed like the safer choice.

So that's the direction I took.

I studied biology, went on to graduate school and eventually earned my PhD. From there, my career moved through research, government, and eventually into the medical device industry.

It looked like a fairly logical progression.

And for years, it was.

But the creative part of me never entirely went away.

Then Everything Became Work

During the pandemic, the medical device company I worked for received a major government contract to help develop emergency ventilators.

There was an enormous sense of urgency.

At the same time, I was working from home with two children suddenly trying to navigate school from home.

I went to bed thinking about work.

I woke up thinking about work.

Slowly, almost without noticing, I became more exhausted, more reactive, and eventually more numb.

The colour seemed to disappear from my life.

As an artist, that was particularly noticeable.

I would walk into my studio, look at my supplies, and feel absolutely no desire to make anything. Something that had always brought me joy suddenly felt like another task I couldn't manage.

It Started With a Doodle

My way back wasn't dramatic.

There was no big declaration that I needed to change my life.

I was sitting through yet another Zoom meeting when I started doodling.

Simple marks. Repetitive shapes. Nothing I would have considered "art."

And yet, I noticed my breathing slowing.

The tension in my shoulders eased.

For a few minutes, I felt different.

That tiny experience made me curious.

I started researching why creative activity could affect how we feel, exploring art therapy and eventually combining some of those ideas with the forward-looking, goal-oriented approach of coaching.

That exploration became the foundation for Mind Art Wellness.

High Achievers Like to Know the Rules

This is where working with women in STEM* gets interesting.

*Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics.

We're often trained to value precision.

There are procedures to follow, results to verify, risks to anticipate, and answers that need to be supported by evidence.

Those skills are enormously valuable.

But bring that same mindset to a blank sheet of paper and suddenly you might hear:

Am I doing this right?

It's one of the most common questions I hear.

That's why I don't begin by asking someone to create a painting or make something they would proudly hang on their wall.

We start with a pen and a piece of paper.

If you can draw at the level needed for Pictionary, you're ready.

The point isn't artistic skill. It's finding another way to see what's happening inside your head.

What If You Drew a Bridge Instead?

One of my favourite moments from my Creative Reset program came from an engineer.

The exercise involved drawing a lighthouse and a boat. The lighthouse represented the goal, and the boat carried whatever you needed to help you get there.

Except she didn't draw the boat.

She drew a bridge.

Her explanation was wonderfully simple.

She hated boats.

She was an engineer.

She liked bridges.

What I loved wasn't the bridge itself. It was that several weeks earlier, she probably would have drawn the boat because those were the instructions.

This time, she trusted herself enough to change them.

That's creative thinking.

And it's also a small act of self-trust.

"I Don't Have Time for This"

I've heard this from clients many times.

It makes sense.

When your calendar is full and you're already responsible for work, family, colleagues, parents, household tasks, and the endless invisible things that keep life running, adding a creative exercise can sound like one more item on the list.

But something interesting happened when I followed up with women who completed my program.

When I asked what might have stopped them from participating, they often said:

Time.

When I asked what they'd gained from the experience, many gave me the same answer:

Time.

Not because we'd magically created extra hours.

They'd become more aware of where their time was going.

They started setting boundaries.

Delegating.

Asking for help.

Questioning responsibilities they'd automatically assumed belonged to them.

Saying no.

Sometimes taking a little time for yourself helps you see where you've been giving too much of it away.

A Vacation Won't Change Your Habits

We often imagine recovery as something we'll do later.

After this project.

When things calm down.

On vacation.

But if the habits creating the stress don't change, it's very easy to return from that vacation and step straight back into the same patterns.

One more email.

One more check.

One more thing you decide you should handle yourself because it's easier than asking someone else.

I've come to think of burnout recovery less as crossing a finish line and more as learning to recognize the habits that make you vulnerable to ending up there again.

That takes practice.

It's one reason my Creative Reset program takes place over 12 weeks.

We're not trying to flip a switch.

We're getting the reps in.

Creativity Has More Than One Door

Something else often happens when women give themselves permission to be creative.

It spreads.

One client rediscovered how much she loved gardening and decided to create a little piece of the beach she loved in her own backyard.

Another realized she'd stopped enjoying the creativity involved in preparing food for family gatherings. She began having fun making beautiful charcuterie boards again.

Others start noticing colour.

Music.

Leaves on the trees.

A song playing in the car that suddenly makes them want to sing along.

These things might seem small.

They're not.

They're signs that you're paying attention again.

Make Something You Don't Need to Keep

One of the creative practices we discussed during the podcast doesn't require art supplies at all.

Go outside.

Collect a few things that catch your attention. Shells. Stones. Leaves. Twigs.

Arrange them into a simple mandala or pattern.

Then leave it there.

The wind might scatter it.

The tide might wash it away.

That's part of the exercise.

For high achievers, creating something temporary can feel surprisingly uncomfortable because we're so accustomed to connecting effort with an outcome.

If I spend time on something, shouldn't I have something to show for it?

Not always.

Sometimes the experience is the outcome.

Who Told You That You Weren't Creative?

At some point, many of us began associating creativity with talent.

There were the artistic kids.

The sporty kids.

The smart kids.

The musical kids.

We were sorted into categories, sometimes by teachers and parents, sometimes by friends, and sometimes by ourselves.

I did this too.

As a teenager, I dated someone who identified strongly as a writer. Even though we'd both been writing stories and poetry, I quietly decided that writing belonged to him.

He was the writer.

I would be the artist.

I didn't realize until much later that I'd closed a creative door myself.

I'm Opening That Door Again

This fall, I'm taking a creative writing course.

And yes, I'm nervous.

I've spent much of my life writing. Scientific papers. Patents. Procedures. Blogs. Technical documents.

But creative writing?

That's different.

I don't know yet whether I can write the kind of short story I'd like to write.

And that's precisely the point.

I spend a lot of time encouraging other women to experiment, take small risks, release their attachment to the outcome, and allow themselves to be beginners.

Now I get to practise that myself.

There is something wonderfully humbling about realizing you're still capable of putting yourself into the same boxes you're helping other people climb out of.

How Full Are Your Batteries?

If you'd like somewhere simple to begin, try this.

Take a piece of paper and draw a few batteries.

Give each one an area of your life:

Work. Family. Relationships. Creativity. Health. Yourself.

How charged is each battery right now?

Then ask yourself:

What's draining this battery?

What helps recharge it?

Is there a battery missing entirely?

You might discover that almost all your energy is going into two areas of your life.

Or you might discover you're trying to keep twenty different batteries charged at once.

Neither observation requires you to immediately fix anything.

Start by noticing.

You need to understand where you are before you can decide where you'd like to go next.

Two Minutes. One Pen. No Masterpiece Required.

Here's another practice you can try when your thoughts won't stop circling.

Put a pen on paper.

Begin drawing a line in time with your breathing.

Don't decide what it should look like.

Just follow your breath.

You might begin with sharp, quick, jagged lines. As you continue, notice whether your hand changes. Your lines may become slower or softer.

You can also try it with music.

Let your hand respond to what you're hearing.

Two minutes is enough.

There's nothing to finish and nothing to judge.

You're simply giving some of what's happening inside your head somewhere else to go.

Maybe You're More Than the Labels You've Collected

Scientist.

Artist.

Coach.

Mother.

Partner.

Writer.

We contain multitudes.

One identity doesn't cancel out another, and something you stopped doing decades ago isn't necessarily gone forever.

Sometimes it's simply been buried underneath responsibility, expectations, productivity, and the person you thought you were supposed to become.

That's one of the reasons creativity matters so much to me now.

It isn't really about making art.

It's about curiosity.

Permission.

Experimentation.

And occasionally asking yourself a question you haven't asked in a very long time:

What did I used to love doing, and when did I stop?

Your Creative Self Might Still Be There

Near the end of our conversation, Dr. Katie offered an idea that stayed with me.

Maybe returning to creativity isn't about becoming someone new.

Maybe it's one of the ways we return to ourselves.

I think that's exactly right.

You don't need to call yourself an artist.

You don't need expensive supplies.

And you definitely don't need to make something beautiful.

Start with a doodle.

Plant something.

Move furniture around.

Cook without a recipe.

Write a paragraph nobody else will read.

Arrange stones on a beach and let the tide take them away.

See what happens when there's no grade, no performance review, and no gold star waiting at the end.

You might discover a part of yourself that's been waiting patiently for you to notice her again.

If you'd like some help getting started, my free 5-Day Creative Reset Challenge introduces you to simple creative wellness exercises you can fit into everyday life. You can also subscribe to The Creative Shift, my weekly newsletter, for reflections and practical ideas around creativity, stress, resilience, and reconnecting with yourself.

You don't have to become more creative.

You might simply need to give yourself permission to use the creativity that's already there.