on being creative

cuz maybe it's not a label i gotta earn

So, I’ve been away for ages because this finally happened…

The title of my book. It’s Never Just ADHD. Finding the Child Behind the Label - more thoughts on the process and my realisations about writing a book in future posts.

Yes.

That’s right…

That’s the first page of my book draft, which has now FINALLY gone into production. YAY!!! I’m gonna write a little about that process when I get to it, but another thought came up for me today instead though…

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I could remember.

I bet you didn’t know that I wrote my first story when I was six years old. It was a mystery story back in the day when I was obsessed with Scooby-Doo and I remember how amazed everyone was when I told them what I wrote.

“Oh… Sandra… aren’t you smart!”

“You should write more books like that!”

“That’s so creative!”

The compliments came in droves that day (I have a big family), and I was so proud. I bet you’d think that it was a great thing to hear all those comments too. It seems like I should have been. I guess at the time it was… until it wasn’t. Something in me shifted soon after I wrote that first story. I mean, shouldn’t I be pleased that people thought I was a good storyteller from such a young age? Wouldn’t it have encouraged me to write more?

It didn’t. In fact, those comments kinda haunted me and kept me from attempting to be creative in my writing after that, and if I ever was, I never felt satisfied with what I wrote. Even as I started writing years later on social media and then this Substack, writing for an audience has been something that has been equal parts exhilarating and traumatic. I’m always fighting the urge to fix everything I write to make it sound just right for everyone (and in doing so sound less and less like myself).

I wish I was being dramatic, but I’m not, because when my account blew up in June 2020, I was not expecting any of it. I was definitely not prepared for any of it either. That kind of attention was way too big for my body to handle. I did not have the capacity for any of it. Up until that point, any writing I had done had stayed safely hidden within the pages of my journals. I had a cosy 500 people following me and it felt just enough. Before that, my writing only came out for such special occasions as essay writing (I’m an English major) or birthday cards. There was never any in-between.

It’s one of the strangest things I’ve had to work through and I’m only putting words to it now. You see, by rights, I should have felt great about my writing and my writing being seen. It was something I’ve always wanted to do - hell, I was even an English major! Words were my thing! They still are my thing, right?

It’s a funny thing about creating. About being creatives.

We’re all creatives because we’re all creations.

We’ve all got brains that interact with the world in different ways. We all bring our own flair to how we interpret what we experience in the environments that surround us as well. There’s no doubt in my mind that we’re all creative, and born with an innate sense of creativeness, too.

Only this society screws with how we learn to feel about our creative selves. Being creative is something that ends up laced with so much shame, whether we hear praise for our creativity or not. Creativity goes from something that we are - just by being alive - to a judgement of what we can or can’t do. Then it’s for others to determine whether we’re “good at it” or not. Whether we’re allowed to claim the identity of creative or not. If we’re deemed “creative” we must be “really good at it” because if we falter, if we mess up, if we can’t be creative enough that one time… then we’re shit.

Not the idea.

Not the invention.

Not the plan.

Us.

Even as a little kid, I innately knew that if I couldn’t do the same writing just as well the next time, I’d be bad because of it. I wasn’t about to take any chances. I kept most of my writing a secret after that.

Often we hear about neurodivergence and creativity like it’s this talent that those of us who are considered neurodivergent possess in droves. We want to be seen as special because of our creativity (and creativity is so incredibly special), but we were never supposed to be judged on our ability to create. It’s not a talent. It’s who we are, neurodivergent or not. It always has been too, until this culture taught us that it was safer to hide it, downplay it, use it for validation or deny it altogether.

Creativity was changed into something that was made to define us - if it was in service to white supremacy.

Were we smart enough?

Clever enough?

Inventive enough?

Curious enough?

Insightful enough?

Musical enough?

Quick enough?

Talented enough?

Articulate enough?

I think that’s why so many of us freeze up, get defensive, make excuses, and/or feel disheartened… at the very thought of creating anything. All those ideas we want to create, hope to create, wish to create, dream of creating, and try to create (and might not finish or even believe we can start) are in our minds and bodies because we were made to do that or find some way to make it possible.

Just showing my face and saying “hey!” Cuz I’m still here!

Only we must stuff our creative selves away, alongside a large dose of shame to ensure that they stay hidden. If ever tempted to reappear, it feels uncomfortable, foreign, or terrifying. We learn we’ll risk rejection when we put ourselves out there with our creativity. It's safer to stay small, keep hidden and only use mention our creativity when in service to productivity instead.

Tell me about your stories about being creative. What does it mean for you to see yourself as creative? I’ve been really creative lately, cuz this book-writing thing almost took me out!!!

It’s good to be back, friends. I missed y’all on here.