Tapping into creativity: A new language of healing
When my life changed drastically, I clung to what I knew. I tried to recreate the life I had before—same habits, same pace, same goals. But that version of me was gone. And one of the hardest lessons I had to learn was how to let her go.
It wasn’t easy. Letting go of the things I loved—my work, my routines, even simple joys like walking freely—was a slow heartbreak. But strangely, it was the physical changes in my environment that helped shift my internal world. I started changing my home. I removed objects tied to memories that pulled me backward. I released clutter, rearranged spaces, and made things simpler. These weren’t just aesthetic changes—they were emotional shifts.
In making space, I created room for possibility.
I began noticing breakthroughs—small ones at first. I started looking for what was still possible instead of what wasn’t. This shift in mindset was like flipping a light switch. My creativity, once buried under brain fog and fatigue, slowly sparked back to life.
I began to write. To create. To feel joy in little moments. In that creative space, I felt fulfilled again—perhaps not as an educator or leader, but as a storyteller. I wanted to inspire people going through chronic illness, and those who cared for them. To offer a window into what life with Long Covid really looks like—and how it could still hold meaning.
When energy was low, writing became one of the first things to fall away. I started leaving myself reminders—sticky notes that said, “Create something.” Because on good days, I forgot how healing it was. And on bad days, I couldn’t remember how to begin.
I also discovered meditative walking—slow, present, intentional steps that grounded me in the now. These walks weren’t about distance or speed. They were about connection—to my breath, my senses, and my inner landscape. They helped calm my nervous system and opened a space where creative ideas could softly return.
Before I got sick, I had started singing lessons. I loved them. But I had to give them up when multitasking became impossible. I couldn’t remember lyrics. I struggled to control my face and breath at the same time. That loss hurt.
Still, I kept seeking light. Meditation, once something I thought was “too floaty,” became my anchor. It helped me shift my thoughts. Over time, I began to recognize awareness as its own kind of power. A place where creativity could return. Where imagination could play again.
Creating isn’t always about producing something grand. It’s about reconnecting with joy. With purpose. With life.