From Pressure to Play: Reclaiming Your Joy and Creativity
- Editorial Team
- Jun 5
- 4 min read
Jane loved her work — until it became a weight. She lost her joy despite a picture-perfect life. Her body knew what her mind hadn’t dared to admit. Here’s how she reconnected with her true creative core.
Jane, a self-employed interior designer known for her intuitive eye and impeccable taste, once woke each morning with a thrill in her chest — eager to sketch, source, and sculpt spaces into sanctuaries. Her clients adored her. Her husband cherished her. Her grown children called often and with love.
She had it all, didn’t she?
Yet, this morning, something was off. Something had been off for a while, if she were honest with herself.
She had slept — a full 9 hours. Not a restless night, not one of those up-every-hour slogs. A solid, uninterrupted stretch. And yet, as she blinked awake, cocooned in her linen sheets, all she could feel was… tired. Not the sleepy kind. The kind that clings to your bones. The kind that makes even the thought of sitting up feel unreasonable.
Her first thought was not about fabrics, or lighting, or the client presentation she had to polish.
It was:
“I don’t want to do any of my to-dos.”
She stared at the ceiling. The clean lines of the molding, once a joy to behold, now felt meaningless. She tried to practice gratitude. She tried to remember the pride she used to feel, walking into a finished space, hearing clients say “this feels like me.”
But nothing stirred.
And still — her life looked good on paper.
A supportive partner.
Weekly calls with her daughter in Amsterdam and her son in Munich.
No major health issues.
No toxic relationships.
No visible drama.
She had been a dedicated yogi. A Pilates devotee. She used to love the way her body felt strong, supple, at ease.
But lately? Just putting on her sports bra felt like climbing Kilimanjaro.
What happened?
That question echoed through her like an empty hallway.
It wasn’t burnout — at least not the kind people usually talked about. She wasn’t working 80-hour weeks or trapped in some toxic corporate machine. She was her own boss. She chose her clients. Her schedule was flexible.
And yet, the zest had drained from her days.
The truth, buried beneath the beige of her busyness, was quietly trying to rise:
She had lost touch with her creative Part.
She had poured herself into her work for years.
Into her family.
Into making everything beautiful — for everyone else.
But who was making her inner world joyful and beautiful?
She hadn’t created something just for her in years — not a painting, not a poem, not a pot of clay. Her creativity had become commodified. Monetised. Measured in likes, invoices, and before-and-after photos.
And she had ignored the quiet signals:
The boredom.
The low-grade resentment.
The craving for solitude that wasn’t about rest, but about reconnection.
Her body wasn’t failing her. It was speaking to her. Loudly.
And that morning, as she lay in bed with that heavy sense of no, something shifted.
Maybe the exhaustion wasn’t a problem to be solved.
Maybe it was a message to be honoured.
Not “Push through.”
Not “Be grateful and get on with it.”
But:
“Pause. Listen. Recalibrate.”
What if she took a week off? No client calls. No Instagram reels. Just quiet.
What if she revisited that box of oil paints gathering dust in the garage?
What if she let go of what looked successful — and followed what felt soulful?
Jane didn’t have all the answers. Not yet.
But for the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker. A gentle yes.
And sometimes, that’s all it takes to begin again.
When The Inner Child Stops Dancing
The truth finally landed softly, like sunlight spilling through sheer curtains:
Jane’s exhaustion wasn’t about sleep, or even stress.
It was about neglect — not of responsibilities, but of her creative inner child.
The part of her that once played with colour for the sheer joy of it.
The part that used to move freely, dance without choreography, and dream without deadlines.
Over time, that child had been saddled with structure, monetised, managed, and measured. Her creativity had become a currency — and joy got replaced by pressure.
Her inner child wasn’t tired. It was burdened.
No wonder Jane felt disconnected. No wonder even nine hours of sleep didn’t help.
She had lost touch with the part of her that once felt light, playful, and alive.
How Jane Began Reconnecting with Her Self
Instead of pushing herself to perform or powering through the fatigue, Jane tried something radical:
She paused.
She listened.
She asked her creative Part, “What do you need today, my dear creative one?”
And the answers were not loud, but clear:
“I want to paint, not for a client — for fun.”
“I want music that makes me move like a child.”
“I want to make a mess. Not manage a moodboard.”
She began creating. Colouring outside the lines. Making things with no intent to share. And slowly, the flicker returned.
Try The Inner Child Affirmation
“Dear Creative Part,
I see you now — not as a tool for productivity, but as a soul who needs play.
You’re not here to be perfect. You’re here to be real, raw, and radiant.
I will make space for your joy. I will not forget you again.”
Inner Work Meditation for the Forgotten Creative Self
Close your eyes. Place your hand on your heart. Breathe deep. Whisper or write this:
“I see you — the part of me that once felt lit from within.
You’re not lost. You’ve been waiting.
I honour your quiet courage, your creativity, your clarity.
You don’t have to prove anything. You are beautiful the way you are.
Today, I choose to return to you — gently, truly, and completely.
Let’s co-create again. From calm. From truth. From beauty and love.”
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