A few early mornings ago, I woke up precisely at four am. When the house was enveloped in complete silence, the kind of quiet that only dawn’s first light can bring.
My notes, neatly prepared the night before, sat ready on my desk, and my schedule was open, free of obligations.
That evening, I had quietly told myself with firm resolve, “Tomorrow, you will show up.”
As creatives, we often hear the advice: show up, be disciplined, stay consistent.
It’s the mantra that fuels many of us. So I sat down at my desk, ready to write, expecting inspiration to flow, but unexpectedly, I found the strength to create was absent.
It wasn’t laziness or a distraction; it was an inexplicable emptiness that had settled in.
My body was alert and present, my mind was willing, but my creative capacity felt diminished, low, almost depleted.
For a moment, I felt a surge of urgency: I must complete this task. Isn’t that what we’re told?
Wake up early, push through, show up no matter what.
But no one really prepares us for those mornings when our creativity remains silent, when our energy refuses to cooperate, despite our desire to produce.
Later that day, I remembered a line I heard in a podcast: "Consistency is showing up according to your capacity."
That statement suddenly felt like a permission slip, an acknowledgement that I could honour my limits, without pressure, without comparing myself to others’ rhythms, without trying to keep pace with what other creatives are sharing online.
Maybe, I thought, consistency doesn’t mean forcing 100% effort every day. Perhaps it’s about giving 40% fully when that’s all I have.
Maybe it’s about respecting the day’s moment and saying, “Today, this is what I can carry.” If writing one paragraph is all I can manage, then let that be enough. If creating once this week feels right, then that’s valid.
Burnout isn’t a badge of seriousness. Doing what you can, honestly, gently, and with kindness, still counts as consistency.
If you’re a creative who’s been too hard on yourself lately, consider this your gentle reminder to breathe.
Now pertaining full responsibility on love ones. Being the one everyone expects to succeed can be heavy.
You’re the one people point at and say, “You will make it.”
The one they believe will change the story of the family.
The one they look at with so much hope. At first it feels like encouragement. But sometimes, it starts to feel like pressure.
Because now every step you take feels like it carries everyone’s expectations.
You feel like you cannot fail, cannot slow down, cannot even say you’re tired.
But the truth is, even the “hope of the family” gets overwhelmed. Even the strong one needs space to breathe, to make mistakes, and to grow at their own pace.
To everyone on this journey of growth,
I know it is not always aesthetic.
It is not always inspiring.
It is not always “soft life” and glowing testimonies.
Some days, it feels heavy.
You wake up tired.
You try again.
You fail again.
And then that question creeps in quietly:
“Why am I even doing this?”
It starts to feel like this wasn’t the life you imagined.
Like maybe you signed up for something easier. Something smoother.
I get it.
There are moments when growth feels more like stretching than shining.
More pruning than blooming.
And if we are being honest?
Sometimes you feel weak.
But let me tell you something gently,
Weak doesn’t mean you are not called.
Tired doesn’t mean you are not growing.
Confused doesn’t mean you are failing.
It just means you are in process.
And process is rarely pretty.
I see you showing up when it would be easier to disappear.
I see you trying again when quitting would feel justified.
I see the quiet discipline no one claps for.
And I deeply celebrate you.
One day, this season that feels confusing will make sense.
One day, the work will speak.
One day, you’ll look back and whisper, “I’m glad I didn’t.
If you are that person, remember this:
You are allowed to be human too.
