Creative but Not Smart

The magic of my last blog was that it freed me from trying to figure out what to do because I did it. That very real style of communicating is me. I can be quite blunt, I’m definitely sarcastic, and I’m not afraid of my own stuff. That blog is what it looks like when I honor that.

I promised some sharing so I best get on that. I promised I’d talk about the hiding that I’ve done over the years. It was all related to a lack of confidence and insecurity. I never ever believed I could do anything. I’ve always thought of myself as mostly incapable.

My brother is the math and science mind in the family. He was always considered smarter than me because he was all math and science and I was busy writing poetry. He was smart and I was creative. But being creative meant I wasn’t smart because smart people weren’t creative, they were logical. So if I wanted to be smart I had to stop being creative. Houston, we have a problem.

It took me years to realize that I wasn’t dumb just because I wasn’t a physics major. It took me even longer to come to the conclusion that smart people were creative in their own ways. I could be smart and creative if I wanted to be. I had to own that a bit though to be able to do this. Like I said in the last blog, I made my work fit in, but part of that was so that people didn’t think I was stupid. If all you do is write for a living, what would people think? I mean it’s not like that was ever an option growing up. I needed to get a government job with benefits. Writing wasn’t that by any stretch of the imagination. Using my creative talents in my work was never an option for me. I had to fit in the box.

I stuffed it all down. I squished all of it because it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t mainstream. It didn’t fit. It made me look dumb. All of that simply meant that I wasn’t okay or good enough. I was good at the wrong things. I didn’t like what other people liked. I didn’t want what other people had, but I had to have it anyway because that was normal.

All those little messages were strewn throughout my life telling me that because I wasn’t a math or science mind, I was somehow less than. Teaching validated me in some ways because it fit the definition of normal. It is and was a noble profession. It gave my parents something positive to say about me for a while.

Now you see why I hid. I was never validated and I was never okay or good enough. I didn’t fit in. I lived by my own rules which meant I didn’t really have any rules. I was a wild child but that was attributed to being creative. I didn’t drink or do drugs, but being out all night, partying, hanging out with the “wrong crowd” made me bad somehow, even though I never got into any real trouble.

I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be creative. I wasn’t allowed to acknowledge who I was because who I was wasn’t okay. If I was going to honor even slightly, I had to find a way to make it fit in the box called normal. I’ve said before that trying to create a life based on what other people want you to do will make you miserable. I say that from experience because I did exactly that and yes, I was miserable.

So, what changed?

I stopped giving a f**k. I acknowledged all of those bits of myself. I took responsibility for who I was and decided that it had to be good enough because it is who I am and I know for sure that I’m good enough. I may be insecure and my confidence may be taking its sweet time building up, but I’m damn sure I’m good enough to be here and do this. Anybody that doesn’t like it can show themselves to the door. I don’t have room for that nonsense anymore.

I am creative and that is now how I make a living. I’m a creative healer. That looks like a lot of writing and sharing. it looks like a lot of stories. It looks like showing you how to do this for yourself. It looks like acknowledging all the bits, the shadows, the problems, and the successes. It looks like doing the work on myself publicly because what fun would it be to do it while hiding?

I’ve hidden plenty long enough I think. Maybe it’s time to change that.

Who’s coming along for the ride?

Love to all.


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