For a long time, I believed creativity was something you earned after everything else was done.
After the workday.
After the responsibilities.
After the grief, the stress, the exhaustion.
Creativity felt like a reward—something extra, something indulgent. A luxury.
But that belief nearly cost me my ability to cope.
Because the truth is, creativity isn’t a bonus feature of a good life.
It’s a survival tool.
When words get stuck in my throat, I write.
When my nervous system is overwhelmed, I draw.
When my mind is spinning in circles, I create something tangible—something that proves I’m still here.
Creativity is how I process what I don’t yet understand.
We live in a culture that values productivity over expression. If it doesn’t make money, hit a metric, or produce a visible outcome, it’s often dismissed as a hobby. But for many of us—especially those navigating grief, burnout, anxiety, caregiving, or trauma—creative expression is regulation.
It’s how we breathe when the world feels too heavy.
Creativity gives shape to feelings that don’t have language yet. It offers a place to put the ache, the confusion, the anger, the hope. It lets us move emotion through the body instead of trapping it inside.
And no—you don’t have to be “good” at it for it to work.
You don’t need to be an artist or a writer or a poet. You just need a willingness to show up imperfectly. Scribbles count. Rambling journal entries count. Half-finished paintings count. Five minutes of expression counts.
The point isn’t performance.
The point is release.
For me, The Crow and Flame was born out of this truth. Not from inspiration, but from necessity. From a need to understand myself, to build coping skills that didn’t feel clinical or cold, to find meaning through symbolism, story, and art.
Creativity became the bridge between pain and healing.
And here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: when creativity disappears, it’s often a warning sign. When we stop expressing, we start suppressing. When we tell ourselves we’re “too busy” to create, we’re often too overwhelmed to ignore what’s asking to be felt.
So if you’ve been telling yourself you don’t have time, energy, or permission to create—this is it.
This is your permission.
You don’t need motivation.
You don’t need a finished product.
You don’t need to justify it.
You just need a moment of honesty and a willingness to begin.
Because creativity isn’t a luxury for the healed.
It’s a coping skill for the healing.
Crow and Flame 