The Magic of your Creativity - 8 lessons I’ve learned
How being neurodivergent, sensitive or burnout can become your creative superpower. Here are the 8 lessons I’ve learned during my ‘Creative Year’.
Note: This post came about as part of a Co-writing session in The Substack Soirée with Sara Tasker. Highly recommend this course if you’re into Substack!
Sara asked - If I could wave a magic wand and use my creativity in any way I wished—what would it look like? Would it be for a certain person, or a group of people?
In truth, it would be for the ten-year-old me. A little girl tucked away in a pink and green bedroom at the very top of a tall Victorian house, peering out of the window onto a dead-end lane—a quiet slip of road. The view was mostly trees and chimney pots, familiar faces wandering past, and an unnameable longing for something just out of sight.
My bedroom was my entire world. A white bookcase stood by the boarded-up fireplace—stacked with Greek myths, fairy tales, poetry for children, and costume books I’d pore over until the real world blurred. Looking back, I know now what no one did then: that the girl in that bedroom was autistic. At the time I was just ‘dreamy’, ‘over-imaginative’, sometimes sullen. I lived in a private cosmos, where goddesses and fairies were real and the outside world more alien than anything in mybooks.
No one came up to the top floor. It was a rather Victorian arrangement. Like Wendy’s nursery in Peter Pan, only without brothers to adventure with. Just me, a record player in the spare room across the landing, a desk to paint at write at, dressing-up box, and the music. I would dance, write plays, stage elaborate performances for audiences who existed only in my head—and were more encouraging than the real thing.
I carry that world with me though I don’t return to it often – the knowledge of what was to come is too painful. The sharp contrast between the inner sanctum and the callous brightness of the outside world. I flinched every time it turned its full attention to me—too loud, too much, too fast. It’s a fear so many autistic people carry: not just of being seen, but of being perceived. Misread. Misnamed. Mismatched. I couldn’t find the words then—though I tried—but that bewilderment lasted for decades.
That girl burned with the need to create. She didn’t just want to write stories—she wanted to make books by hand – make the parchment, bind the spine, emboss the cover with gold leaf. She dreamed of libraries filled with worlds she’d created—places where other lonely, too-much girls could both lose and find themselves. She imagined wandering in cool moonlight or through sun-dappled forests, meeting other strange, spellbound souls. Places where wildness was welcome.
So, if I had a magic wand—(and perhaps, now I do)—I’d use it for her. And for the grown woman she became. And for all the grown versions of all the lonely little girls. The ones who still believe in wild woods and secret rooms, and who still hope, in spite of it all, to find each other there.
These are the most important things I’ve learned - especially during the past 12 months, my very own Creative Year. They’re not rocket science, you have probably heard them all before. But feeling them- wow, that’s something! That’s what I’d love to help the 10 year old me feel, and as I can’t do that, I’d love to help you feel it.
1. You don’t need permission.
You can just start. No gatekeeper. No magical MFA fairy. No “am I allowed to?” required.
2. Discipline looks different when you’re neurodivergent/sensitive and burnt out.
‘Push through’, ‘lean in’, ‘get on with it’…. I’ve heard enough of that and it never helped. My version involves candlelight, writing lists I forget I’ve written over and over again, and a lot of lying down in between bursts of genius. It counts.
Process over polish.
Half the time, just finishing a thing is the revolution. Perfection is an expensive illusion. A friend always says ‘better done that perfect’ and they’re just publishing their 8th book so…
Midlife creativity is a rebellion.
You’re not supposed to get louder, braver, messier in mid-life. Do it anyway.
Creative confidence comes after action, not before.
I spent years waiting to feel ready. It never happened . So in the end, I just showed up and hoped I’d grow into myself. And weirdly—that’s exactly what I’m doing.
You need structure and softness.
Some weeks are spreadsheets and writing sprints. Some are baths and podcasts. Both are crucial.
Art invites community.
When I shared—even the half-baked stuff—it made people lean in, not back away. That surprised me.
You know so much already.
Not just in theory. In practice. From doing it. From making the mistakes and still turning up the next day.
Sara also asked which 3-5 words describe how I’d like people to feel when they read The Creative Year. I chose -
Encouraged, Inspired, Excited, Supported, Recognised.
So please - let me know how I can do that for you!
Loved this Lexi! ❤️