A personal story of quiet rebellion, self-trust, and rediscovering my true passions

For a long time, my creativity was silent. Not gone, just quiet — like a part of me that had curled up in a corner, waiting to be seen again. I had forgotten that I was an artist. A writer. A feeler. A creator. And the moment I started remembering, everything began to shift.

This is the story of how I reclaimed that part of me — after years of silence.

I used to be a girl who painted on walls

As a child, I was endlessly creative. Before I was told who I should be — I was painting murals with my brother, scribbling stories into lined notebooks, writing poems on the back of old postcards.

I painted, wrote poems, got lost in stories. I even won competitions. My imagination felt limitless. My art teacher believed in me, and for a while, I believed in myself too.

Creativity was just something I did. It wasn’t sacred or special. It was play. It was freedom. It was mine.

And then slowly, it wasn’t.

My teacher’s words — “Painting is not a viable profession. You should study something more secure.” — sank into my subconscious and stayed there. My parents, practical and cautious, didn’t encourage art either. They saw it as a waste of time. The art and music schools I wanted to attend were too far, too inconvenient.

So, little by little, I stopped creating.

University life swept me up in distractions — new friends, new routines, beer instead of brushes. I traded self-expression for fitting in. Like many of us, I just wanted to be liked. To be part of something.

Somewhere between school bells and career paths, creativity became a luxury. Something to be done after the work was done. Or a “cute hobby” for someone else, someone softer, more “artistic.” I stopped writing poems. I stopped painting. I even stopped doodling in the corners of notebooks.

I told myself I wasn’t that type anymore.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot who I was. I forgot how to hear my own voice.

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”
— Pablo Picasso

The turning point

It wasn’t one big moment that brought me back to creativity. It was a slow, quiet return. A deep knowing that started to whisper louder in my late twenties: This isn’t the life I want.

For years, I was living in a world where productivity was praised and creativity was questioned. But I didn’t want the study-work-family-house-car life script. I wanted more. I wanted freedom. I wanted to feel again.

Psychologist Rollo May writes about “creative courage” — the kind we need not just to make art but to live authentically. I didn’t know it back then, but I had lost that courage. I thought creativity meant quitting everything and becoming a painter. I didn’t realize it could begin with something much smaller: a journal, a brush, a sentence.

For a while, I took a painting course for adults. That small step was a beginning. But the real change happened when I moved to Bali.

Something cracked open.

Here, surrounded by nature, rituals, and people choosing unconventional lives, I realized I didn’t need anyone’s permission to create. I bought paints and started pouring my moods into color. I wrote long, honest captions on Instagram and Facebook. I told the truth. And it terrified me.

But it also liberated me.

“Creative people are curious, flexible, persistent, and independent — with a tremendous spirit of adventure.”
— Henri Matisse

My creativity came back when I started to trust myself

I used to think I needed permission — from a teacher, an audience, an algorithm. But creativity isn’t something that’s given to you. It’s something you claim. Reclaim. Revisit. It’s something you get to define.

At first, I drew and shared my art. Then I began writing — about travel, identity, change. And something unexpected happened: people responded with love. With encouragement. With recognition.

Yes, I was scared. Exposing your inner world is terrifying. But over time, I learned this beautiful truth: people are too busy with their own lives to judge you the way you fear. And those who do see you? They’re the ones you’re meant to reach.

The fear didn’t disappear. I just stopped letting it lead.

So I kept writing. I kept painting. Even when I didn’t know what it was for. Especially then.

Me and my creative world today

These days, I write in my journal every single day. Sometimes it’s messy and random, sometimes it turns into something more. But I write, and that’s what matters.

Painting is still part of me, though I dream of having my own studio again one day. When I traveled through South America, I filled my sketchbook with ink drawings inspired by ancient myths and vibrant people. In Peru, I lay on the grass in the Sacred Valley eating passion fruit and drawing whatever came to mind.

In Bali, I’m constantly inspired — by nature, customs, everyday beauty. I write while drinking tea, sitting on the sofa, looking out at the ocean. I listen to calming music… or sometimes hip-hop, when I need to channel fire.

This is what creativity looks like for me now: imperfect, honest, alive.

Reclaiming my creativity changed how I see myself.

I’m not just someone who consumes beauty — I create it. I am a creator. And I’m proud of that.

I’ve also learned how resilient I am. How much strength lives in me. I’ve learned to stop chasing approval and to listen to the quiet voice within. She knows the way.

A message for you

If you’re reading this and feeling blocked or scared to share your creativity — please don’t wait.

You don’t need to move to Bali. You don’t need to quit your job or start a business or call yourself an artist.

You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need a big platform. You don’t need everyone to understand you.

You just need to be brave enough to start. You just need to start listening to that quiet part of you — the part that misses how it felt to create, just because it felt good.

Forget how old you are. Forget what they told you as a child. Forget the rules that were never yours to begin with.

You are not here to live like a robot. You are not here to play it safe. You are here to feel, to create, to live fully. To share your story. To inspire someone else who’s still hiding in the shadows.

Let your creative soul breathe. Let it shine.

The world needs your light.

“The world needs dreamers and the world needs doers. But above all, the world needs dreamers who do.”
— Sarah Ban Breathnach