On Survival Mode + Creativity

Mantra- Seattle, WA

There’s a specific feeling that comes with being in survival mode for a long time.

At least for me, it feels like numbness. Going through the motions. Intense dissociation most of the day. Doing the bare minimum to keep things afloat because your brain, body, and nervous system are all so exhausted that even the things you love start to feel emotionally draining.

When I’m deep in survival mode, I stop thriving. I stop creating. I stop feeling curious. Art starts to feel like a chore instead of a way to express myself. Even the things that would normally bring me joy start to feel impossibly heavy.

For a long time, I thought maybe I was just losing parts of myself.

But recently, I’ve started realizing those parts were never actually gone. They were just buried under stress, grief, instability, health issues, and the constant pressure of trying to make it through another day.

The best way I can describe this season of my life is a Washington spring.

After months of gray skies and rain, there’s always that first day where the sun finally breaks through again. You soak it in immediately. The air smells different. Your body softens without you even realizing it. You remember warmth exists. Honestly, your seasonal depression gets cured for at least five minutes.

That’s what reconnecting with creativity has felt like for me lately.

Ironically, one of the first things that helped pull me out of survival mode was concert photography.

I’ve loved photography for a long time and explored many different kinds of it over the years, but music photography hit differently. Going to shows has never drained me emotionally the way other things can. Even at my lowest points mentally, live music still made me feel alive. It filled my cup instead of emptying it.

Picking up my camera in those spaces gave me a way to express myself again without forcing it. It became one of the few places where I didn’t feel numb or disconnected. For a few hours in crowded rooms filled with loud music and sweaty strangers, I wasn’t surviving. I was thriving.

That’s why music photography means so much to me. It reconnects me to myself.

Around the same time my husband and I started looking for a new place to live, I started feeling pieces of myself waking back up again. I wanted to explore more. I wanted community again. I wanted to reconnect with nature. I wanted to create without immediately questioning whether it was productive enough to deserve my time.

Now that I’m finally in my own space, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years.

Lately, I’ve been making plans to go hiking again. I’ve been looking for wildlife preserves nearby. I ordered a journal for birdwatching. I’ve been introducing myself to my new neighbors. I’ve been laying on the floor coloring with oil pastels and reconnecting with parts of myself that I neglected for a long time.

None of these things are huge on their own, but together they feel important. I can feel myself building a beautiful life piece by piece. I can feel myself having more compassion for myself, and healing wounded parts of me.

I’ve also been reading Bad Artist, and it’s been reshaping the way I think about creativity, productivity, and worth. I think a lot of us have been conditioned to believe art only matters when it’s profitable, impressive, or useful in some way.

But art is deeply human.

Curiosity is deeply human.

Creating just because something moves you is deeply human.

Music. Photography. Writing. Coloring on the floor like a child again. Pressing flowers into a journal. Wanting to document a beautiful sunset, a crowded local show, or a tiny moment that made you feel alive for a second- all of that matters!

Not because it’s productive.

Because it is a beautiful part of this thing called life!