Do you remember the first time you made something just for you?
Not to share,
Not to prove,
And not to sell.
Not to show the world how talented or productive or worthy you were.
Just for you.
Just because it wanted to exist,
And you wanted to be the one who let it through.
Most of us can't remember that moment,
Because many of us have never fully allowed it.
Somewhere along the way,
Most of us were taught that creativity is valuable when it's useful.
When it earns.
When it gathers praise.
When it contributes something measurable to the world.
And so,
Even when we say we're making art for ourselves,
Some part of us is watching.
Judging.
Calculating.
Could this be shared?
Could this become an offer?
Will this be good enough to post?
Does this justify the time I'm spending on it?
The truth I want to offer today is this.
If those questions are living in your creative process,
You are not yet making something fully for you.
And I say that not as judgment,
But as compassion.
Because this is a hard world to create in.
And it's an even harder world to protect your relationship with creativity as sacred,
Unmonetized,
Unperformed.
There was a time when every song,
Every melody I wrote felt like some sort of pitch,
A performance,
A product.
Even when I told myself it was just for me.
I would hear this imaginary audience in my mind.
Would they like this?
Would they get it?
Would they think it was good enough?
And when the answer felt uncertain,
I'd stop writing.
Not because I wanted to stop writing.
I just stopped.
Because what was the point of making something that no one else would value?
But this is the lie.
This is the poison.
Because if you only allow yourself to create what is useful to others,
You sever the deepest relationship you have with your own creative life.
You stop hearing your own voice.
You stop following your own joy.
You stop trusting the tiny sparks that might lead you somewhere unexpected.
And that is where creative burnout truly begins.
Not from making too much,
But from making too little that is yours.
And the first time you make something truly for you,
You might feel guilt.
You will likely feel resistance.
You might feel the little ghost voices saying,
You should be working.
You should be making something that matters.
You should be making something that moves you forward.
And that is the edge.
That is the exact moment to stay with.
Because this is where creative recovery begins.
When you choose to make something that serves no one but your own spirit.
When you follow an idea simply because it delights you,
Even if no one will see it.
And when you allow your creative life to exist outside the algorithms,
Outside the audience,
The fans,
Outside the market,
That is where trust rebuilds.
That is where your voice comes home.
And that is where your best,
Truest work will be found.
And your most fulfilling work,
Your most connective work will be found.
So if this feels unfamiliar,
If you can't remember the last time you made something just for you,
Know this.
You are not broken.
You are not a bad artist.
You are not lazy or self-absorbed or indulgent if you crave this.
You are a creative being in a world that taught you to perform your worth.
And reclaiming this space,
The space to create for you,
Is one of the most radical acts of recovery there is.
So I want to offer you a small invitation today.
A seed of possibility.
What is one thing you could make this week just for you?
Not to post,
Not to share,
Not to explain,
Not to teach.
Just to feel yourself alive inside the act of creating.
A messy sketch.
Maybe a half-formed melody.
A paragraph no one will read.
A dance in your kitchen.
A private voice memo.
A rough experiment.
A moment of play.
And if the guilt comes,
Greet it.
Say hello.
And if the fear comes,
Meet it with breath.
And if the perfectionism comes,
Thank it for trying to keep you safe.
And let it know that it is not needed here in this moment.
And keep going.
Because every time you make something just for you,
You water the roots of a creative life that is sustainable.
A creative life that can nourish you through seasons of silence and seasons of flow.
A creative life that belongs to you first,
Not to the world.
When I began writing music again for No One But Myself,
I remembered why I fell in love with it.
Not to be good,
Not to be seen,
Not to pay my bills,
Not to win approval.
But to feel that deep sense of being with myself inside sound.
Inside expression,
Inside connection with others.
Inside the quiet place where no one else could tell me what was enough.
And from that place,
The work began to flow again.
Not because I forced it,
But because I finally gave it space to breathe.
This is what we rebuild here in this space.
A relationship where you are allowed to make things simply because you want to.
Because your spirit asks you to.
Because you are alive.
And when that trust is rebuilt,
When you are no longer trapped in the performance of usefulness,
Your work will deepen.
Your voice will soften and expand.
Your creative life will feel like home again.
So I ask you,
With all the gentleness I can offer,
What would it feel like to create just for you this week?
What small act of sacred making can you give yourself permission to explore?
Not for the world,
Not for the brand,
Not for the audience,
Not for the income.
Just for you.
For your voice,
For your heart,
For your creative life.
This is where it begins.
This is where it returns.
One small act at a time.
In this space,
We do not perform,
We do not measure,
We do not extract.
We remember,
We reclaim,
We rebuild.
Slowly,
Honestly,
Together.
I'll see you next week.
