Posts may contain affiliate links (products or services that pay a commission if purchased through the link).
I never thought of myself as a creative. My friends were creatives. They could paint, draw, and design the interior of their homes like professionals. I was the friend who couldn’t draw a straight line, rarely decorated, and drooled over spreadsheets. I was too literal to be creative, in my own opinion.
It’s funny how wrong we can be about ourselves.
The entire time I thought I wasn’t creative, I was blogging to keep friends and family updated. I wrote poetry and short stories. I learned to cross-stitch. I made clay figurines with my children. Many weekends, I painted watercolors with my toddlers.
Years later, I look back and see that it’s not that I wasn’t creative. I was stifled, depressed, and overwhelmed. My environment and bad choices didn’t leave room for creativity. Everything was survival, denial, and chaos. Alcohol became the crutch that I used to function and quiet the demons.
Get new posts and other resources straight to your inbox each month:
(No spam; it's about 1-2 emails a month)
Hi! I'm Ashley, and my sobriety date is May 6, 2015. I write to share my experience, strength, and hope in recovery. On any given day, you can find me developing websites, writing, or chauffeuring kids around. Read my story...
I am a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for me to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.
Join the club!
Secret handshake not required...yet.
Favorite Books & Journals