Letting the Creative Self Rise: Reordering the Rhythm of Adulthood

This year has been a hard one — the kind that rearranges you from the inside out.

I’ve been healing from years of hypervigilance, finally discovering that ADHD plays a role in how my mind moves, and navigating a body that hasn’t been feeling like my own. I’ve been working with a therapist, a physical therapist, and someone who understands the chemistry of the body in ways I never learned to ask about. And meanwhile, I’ve been doing my woodworking whenever the energy and the motivation rose in me — sometimes often, sometimes barely at all.

My home became a reflection of that inner state: scattered, paused, interrupted, waiting.

But slowly, gently, I’ve been undoing the knots.

I’ve been decluttering and reorganizing, not in a dramatic or perfectionist way, but in the small rhythms of what I can manage. I’ve been surrounding myself with things I love again. Hanging my guitars. (Checkout the third one from the left, which I built from scratch. It is made from wood from 5 different continents!) Clearing the dining room table. Making space for light. Making space for breath.

And for the first time in my life, I gave myself the gift of help.

Now that so much of the house has been cleared and organized, I hired someone to come clean it with me — and for me. It felt like an act of grace toward a body and mind that needed support, not scrutiny.

Each corner I reclaim feels like another part of me coming back online.

This is not a story about productivity.

It’s a story about listening.

Listening to what my energy has the capacity to do today.

Listening to the parts of me that have been tired for years.

Listening to the small sparks of creativity that rise only after the noise quiets down.

I am learning that adulthood doesn’t have to be a list of responsibilities in descending order of urgency.

I am learning that creativity rises when the environment is finally safe enough for it to breathe.

And so I’m letting myself breathe, too.

Every object I let go of this year taught me something about what I’m choosing to keep — not just in my home, but in my life.

Light.

Honesty.

Warmth.

Space for creativity to rise again.

I’m learning that a home, like a piece of wood on the lathe, reveals its beauty slowly — as you remove what no longer belongs and trust what remains.