How I Ended Up Here (and Why I Didn’t Overthink It)

Teaching elementary art was never in my plans—not this year, not ever. It wasn’t a long-term goal. I didn’t spend years preparing for it. But when the opportunity to be a long-term substitute for an art teacher on maternity leave appeared, something unusual happened.

I didn’t spiral into my usual cycle of self-doubt, over-analysis, or existential dread. I didn’t make a pros-and-cons list. I didn’t agonize over how this might derail my creative pursuits. Instead, I paid attention to my initial, physical reaction: excitement.

I said yes.

Now, nearly a month in, I see this isn’t just about teaching kids how to draw and paint—it’s about learning things I didn’t realize I needed to learn. I hoped getting “back to basics” might shake something loose in my own creativity (and it has), but what I didn’t expect was to be confronted by my own deep-seated creative limitations.

I also didn’t expect to be asked hard-hitting questions like:

• “Why do you have so many lines on your forehead?”
• “Why did you draw on yourself?” (tattoos)
• “Do you actually know how to draw a dragon?”

(Ruthless. No mercy. Their confidence is unmatched.)

The Uninhibited Willingness to Experiment

Young children don’t care about making a masterpiece. They don’t agonize over whether their art is “good” or “bad.” They create because they want to—because it’s fun. Give a group of fourth graders some empty tissue boxes and pom-poms, and 45 minutes later, you’ve got a Kleenex Creature. There’s something powerful in that—the buzz of discovery, of play. Their muses remain somewhat unburdened.

If something doesn’t go as planned, they don’t panic. They pivot.

“Oh no, I messed up. Never mind, it’s a cat now.”

Meanwhile, I’ve spent years (decades, if we’re being honest) wrestling with creative paralysis, terrified that if an idea didn’t turn out exactly as I imagined, it wasn’t worth the time. Watching these kids work has been humbling. They remind me that the best art happens when we stop trying to control everything and just let it exist.

Through my (highly scientific) observations, I’ve determined that the inner critic—the saboteur, the enemy of the muse—begins whispering around age seven or eight. (Second grade, roughly.) Not because kids suddenly dislike creating, but because the world starts creeping in. Social dynamics shift. Awareness of embarrassment sharpens. The concept of external judgment takes hold.

Suddenly, I start hearing:

• “UGH! I’m starting over!”
• “This looks so bad! Look how bad this is” (this one is familiar and frightening. Seeking validation that it is indeed “bad”)
• “Hers is better than mine!”

I think we all recognize that voice. My mission in recent years has been to gag it. But…

Maybe the trick isn’t silencing it. Maybe the trick is in acknowledging the voice and persuading it otherwise. “I hear you. And this judgment means I care about what I’m making and am aware of where I want to improve. I just need more time for my skills to catch up.”

The Myth of Needing Endless Hours

The students get 45 minutes per week. That’s it. Each class gets a single, fleeting window of time to create. And yet, within those minutes, they build entire worlds.

They don’t wait for the perfect moment.
They don’t say, “I need a whole day to really get into this.”
They don’t research techniques for hours before daring to start.

They just begin.

Meanwhile, how many times have I convinced myself that I can’t start unless I have an entire afternoon free, the right playlist, a lit candle, and the emotional balance of a monk?

Watching these kids work has made me realize how much time I’ve wasted waiting for the “right” conditions. Creativity expands to fit the space it’s given. If 45 minutes is enough for them, it’s enough for me.

And in those 45 minutes, I’ve already learned new skills—glazing clay, making paper, block printing. I’ve created watercolors, an acrylic painting, digital illustrations. Things that would have never existed if I kept waiting for the stars to align.

If you can give yourself 45 minutes without hesitation, you’ll know if something is worth pursuing. That knowing alone frees up mental space—making room for evolution instead of wasted potential.

How These Kids Are Forcing Me to Heal

I did not anticipate how much this temporary job would force me to confront myself.

Kids have no filter. They will let you know—immediately—if you look tired, if your outfit is “boring,” or if your instructions make no sense. They will ask personal questions with absolutely no regard for social norms.

It’s like holding up a mirror to all the things I’ve tried to ignore about myself. But instead of running from that discomfort, I’ve had to sit with it. To let my own Dark Muse step forward instead of being shoved into a corner.

The Dark Muse—this strange, whispering figure that I once mistook for my enemy—isn’t here to sabotage me. She is the guardian of my inner child. She has been protecting him from the threat I’ve become to myself.

She is the one who watched as I abandoned ideas out of fear.
She is the one who stood in the shadows as I allowed the world to convince me I wasn’t good enough.
She is the one who whispered that maybe—just maybe—I was the one who built my cage.

Now, here I am, coaxing an appreciation for art out of these kids, only to find they are coaxing my inner child out to play.

If a kindergartner can proudly hold up an unholy mess of scribbles and confidently call it “Mommy,” then maybe—just maybe—I can stop taking myself so fucking seriously.

The Biggest Lesson So Far

Every week, my students remind me that creativity isn’t about control—it’s about trust.

Trusting that 45 minutes is enough.
Trusting that a mistake is just an idea in disguise.
Trusting that we don’t have to fix ourselves before we’re allowed to create.

Maybe the act of creation is the very thing that helps us realize we don’t need fixing at all.

We need radical self-acceptance.
We need grace.
We need play.
We need integration.

And sometimes, we just need to tell ourselves, “Never mind. It’s a cat now.”

---

What’s One Creative Barrier You’ve Been Struggling With?

Lack of time? Fear of failure? The need for perfectly aligned vibes?

Let this be your sign to stop overthinking and just begin. Give yourself 45 minutes—no expectations, no judgment, just creation.

And if it doesn’t turn out how you planned… just do what the kids do and PIVOT.

I’d love to hear about your creative struggles (or unexpected cat drawings) in the comments!