The Quiet Truth of Being a Creative Facilitator

I’m an anxious person by nature. I often find myself counting down to the next event—big or small—just to get through it, to let the waves of worry subside so I can finally exhale. Over the years, I’ve been lucky to pursue a creative career that doesn’t just fulfil me, but also soothes me. Creativity has always been a gentle way to calm the chatter in my mind and bring me back to myself.

But like many creatives, when my confidence takes a knock, I can feel that anxiety creep back in. It shows up in unexpected ways—restless sleep, confrontational dreams, or an urge to paint late at night just to quiet the thoughts and feelings running around inside my mind.

It’s not always a perfectly healthy relationship, this being creative. Sometimes, the very act that brings me healing also brings a rush of doubt. Am I doing enough? Is my work truly valid? Am I sharing too much? As creatives, we often walk a fine line between vulnerability and self-protection. We open ourselves up—not just to create, but to be seen. And sometimes, to be misunderstood.

I’ve had to quietly process moments that have hurt—times when I’ve felt the sting of others echoing what I’ve worked so hard to build. It’s difficult to speak about these things openly, especially when you aim to create a nurturing, uplifting space. I’ve always believed in generosity and the importance of sharing knowledge, and I still do. I’m also learning that keeping a small part of yourself guarded can be an act of kindness. That thoughtful gatekeeping, emphasis on thoughtfully, doesn’t have to come from fear—it can come from self-respect.

There’s a quiet inner war sometimes, to stay calm, to not let the hurt show. I’ve always tried to lead with grace and kindness, but there’s a part of me that wants to stand up more, to speak honestly while still holding compassion. I’m learning that it’s okay to acknowledge the weight of things—even the unspoken ones.

I’ll never forget being told early in my career in marketing: “Don’t share everything you know—always keep something for yourself.” At the time, it felt like fear-based thinking, and it never sat comfortably with me. I’ve always wanted to be open and generous. But now, with time and experience, I understand it differently. Holding onto a part of your knowledge, your spark, your process—it can be a way of staying whole.

Being a creative facilitator is layered. It’s not just about paint palettes and pretty pictures—it’s deeply human work. I try and bring joy and passion to every class and every connection, and I’m endlessly proud of the students I’ve seen grow, blossom, and transform through creativity. There is so much joy in watching others light up through art. I feel deeply honoured to witness their journeys.

A small part of me has to stay protected, but so much of me is given freely—to this creative community, to the joy of the process, to the belief that making art is healing and powerful. I do choose to keep showing up. I do choose to keep sharing. I choose to keep creating space for others to thrive.

All this to say that behind the colour and the creativity, there’s a real person here. Someone who feels deeply. Someone who’s still learning and growing too. And I hope, in reading this, you see a glimpse of that person. Because behind every brushstroke, there’s a heart that beats with the same hopes and vulnerabilities as anyone else.