Overcoming the fear of creating (and just starting to make bad art)
At first, it was the lack of resources. There wasn’t any money. At least, not for my nonsense. That’s how my parents referred to anything related to my hobbies. Then, there wasn’t any time. I started working, and my family could no longer support me after I finished university.
A couple of years went by, and what I lacked was energy. Living in a big city, working 8 hours plus commute time, and handling all the chores of independent adult life left me with just enough energy to occasionally watch a movie.
At some point, I wanted to try again. The opportunities were limited. In this damn country, scholarships go to friends of friends. The winners of contests are chosen through connections, and economic incentives are given to those whose names are already somewhat well-known.
Later, my health gave out. I started suffering from an anxiety disorder. I became depressed because I stopped functioning like a normal person. I spent more than two years in psychiatric treatment. I’ve been attending therapy regularly for almost six years now.
Eventually, things started to fall into place. I ran out of excuses for why I wasn’t creating—or writing, in my case. I came to realize that what I had truly been lacking all along was courage: the courage to create without fearing the outcome.
Is clear to me now that my past self lacked knowledge. I didn’t have the mental strength or the courage to create art without fear. It’s also true that I lacked many privileges—privileges that could have injected me with enough self-esteem to start creating without worrying about results or the future in general. By no means am I saying that my problems were just excuses or that I needed to try harder. My big realization after reflecting on my recent past was that I have always been, and still am, afraid to create.
Here’s the thing: at this point in my life, I have the best conditions I have ever had. Never before have I been in such a good position to start creating. No one bothers me. There are no judgmental family members. No debts or financial struggles. No unemployment. No toxic job. No heartbreak. No illnesses. Most importantly, no anxiety-depressive disorders making my life five times harder.
Undoubtedly, this is the calmest and most peaceful period of my life since childhood. So, if I have the time and the desire, why am I not doing what I have always wanted to do? Because I am afraid. A fear I’ve been reflecting on tirelessly over the past few months.
It’s a very difficult feeling to describe—an explosion of many emotions all at once. But if I had to explain it to someone else, I’d say:
It’s the frustration of not being able to silence your mind. The words of self-loathing. That trauma you no longer even know the source of but is still buried deep in your subconscious. The discouraging words of loved ones who didn’t want you to starve. The mockery from the kid who laughed at your drawings. The weird looks from classmates when you stutter while reading aloud. The low self-esteem you thought you’d overcome. Feeling desolate because no one cares. Feeling relieved—because no one cares. Remembering you’re already 30 years old. And then realizing—you’re only 30 years old. Waking up on a Wednesday and reading the great idea you had, thinking it will change history. Re-reading that same idea on Friday and realizing it’s complete garbage. Not creating for four months and feeling guilty. Creating again after four months, only to stop for another four. A vicious cycle of guilt, regret, and forgiveness. The countless 5–10-second videos you watch daily.
It’s your fault—so I point at you to avoid shattering the illusion. Only then can I buy more time to avoid taking responsibility and admitting it’s fear.
Fear of failure, rejection, and being irrelevant. Fear of being judged for what I like to create. Fear of realizing the impostor syndrome never existed because, in the end, I was never good at anything. Fear of watching my dream crumble and discovering it might not even be what I want.
Art is what kept me daydreaming for so long. It’s THE goal to reach for me. I want to live by doing what I truly love. But I’m afraid to finally try. I’m afraid of having to accept that I failed or that it’s never going to happen.
Life is unfair, and one thing I’ve had to do since becoming an adult is accept that. Acceptance has helped me be happier. But acceptance can also be one of the hardest things to achieve in this strange experience we call life.
I know what I have to do. I’ve talked about it with other people who’ve been afraid to create. The three therapists I’ve had over the past four years all agreed on their diagnosis: I just have to do it.
Small steps at first. Build the habit. Action is the key to overcoming fear. I’ve experienced and confirmed this firsthand before, with challenges that used to be daunting but no longer are.
Great artists I admire recommend creating bad art. Many agree that it’s necessary to suck at first; we can’t skip that part of the process. To be satisfied with our art, we must first be comfortable with the idea of making mistakes because only then can we learn.
It sounds easy, but as adults, failure or mistakes are often unacceptable. The secret? One of them, I suppose, is learning with a childish curiosity, using the knowledge we have harvested as adults to create something beautiful without fear.
This isn’t a guide, much less the answer to overcome the fear of creating and sharing your art. It’s a deeply personal exercise I wanted to do to stop being afraid to create and to start creating with fear.
I'm grateful for this blog and Bear Blog in general because the past two weeks since I started this have been very fulfilling.
Writing is my art. What I love. What makes me feel whole. This post was my chance to rant freely about what has been bouncing around my mind for years—the time I’ve spent blaming myself for not creating and feeling unfulfilled because I thought the opportunity had slipped through my fingers.
đź«€ My life (and yours) is just beginning. Thanks for reading.