Why I Make Art When the World Is Falling Apart

When everything feels like it’s burning, I remember what saved me during the last storm. I made art.

When I was little and had to stay home from school sick, my mom would sometimes say, Go sit outside in the sun. It'll make you feel better.

And I would think, I can’t possibly do that.

Not because I couldn’t physically do it, but because, in my mind, being sick meant I had to act sick. I had to suffer a little. Earn the right to stay home. I couldn't possibly go outside and enjoy myself while technically “not well.” That would feel like cheating.

This was the same mom who would, every now and then, say, Let’s just stay home from school today and have a fun day. She’d give me permission to rest. To opt out of the rules. To just be.

Maybe that’s why I grew up to be someone mostly unemployable in the traditional sense. I’ve always bristled against the rigid structures of the corporate world. I've longed for the freedom to do the work I want to do, in the way that feels right to me.

Yet still, I wrestle with that old tension between doing what's expected and doing what feels true.

That tug-of-war didn’t start in adulthood. It started with that small girl who couldn’t sit in the sun because she felt she hadn’t earned it.

And that part of me is still here.

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Life Feels Like One Big Sick Day

These days, every morning feels like a spin of the wheel. What fresh hell will I wake up to today?

The world feels like it's on fire, and I feel it in my body—a tightening in my chest, a churn in my stomach. Every “breaking news” email feels like a punch I can’t quite dodge.

I watch my retirement account shrink and wonder what the future holds. I try to stay informed, responsible, aware. But every day feels like a sick day, and I still find myself wondering: Can I sit in the sun? Or do I need to do my time?

Some days, I just want to stare at the wall.
Some days, I want to do, fix, act, and do more until the panic settles.

But most days… I just want to make art.

And that part of me—the one that wants to create—is the most powerful force I know.

In the studio, felting a Spirit Doll—my way of making meaning when things feel unsteady.

When Life Gets Hard, I Make Things

During Covid, I found my way back to my art. I began creating Spirit Dolls, tapping into something both ancient and personal.

It was never just about the dolls. It was about expression, healing, and magic. It was about making beauty when the world didn’t offer much of it.

And right now, I’m feeling that same pull.

Because the alternative is to freeze. To scroll. To spiral. To stare at the wall and worry about everything I cannot fix.

So my choice becomes:

Immobilization or creativity.
Fear or making.
Numbness or expression.

And I want to choose creativity. Every time.

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This Is Ancient

Women have always made in times of upheaval. We stitched quilts through war. Baked bread through grief. Painted, danced, wrote, sang.

Not because it was frivolous—but because it was necessary. Because our hands needed to move even when our hearts were breaking.

Studies now tell us what our bones already knew: Art regulates the nervous system. It reduces stress hormones. It calms the mind.

Making something—anything—is a way to reclaim agency in the face of chaos.

Art is not a distraction.
It’s a lifeline.
A soft rebellion.
A quiet reclaiming of our voice and sanity.

And yet, even knowing this, it’s still hard to give ourselves permission.

That little girl who felt she had to “do her time” when sick still shows up. She whispers that it’s not okay to find joy or beauty in the midst of the bad.

I hear this all the time from other women too:
“Everything feels like it’s unraveling. Can I really just… make art?”

Yes. You can. We can.
Especially now.

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So If You're Feeling Like Everything Is Too Much...

If you're overwhelmed by the news, the pace, the not-knowing. If you're tempted to retreat or go numb. Try this instead:

Make something.

Tear paper. Smudge ink. Stitch fabric.
Write words no one else will see.
Mold clay. Wrap yarn. Bake. Garden. Hum.

You don’t need a plan or a reason.
You don’t need to be good at it.
You just need to let your hands do what they know how to do.

Because when the world is falling apart, making something beautiful might just be the most radical thing we can do.

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I’d Love to Hear From You:

What do your hands reach for when your heart hurts?
What are you making right now to stay human?

👇 Leave a comment or share this with someone who needs the reminder.
We’re all in this together—and sometimes, the best way through is with paint under our fingernails.

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If this resonated, you might also like The Antidote to a Weary Heart —
a reflection on creativity, joy, and finding light when the world feels too heavy.

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