“Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.” ~ Starhawk
I was recently sitting in a writing group, a circle of women who were all working on various projects, and we were discussing the topic of perfectionism and how it impaired our creative process. It felt freeing to be honest and vulnerable. The conversation was warm, friendly, and incredibly supportive. We listened with great care and offered suggestions to one another that were incredibly helpful.
When forming our writing circle, we had all agreed to a mutual commitment of creating a safe and sacred space that allowed for vulnerability and tenderness. After all, we were subjecting ourselves to feedback that might be perceived as criticism, and yet we wanted to know what might make the pieces stronger. We came to a consensus regarding the right way to phrase questions and offer additional thoughts and ideas. It created a nurturing writing container that inspired the best in all of us.
This captures the essence of what it means to be inside a growth container, a place where visions can be shared, ideas can be explored, and goals can be met without a fear of rejection or ridicule. It’s a space where dreams can be supported and inspiration can be maintained, and when a pick-me-up is needed, it offers the necessary medicine. For creative people, this is invaluable.
As you ponder your own creative dreams unrealized, imagine what it will feel like to be in a circle of support that allows for personal and professional growth to occur in a safe and inviting space.
What will you need in order to wear your heart on your sleeve, showing up in your most vulnerable energy with the intention of growing as a creative soul?
What will inspire your best work while allowing the tenderness you feel as a creator?
A Young Girl with Big Dreams
On a warm summer night under an almost full moon, my ten-year-old self took the stage during a family reunion to perform with my uncle’s country music band. I had no vocal training, just a desire to sing a favorite song of mine with musicians I knew well. I never once thought about being judged. As I belted out the lyrics, my extended family cheered me on while my uncle smiled wide with pride. It felt good to be on the stage doing something I loved in front of people who supported me and with people who were happy to collaborate with me.
Little did I know that in that moment I was in a growth container. It felt safe and joyful, and I was with people who honored my desire to sing a favorite song. The energy was positive and inviting, and I went with it. It set the stage, literally, to decades of performing in front of people—whether it was acting in plays, singing in choirs, speaking into a microphone as a radio deejay or in front of the camera as a field reporter, or delivering a speech in front of a live audience. My desire to perform had been instilled in me early on.
There was an innocence to this time in my life, a special vulnerability that allowed me to act out my heart’s desire without worry of criticism. Yet somewhere along the way, that desire began to diminish, only to be replaced by a fear of perfectionism.
Reflecting on some of those earlier moments in my life, I can’t help but wonder where that young girl with big dreams went. She had no fear of getting onstage and belting out a song in front of a hundred family members. She had no fear of performing skits with her cousins at numerous family reunions, receiving thunderous applause from aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and close family friends. She had no fear of performing in high school and college plays, even receiving accolades from local theater critics. She had no fear speaking into a microphone or in front of a camera.
Her big night under an almost full moon at the age of ten took her on a magical journey for over five decades, but it seemed to pause, metaphorically, at that three quarters of light known as a waxing gibbous moon. And all she needed was a return to her growth container, a safe and joyful collaboration with supportive partners who could honor her desires and her creative vulnerability.
The Beauty of Vulnerability
Being a creative seeker involves taking creative risks. We are often putting ourselves out there for the world to see through our words, our art, our performances, and our creative endeavors. Some will love our work, while others may not. But that’s okay. We are not here to please everyone. We’re here to serve our creative purpose in the best way we can through the divine gifts we’ve been given. These gifts will be mirrored in a nurturing and productive way when we connect with the right circle of support. It allows for any necessary adjustments that will make our work even better while feeling honored as the unique creator that we are.
And in serving our larger creative purpose, we are often relying on the strength of our vulnerability. As popular author, storyteller, and researcher Brené Brown says, “Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage.”
It takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable—to put our words on the page, to paint our vision on the canvas, to perform a monologue that touches our soul, to produce a film that captures the essence of our being, to realize a long-held dream in midlife.
When we are vulnerable, we’re shedding our exterior layers, letting go of our attachment to an external response by exposing the rawness of who we are. We’re being real. We are being authentic. And isn’t this what creativity is all about?
My Love-Hate Relationship with Visibility
When I think of my own creative work and what it actually takes to bring it into being, my mind quickly goes to visibility. The truth is I want to be seen, yet I don’t. I want to be seen on the stage performing in character or delivering a powerful speech. I want my words to be read in a book and my message received with adoration. But if I’m being honest, I have a fear of being seen as imperfect. I have a fear of people saying, “Who does she think she is?”
It’s something I’ve spent a lifetime working through, developing my courage to just put myself and my work out there and trusting the outcome. It may be perfect, and maybe not, but the latter always leaves room for improvement, and I’ve learned that’s okay.
The creative process involves ebb and flow, giving and receiving – creating and adjusting. And to achieve my creative calling, I have to allow for changes along the way. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, the creative risks I take toward fulfillment of my creative calling require me to notice my own patterns.
And for me, it always comes back to visibility—with my resistance masking as invisibility—which stems from my underlying desire for perfection. It gives me pause every time, causing me to fight the urge to hide.
This is when I am called back to my growth container — where I am held with love and encouraged to take risks and to express myself creatively.
As you expand into the next phase of your creative vision, how does vulnerability play a role? How does it affect your creative process and the risks you are willing to take?
As you embark on your creative journey, know that somewhere, there is a tribe of creative minds waiting to welcome you with open arms, receiving you as a uniquely creative soul — supporting your creative process while gently holding your long-held dreams until they are ready to see the light of day.
May your wildest dreams come true!
About Tina Games
