Flare-Ups and Flares — Navigating Chronic Illness with Creativity
My art lives in the in-between. The flare-ups. The brain fog. The raw, restless moments when my body demands stillness but my spirit refuses to be quiet.
People often assume creativity comes from inspiration. But for me, it’s born from necessity — to process, to express, to survive. I used to create in all kinds of ways: painting, illustrating, drawing, beading, latch-hooking, molding clay, woodworking, printmaking — you name it, I probably tried it. If it was artistic, I was in. I always had a soft spot for painting — it let me pull straight from my soul and translate raw emotion onto a canvas. There’s something powerful about that kind of expression.
I started doing hair partly because I didn’t know what else I wanted to do with my life — and cosmetology school was an affordable, accessible way to be creative without needing a fancy art degree. Turns out, it gave me a lot. I got to create 3D art, travel the globe, and work as a creative director for runway shows. Hairdressing was — and still is — a way to transform how people see themselves in under 30 minutes. That kind of creativity is a little more objective, but no less powerful.
These days, the way I create looks different. It’s more personal. More raw. More real. It comes from me — not for approval, not for applause, but because it has to come out.
The Flare is the Fuel
There’s something strangely powerful about pain. When I’m in a flare, I often feel disconnected from the world — but deeply connected to something inside me. A pulse. A knowing. A lot of times, I can’t move. I don’t have the energy to do much of anything. And when I do have energy, the instinct is to overdo — see clients, check off tasks, pretend I’m fine. But when I override what my body’s trying to say, I lose alignment. I end up prolonging the flare instead of working with it.
When I actually listen — when I rest, get quiet, let myself be — something starts to stir. A need to create. A need to make something out of the mess. So I grab a pen. Open Procreate. Scribble. Doodle. Design. Cry. But I create.
The Chaos Creates Clarity
Through pain, I’ve learned to spot patterns — not just in my symptoms, but in my emotions, my thoughts, and the way I create. For me, creativity has become both a mirror and a flashlight. It reflects where I’ve been and lights the way forward when everything else feels stuck. Anyone who’s lived with autoimmune disease or chronic pain understands this: you need a reason to keep going. And some days, that reason is hard to find. Some of my favorite pieces of art were born on flare days — not because I was at my best, but because I stopped trying to be. I let go of perfection. I let go of needing a reason to create… and instead, I created because it simply felt good to do so.
How I Create Through the Mess
I create with breaks and naps
I let my tools be messy and my process imperfect
I honor inspiration when it shows up, even if I’m in pajamas on the couch
I take pressure off outcomes
A Love Letter to the Messy Creators
You don’t have to be polished to be powerful. Art made from pain is SO valid. SO worthy. I mean look at the great artists of our time! Magic. Because it carries truth. It holds emotion that can’t be faked or filtered. It’s not made to impress — it’s made to release, to reveal, to survive. And that kind of art? The messy, honest, soul-spilled kind? That’s the stuff that sticks. That’s the kind that speaks to people who need it most.
Want a piece of that chaos? Shop limited-run art, stickers, and flare-fueled visuals — made between naps, flares, and dog cuddles.
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