Creativity, Simplicity, and the Sugar Trap
“Not everything that excites you is meant to be made.”
Madelaine Vallin
You’re creating, but something feels off. The ideas arrive faster than you can hold. There’s momentum and productivity, but underneath it all, your body tells a different story. It’s not a physical tiredness per se. It’s a buzzing in the mind, a scattered kind of fatigue. The kind that builds not from overwork, but from overstimulation. You feel full, but not nourished. Wired, but not awake. And somewhere in that chaos, just beneath the surface, a quiet internal voice asks: “Why do I feel so unproductive when I’m doing so much?”
Or maybe you’re in the opposite place. Stuck. Nothing feels quite right to begin. You hesitate, overthink, tweak, polish, scroll… and still don’t move. It’s not laziness—it’s the weight of perfection. The pressure to create something great. Something that proves you’re worthy. And when you don’t? The silence feels personal. Like it says something about you.
I’ve lived at both ends of that spectrum several times. I know them both well.
And if you want to build a creative personal and professional life that nourishes instead of drains you we need to learn how to navigate between these extremes within our awareness.
Why We Are So Frazzled And Confused
We live in a world that rewards visibility and speed. Post daily. Stay relevant. Create the next thing—then the next after that. If you’re not creating, you’re behind. If you are creating but it’s not being seen, it feels like it doesn’t count. No wonder so many of us are tired!
But here’s something I had to learn the hard way: just because something feels exciting doesn’t mean it’s aligned. Not all ideas are meant to become something. Not every creative spark is yours to carry. In fact, some of the most exciting ideas-the ones that feel urgent, addictive, impossible to ignore—are the ones most likely to pull you off-centre.
“Some ideas are loud. The true ones are usually quiet.”
Over time, I started to notice a pattern. A cycle. The buzz of a new idea. The quick action. The high. And then the letdown. The emptiness. The hunger for the next one. It had a rhythm, and it was familiar—not just creatively, but physically. That’s when I began calling it what it was, for me:
The sugar trap.
Not sugar in the literal sense—but you know the feeling.
That sudden hit of energy. The ping of excitement. The tunnel-vision focus when a new idea lights you up and everything else fades.
It feels like momentum. Like purpose. Like this is the one.
So you act. You build. You share.
And then—like sugar—the high crashes.
You’re left depleted, reaching for the next fix before you’ve even caught your breath.
Why?
Because your nervous system doesn’t know the difference between a ripe fig and a trending idea, it still says, “Hurry—this is your chance!”
And if you think about it, it makes sense—we’re wired for this. Thousands of years ago, we picked berries when they appeared. Sweetness was rare, so we didn’t hesitate. But now, we’re surrounded by “berries” all the time—ideas, content, input—and we’re still trying to consume it all before it disappears.
Perfection vs Partnership
My son came to me recently, frustrated. He’s a musician too, full of potential and ideas, and he looked at me with that quiet ache I recognised so well—the one that comes when your creativity starts to feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. He said, “Mum, I don’t think I’ve written anything good in ages.”
There was something raw in his voice. Like he didn’t just want to create—he wanted to feel proud of what he’d made. He wanted to feel that click, that moment of this is good, and it hadn’t arrived in a long time. And then came the question. The one I think every creative person carries at some point, whether they say it out loud or not:
“How do you write something good?”
I paused for a moment. And then I told him the thing I wish someone had told me much earlier in my own journey: “You don’t. You write a lot. You write and write and write—and the good ones find you along the way.”
Because the truth is, it’s not about chasing the perfect song, or the one masterpiece that will finally prove you’re good enough. It’s about staying in relationship with your creativity. Letting it move. Letting it breathe. Letting it be something that supports you, rather than something that constantly demands proof of your worth. We’re not here to perform for our creativity. We’re here to partner with it.
I’ve Been There Too
I recognised something in my son’s frustration that I knew in my own bones. That desire to make something beautiful. Something that matters. Something that proves we’re good enough to keep going. I’ve felt that too—more than once.
I remember when I released my first album. I poured everything into it. It was raw, honest, and I truly believed it would change everything. When it didn’t become the career-defining moment I had imagined, I stopped. I locked the music away. I thought, if that wasn’t enough, maybe I’m not enough either.
Years later, I swung to the other extreme—creating constantly. One idea after another, never stopping to breathe. Everyone thought I was on fire. But inside, I was tired, unclear, and fragmented. It took me a long time to realise: neither end is true flow. Both are a kind of dysregulation.
That’s when I started asking myself the question that became a creative compass for me: Is this sugar, or is this sustenance?
Sugar is fast, reactive, seductive. It feels urgent. It demands action now. But sustenance is quieter. It may not sparkle at first. It doesn’t shout. But it nourishes you while you make it—and stays with you after it’s done.
“Simplicity isn’t silence—it’s knowing what’s enough.”
This one question changed the way I create. It helped me listen to my nervous system and ask, “Am I making this because it feels true—or because I’m afraid I’ll miss something if I don’t?” “Is this for alignment—or for approval?” “Is this mine to carry—or just something I absorbed in the noise?”
You don’t need to stop creating.
You just need to know what’s truly yours to bring forth.
That’s what simplicity means to me now—not minimalism or tidiness, but energetic clarity.
The kind that helps you pause before you say yes.
That lets you choose what nourishes, and gently set the rest down.
Because not everything has to be made.
And certainly not everything has to be made now.
So if you’re feeling scattered, frozen, burnt out, or tangled in the noise—
You’re not broken.
You’re not behind.
You may simply be full. Overfed on ideas. Under-nourished on your own clarity.
You don’t need to chase the one great thing.
You just need to come back to what’s truly yours.
And sometimes, that begins with a breath.
A moment of stillness.
And a question:
Is this sugar, or is this sustenance?
Let that be your way home.
👣 Tell Me: Where in your creative life have you been chasing sugar without realising it? And what might shift if you paused, just for a moment, and chose to nourish yourself instead?