Courage and Creativity

some thoughts on a recent DDS Peer Support Topic (plus next week's Spiral Time topic!)

A few weeks ago in Peer Support¹ in DDS (Divergent Design Studios), we talked about the topic of courage and creativity. Here was my write up of the topic for the week:

Matisse said “creativity takes courage” (I know this because it’s on a mug my daughter gave me), and Rollo May’s book The Courage to Create argues the same thing. What are the ways you have shown courage in the pursuit of your creative lives? What courage do you still need to muster? Where does courage even come from? Does it always look like what we expect, and is it always recognized as courage by others?

I proposed this Peer Support topic (mostly topics are proposed by other members of the community) because I’ve been feeling a lot lately how much courage it takes to really hang in there with a creative project over time. Inspiration feels easy—finding a muse is never my problem—but really sticking with a new creative project and seeing it through to some sort of completion … that’s another story entirely. I know this is an experience many neurodivergent people share ... so much inspiration rotting in the graveyard of abandoned projects. And so much debilitating shame.

And yes, I suppose there is an element of “shiny new thing” syndrome, classic ADHD distractedness. And, for sure, there is autistic inertia that can make it difficult to gather and maintain momentum for a long-term project.

But as many of you know, I’m often suspicious that many of these so-called neurodivergent traits are not so much rooted in our neurology but in the shame we have experienced for simply having a different, though not intrinsically disordered, neurotype. That we are as much disabled by the mismatch between how we are and what the world demands. More and more, I’m coming to believe that overcoming our shame in the face of that mismatch calls for enormous courage.

I am currently working on several longer-term projects that have either been abandoned for years, or never even begun beyond floating visions in my mind, at most a few jotted ideas in my Notes app. And I’m finding that it’s not just distraction or inertia that has kept me from sticking with these projects, and that threatens to derail them almost daily. I’m finding it’s much more about steeling my nerves in the face of my own constant doubts and insecurities that my ideas are not good enough compared to those of my peers; that my project is cringy and I’m just too naive to see it; or worse, that I don’t deserve to be successful, and that if I were, I wouldn’t have the spoons to cope with it. Working through the constant intrusiveness of these sorts of thoughts really does feel like steeling my nerves, over and over, day in and day out. It’s exhausting. And it takes so fucking much courage.

I feel like I have been incredibly courageous in many aspects of my life, but usually on behalf of someone else. Not always—there have been some really big courageous things I have done just for myself, like leaving my first marriage. But there is nothing that steels my nerves like seeing a loved one suffering on account of my cowardice, and that impulse has sparked enormous change and healing in my life. I think we are meant to feel that personal courage on behalf of someone else, and not for the sake of ourselves, is somehow co-dependent, but I think that’s just wrong. My best self is my Self in relationship with those I love. We are not codependent, we are interdependent, and I very much draw my courage from them.

Right now, as I muster daily courage to see a few longer-term projects through², I am very much motivated by my need to make money, actually, so that I can build some financial security for my disabled family. Much like the supposed codependence of only being able to muster courage for others and not just for myself, being motivated by the need to make money strikes me as sort of crass, especially when it comes to my creative life. As if artists don’t also need to support ourselves. If I were independently wealth, I would happily do all my work for free. But alas, I am decidedly not independently wealthy, and yet I have for years, for decades, basically given away almost all of my work without compensation. I’m not sure why it’s so difficult for me to expect to be paid for my work, but it just is. Asking for money requires enormous courage for me, even while needing money inspires it. I guess at least that’s some sort of virtuous spiral!

Somehow this all gets wrapped up together—my extreme (and soul-crushing) disability in any sort of traditional workplace and thus my lifelong difficulty with supporting myself financially, my late-blossoming creative life, my deep doubts and insecurities born of shame, and the dawning realization that I must be—and can be—courageous in the face of all that.

My courage in turn springs from a virtuous spiral of being seen and in turn seeing others, of being loved and in turn loving others, of being valued and in turn valuing others—in short it springs from being in community with other disabled people who are likewise mustering their courage for themselves … and for me.

This is, for me, what Peer Support is all about. Our weekly conversations feel like balm for my soul every time. Because we value and cultivate comfort in shared silence (see the Peer Support Guiding Values below), these sessions honestly feel like worship to the former Quaker in me. Not only do they spark insights I probably would never have had on my own, but those insights come in a swirling cauldron of reaction emojis, affirmations and resonances in the chat, nodding heads, and responsive shares that let me know I am so very much not alone. It’s nothing short of magic. It is, I think, what my friend Devon Price calls “expansive recognition,” the antidote to his concept of Systemic Shame, which he develops in his most recent book, Unlearning Shame: How We Can Reject Self-Blame Culture and Reclaim Our Power.

Our next week’s Peer Support topic in DDS is about Time / Spiral Time / our experiences of it / our own metaphors/images/visions about time / the power of metaphor. How are you feeling in your relationship to time these days? Does the metaphor of Spiral Time (or any other metaphor you’ve come across or invented) help you to struggle less with time as a concept/constraint/source of shame in your life? How have you accommodated yourself and how you live your life in light of having new ways to think about time? Do you have other metaphors for time that have been helpful for you? When and where does Spiral Time crash into the harsh reality of the demands of linear, industrial time, and how do you deal with that? These are just a few questions to get us started, but of course we will feel free to let the conversation spiral in whatever direction it takes us.

If you’re wondering about the logistics of Peer Support in DDS—What does it even look like? What will be expected of me? Is it scary to join the first time?—here is a rundown of how the group Peer Support sessions³ on Tuesdays and Fridays go:

First, the host will welcome people as they pop into the Zoom room, usually until about 5 minutes after the hour. You will never be called on or asked to introduce yourself, though you are certainly welcome to! People will continue to pop in throughout the session and the host will repost the topic in the chat; typically there are about 6 to 20 people in any given Peer Support session.

Then the host will read our Peer Support Guiding Values⁴, which are:

• We value all ways of showing up and sharing: camera on, camera off, verbally, and in the chat. There is no need to share at all, just by being present we’re all part of the space and supporting each other.

• If you would like your message in the chat to be read aloud, simply add that to your share. If you want to speak but the conversation is moving very fast or you’re having trouble jumping in, raise your hand and the facilitator will invite you to speak.

• We value silence. If there is a natural pause after someone shares, it means that people are processing, thinking, gathering their thoughts for their own share, or typing in the chat. It never means that you said something wrong or awkward. People may also jump in immediately. That’s all part of the natural ebb and flow of the conversation.

• There is no being late or leaving early. Feel free to come and go whenever, no need to explain or apologize, or to check out before leaving.

• There is a weekly topic that serves as a starting point for shares. From there we spiral out and the conversation evolves naturally. Tangents and sidetracks are welcomed and encouraged.

• We are peers: we leave the professional “hats” we might wear at the door. We do not speak from a place of authority and we do not give advice, though speaking about what has been helpful to us personally is always appropriate.

Next, the host will read the topic for the week, which has previously been published in my daily “Today in DDS” post/email, which lists all the Events for that day.

Finally, the host may or may not share personally in response to the topic, but in any case, the host will then mute themselves and open the room to shares. Typically there is a bit of silence before the shares begin, though not always.

Let me know if you have any more questions about Peer Support or DDS in general!

1. These are general reflections on the Tuesday at 3:00 pm EDT session I lead every week; there’s another one on Friday with the same topic at 12:00 pm EDT led by my friend Adina, as well as a 1:1—Listening Turns session on Wednesdays at 5:00 pm EDT led by my friend Lisa.

2. I hesitate to even mention these projects, much less name them explicitly, for fear of the shame of abandoning them yet again… 🥺.

3. The 1:1 Listening Turns on Wednesdays are a bit different and are not restricted to the week’s topic. But the way things work there is very clearly explained in each session, as well as in the Event description.

4. These guiding values emerged out of the extemporaneous, somewhat rambly introduction I used to make in Peer Support when DDS first began (almost 3 years ago now!), and developed through conversations in the community, and were finally memorialized in this written form by my friend Maren.