Finding My Way Back to Creativity (Without Monetising It)

18 Jul

How painting, baking, and making saved my business soul.

Not everything has to turn into a side hustle. It took me years to learn that, and many times I’d learnt it the hard way.

I started in the world of business aged 13/14, buying My Little Ponies from boot sales and reselling them on eBay for 1000% markup, shipping them all around the world. I turned a hobby into a side hustle, and I did it with many more hobbies over the years. Animation Cels, music (I started a record label, as you do) and even model horses. Both my businesses, Utterly Horses and Copperfox, were foaled from a love of collecting models as a child, and that turned into a six-figure business that lasted decades, and even continues to this day with new owners in the USA.

The pattern of turning a hobby into a business had served me well, until I reached a point where I ran out of hobbies, or hobbies that I thought were monetizable.

For years, I would find myself not doing anything creative unless it had a purpose or was perfection.

If I picked up a paintbrush, it was to see whether I could create art that would be worthy of becoming a side hustle.

If I baked, there was always a wonder of whether it was scalable, and the thought of whether I could I get my produce into supermarkets.

If I sewed something, there was always the thought of how much this would sell for or would people buy it?

My superpower of seeing the potential in everything almost stole something sacred. It became my kryptonite for a while. For a long time, I couldn’t remember the last time I did something creative just for the joy of it. Not as proof of concept, or scalability, or to build a new brand, but just because I wanted to make something with my hands, and heart

The Season of Drained

You never realise how creativity fuels everything you do until you feel utterly disconnected from what you do.

There was a point where I’d built a business that worked on paper. Retainer clients, predictable income and a solid approach that was reliable and reputable.

But on the inside, it was the polar opposite.

I was exhausted, not from full-on burnout (yet) but that slow drip of depletion that I didn’t notice until it there was nothing left to give.

It felt like every creative bone in my body had been used on client work and projects, and there was nothing left for me. It’s an autopilot feeling, where your workdays become a robotic rhythm and life starts to slip by, without you really knowing.

I lost years in this state. The calendar pages would turn and all I would be focused on was the to-do list.

My wake-up call came when I handed in my resignation and said goodbye to my last retainer client (read the blog post here). I realised that I had missed out more than just life, but I missed myself too, and that fire and creativity I used to have.

It started with cake

When I stepped away from my last retainer client, I was left with space.
Not just in my calendar, but in my mind, body, and heart. It created a void, that I didn’t know was there, until everything left from it.

On the one hand is was lovely, to have that space back, but on the other, it was a wake-up call (and reminder) as to how much space that client took up,

Instead of instantly rushing to full that space, I intentionally wanted to do things different this time, and so, I baked and painted, and got curious of the world around me. The one that I’d seemingly put on hold for a few years.

I went on days out and meals out. Booked mini adventures. Finally got around to trying to recipes that I’d been meaning to try for years (some of them you’ll find in the studio, under field notes). I read and read, consuming different points of views, opinions and perspectives. And ever so slowly, and quietly, the part of me I thought I’d lost came back.

It was creating, just because, not for a reason.

There were days I would sit down to create something with no goal. No plan to turn it into a reel for the gram. No thought about how it could become a workshop, course or monetizable side-hustle. It was just me with colour, textures, flour, fabric. My hands moving. My mind resting.

It was as people say, a flow state, and it was glorious. It felt like coming home to myself, to emotions, feelings and things I’d forgotten.

But what surprised me most was how it impacted other parts of my world too, including my business. My idea factory sparked back into life, like a blinking lightbulb that spluttered before burning brighter than it did before. My creativity flowed. I got back into writing, drawing, painting and creating, just because.

It’s proof that when you, the founder, the heart and soul of your business, are lit up, everything changes.

You have more ideas. More clarity, more patience, and plain and simple, more joy.

I believe deeply that creativity is a quiet power source. A humming engine that fuels everything you do. Not just a tool for marketing or content, but something foundational.

It fuels how you think, how you solve problems, how you connect. It allows your business to feel like it has a heartbeat, a soul, again.

So what’s the takeaway from all this experience and curiosity? The truth I needed to learn (and maybe you do, too) is that not every creative thing you do needs to be a business.

Some things get to exist just for the joy of them, completely unpackaged, unpolished and unposted.

That’s what I’ve rediscovered, and I can’t tell you how freeing it is to create without a “why.” To bake a cake and not photograph it. To paint something and not share it. To write something and not turn it into content.

The second lesson is that creativity is sacred. It doesn’t owe you profit. It’s not here to perform. It’s here to make you feel more like you. It’s where the fuel for everything comes from.

Let It Be Yours Again

So, if you’ve felt a little distant from your own creativity lately, here’s a gentle nudge from someone who gets it. Start small. Bake a loaf of bread, paint badly on purpose and get out the felt tips and draw like your eight-year-old self would, like no-one is watching (they’re not).

Let it be messy. Let it be terrible, and let it be totally and utterly yours.
And let it remind you who you are, beyond the business, beyond the to-do list, beyond the performance.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do as a founder is create something that no one will ever see.

Not because it’ll make you money, but because it’ll make you whole.

Onwards and Upwards
- Becky :)