I’ve been unwell for most of the year, and it’s taken a real toll on my creativity. The joy I usually find in my artwork has felt distant. At times, I tried to change my perspective and refer to it as “collecting inspiration” but, if I’m honest, inspiration has been hard to come by, and all I’m doing is glossing over the truth.
The truth is, I’ve been grappling with a pretty severe bout of imposter syndrome.
I’m not good enough.
I’ll never have my own exhibition.
Did I make a mistake leaving the design world behind for the art world?
What am I even doing with my life?
Deep down, I know my mental health is being affected by my body not working the way I want it to. It’s a vicious cycle: one step forward, three steps back, only to feel as though I’m starting again from scratch. It’s something I’ve kept to myself for years. I felt I didn’t have the right to share as everyone is going through something; what makes my problems so important? It’s a toxic thought process, one that was born from the only time I sought support and was accused of attention-seeking instead.
But over the past few weeks, something has shifted. I’ve connected with other artists on Instagram — artists who haven’t shied away from discussing their own struggles — and it’s made me feel far less alone. Their honesty, encouragement, and insight (particularly around chronic illness and creative blocks) have inadvertently formed a kind of support network I’ve never had. I didn’t realise it as much before, but now I recognise that not talking is stifling my creativity. Being open and honest has helped me move forward, even when I haven’t felt ready. My steps towards being creative again might be small, but I am moving. I’m making a conscious effort to not feel like I’m suffocating under the pressure of “this must be done”; but rather slowly, gently, finding my way back to the work because I’m starting to enjoy it again.
Reading about the lives of celebrated artists such as Andy Warhol — their traumas, their hesitations, their very human doubts — has reminded me that feeling unsure is part of the process. If they experienced it and shared it, why shouldn’t I?
So… here I am.
My name’s Ranjit. I live with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, IBS, and a wildly sensitive digestive system. I received the diagnosis after years of surgeries and unexplained health problems. It’s all invisible, so unless I speak up or end up in hospital, you’d never know. And that invisibility brings its own challenges. I take each day as it comes. I rarely make plans — and when I do, there’s always the possibility I’ll have to cancel last-minute. The unpredictability of my body fills me with fear and uncertainty. I’ve even missed exhibitions featuring my own work around the world (the one that really broke me was Times Square).
But I’m still here.
Still creating — granted, not so much this year, but…
Still hoping.
Still healing.
If you’re a creative who’s struggling — with health, confidence, purpose, or direction — please know you’re not alone. We pour so much of ourselves into our work that when life interrupts that flow, it can feel like we’ve lost who we are. But telling your story doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human. Vulnerability builds connection. It opens doors.
So, share your story. Reach out. Create at your own pace, in your own way. And remember, there’s always someone (someone like me) who might need to hear what you have to say.