Vulnerable share: Last night I was crying over the neighbor's mean (unleashed) dog and a text from a friend, but it wasn’t really about either of those.
I realized the response were actually about getting to the end of the year and not feeling like I've done "enough", whatever that means.
It was the kind of response that comes from the sheer exhaustion of trying to juggle it all. The kind that shows up in December, when the decorations go up and the reflection starts. (Also appears reliably on Mother’s Day and birthdays—any milestone that reminds me how quickly time is passing.)
In December, I often find myself spiraling into this low-grade panic that I haven’t managed, despite my best efforts, to do enough. That I should be further along by now. That somehow, I’ve wasted my precious year (even though the reality is I've done a lot and accomplished a lot—it never feels like quite enough).
And in my art, this feeling usually shows up as questioning. Questioning what I really have to offer as an art teacher in a sea of free YouTube tutorials and wildly talented Insta-famous artists. Or judging myself for only painting one small piece this month—and let’s be honest, it went fine but it wasn’t my best work.
So this post isn’t coming from a place of having it all figured out.
It’s coming from the middle.
From the part where I could use some encouragement, and I’m guessing maybe you could too. And if we’re both here—wondering if what we’re doing matters, wondering if it’s time to give up—then maybe we can sit in this together and say: not yet.
Here are a few things I try to remember when I feel like giving up on my art:
1. Your life is about more than your art.
You have a beautiful, meaningful life outside of your work. A life made up of things that might never make it to Instagram, but matter just the same.
Like making a homemade breakfast. Laughing at a joke from your spouse while watching your current favorite show. Reading aloud to your kids in the evening.
(We just finished The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, and it was one of those rare, magical books that opens a world and leaves you a little different than when you began it.)
Don’t forget—your life is about more than your output.
2. You are worth more than your art (or how your art is going right now).
Your identity, your value, your enough-ness—they live outside of how many paintings you finished this month. Outside of how your last post performed. Outside of whether anyone bought your latest work.
You are not your last painting. You’re not your best painting either.
You are a whole, worthy human—regardless of what your art is doing right now.
3. Art makes your life more interesting.
I recently read an email newsletter from author Oliver Burkeman (highly recommend joining his newsletter The Imperfectionist here) where he said that the point of creativity (and life?) isn't always about success or mastery, but about making life more interesting.
That idea stuck with me. I'm still thinking about it.
When I'm feeling discouraged about my art, I'm starting to have a new thought: My art matters because it makes my life more interesting. Art is interesting to me. It's one of the things that makes life interesting to me. The creative problem solving, the pursuit of getting better at my chosen medium, the human struggles while making art, the triumph of a good painting, the bliss of getting lost in creative flow—it's all interesting.
When art goes well, it feels like reaching the "Genius" level on the NYT Spelling Bee game. When it's not going well, it's feels like not solving the Wordle for the day but still being glad I showed up, because it was interesting.
Your art doesn’t have to be groundbreaking in order for it to matter.
It just has to be interesting—to you. Something that adds dimension and depth to your life, like a favorite supporting character in a great book.
4. Take a break from fixing.
Sometimes the bravest, healthiest thing you can do for your art isn’t to double down or push harder.
It’s to stop tweaking. Stop perfecting. Stop striving to improve.
Take a break from fixing everything.
Your creative journey is a marathon, not a sprint—and being in constant “repair mode” makes it hard to hear your own voice. Rest is a skill too. Learn the skill of rest, just like you would go after learning the skill of painting.
5. Go ahead—give up your art. But just for a while.
I used to think “Make your art no matter what!” was the gold standard.
And don’t get me wrong—I do believe showing up through resistance matters. A lot. (The War of Art by Steven Pressfield and Make Your Art No Matter What by Beth Pickens are both great books on this topic if you find yourself having trouble pushing through resistance in your creative process.)
But sometimes… we really do need to stop.
Not forever. But for a season.
Give yourself permission to take a break. Choose a window—two weeks, a month—and let yourself step away from the easel.
Mark a return date on your calendar. Put it in ink. Make it a real commitment to come back. Don't let one month turn into six.
Sometimes walking away is the very thing that allows the rest of your life to catch up, integrate, breathe. (See point #1.) And when you return to your art, you'll likely find that something has shifted in a good way.
6. Know that you are in very good company.
So many artists get discouraged about their work. I honestly think creative people are wired for it. There’s something in us that feels deeply, that questions constantly, that reaches for beauty and then panics when we can’t quite grab it.
But don’t get down on yourself for being down.
Creativity takes vulnerability. It takes honesty and resilience and a whole lot of showing up even when you’d rather crawl under the covers. And sometimes, showing up looks like shedding a few tears over the neighbor's dog and your friend’s text and everything else you can’t quite name.
Just remember this: you are not broken. And you are not alone.
So what now?
If you’re in that “time to give up on my art” place—be gentle with yourself. Don’t try to fix everything like, yesterday. Maybe just pick one thing from this list and let it sit with you.
Maybe it’s that you’re worth more than your art.
Maybe it’s that your art makes your life more interesting.
Maybe it’s the idea that giving up for a little while might actually be a form of creative courage.
Whatever it is—know this: your art doesn’t have to be perfect to matter. And you don’t have to be perfect to keep going.
Go ahead. Mark that return date.
I’ll be here when you get back.
With creativity and gratitude,
Angela
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