Creation From An Empty Well | The Art Of Balancing Drive & Rest

Aloha world~

This post isn’t about writing craft in the traditional sense, it's more me rambling about some things that have been on my mind lately that I felt compelled to share. That said, it is still for the writers, the dreamers, the overachievers, and the sensitive souls who feel too much and give too often. It’s a piece I wrote because the weight of the world has been heavy lately, and I know I’m not alone in feeling it. By no means am I an expert, or a therapist, but I wanted to come on here and speak my thoughts. It's a topic so prevalent in our world right now, I couldn't keep this locked away in a notes app.

So here we are… How to begin…? Perhaps this:

In a world that demands so much of our attention—where algorithms hijack our dopamine, where hustle is glorified, where success is measured in output—it’s no wonder so many of us feel like we’re running on empty. Especially if you're a younger Millennial, Gen Z-er, or even Gen Alpha, trying to grow up in a world that feels both on fire and falling apart.

How do you keep going when the sky feels too heavy? How do you hold onto hope without collapsing into naïveté or nihilism? How do you keep creating when you have nothing left to give? Nothing left to offer, not even a scrap.

These are questions I find myself surrounded by. The burden of a dying world weighing heavy on our collective shoulders. With my dear friends around me particularly impacted by such questions, such uncertainty and existential dread sends them spiraling. And these questions, and the answers they seek, cannot be always found in therapy. Because no matter how much you “unpack your trauma,” or even heal from your trauma, the world outside keeps spinning—faster, louder, crueler. How can a person improve their mental health when they can’t even be sure there will be a world around to live in within the next decade?

That question doesn’t have an easy answer—and maybe it never will. How can a person improve their mental health when they can’t even be sure the world will still be here in ten years? That fear haunts many of us—quietly, constantly. It sits behind our goals, our grief, our grinding. And yet… we still wake up. Still breathe. Still try.

So maybe the point isn’t to have certainty. Maybe the point is to live anyway. In a world that may not last, the act of caring, for ourselves, for each other, is defiance. And in the face of so much unknown, I want to share a simple—but often overlooked—truth: we are not meant to grind endlessly.

We were built for rhythm. For rest. For renewal.

The Weight Of Our Dreams

Some of us dream so big that we feel crushed by our own ambitions. We set our sights on galaxies and then blame ourselves for not reaching them fast enough. We become burdened by our vision. Swallowed by the very stars we were meant to shine among.

We forget that goals are meant to guide us—not grind us into dust. We forget that we are allowed to pivot. To rest. To say, “This matters, but not at the cost of myself.” Your dreams should lift you, not bury you. The pursuit of a life shouldn’t cost you your living.

If you’ve ever felt paralyzed by your ambition… this post is for you. If you’ve ever lost the joy of creating because the task became more important than the self, this is your reminder: you are allowed to exist outside of your work. You are allowed to be more than your momentum.

The Myth of Endless Productivity

Western culture has trained us to believe that our value is directly tied to our productivity (thanks capitalism…). That unless we are producing, optimizing, or improving, we are somehow falling short. Rest is labeled laziness. Softness is mistaken for weakness. And ambition—once a noble spark—becomes a relentless, consuming flame that won’t let us pause.

We’re told that if we just hustle harder, sleep less, sacrifice more, we’ll eventually earn the right to stop. But that stop never comes. Because we’re not just chasing goals, we’re being chased by them. Haunted by ambition. Trapped in a loop of "more, more, more," until we lose sight of what we're even working toward. The joy of the craft dissolves. The reason we started creating and striving toward our ambitions in the first place is buried beneath expectations and performance.

We end up living with this quiet desperation. Dreaming of rest we don’t know how to claim. Feeling like frauds if we slow down. And eventually, we start asking the terrifying question: What if this is just how life is now?

But it’s not. It doesn’t have to be.

This is the paradox of dreaming big: we carry ambitions like constellations in our chests—bright, beautiful, impossible not to follow—but we forget to make space for the softness required to live. The softness required to enjoy what we’ve built, to nourish the soul that carried the dream.

We were never meant to live in permanent output mode. Even the sun sets. Even rivers slow. Even the most powerful beings in nature have cycles—of action, and of rest.

“The mountain is climbed with fire in your chest—but the summit is savored in stillness.”

You need both. You deserve both. The drive and the dreamer. The fire and the water. The structure and the surrender. The yin and the yang. True power comes not from endless force, but from knowing when to push and when to receive.

Yin & Yang Energies: A Balancing Act

In Eastern philosophy, a framework for understanding balance is found in the concept of yin and yang—concepts from ancient Chinese cosmology that describe the dual forces present in all of existence. Yin is associated with the feminine: soft, receptive, intuitive, fluid, still, and inward. Yang is associated with the masculine: active, structured, assertive, expansive, focused, and outward.

It’s important to note and understand that yin and yang are not tied to gender identity—they’re not “male” and “female” in the human sense. Rather, they are energetic principles that exist in everyone, regardless of sex or gender. They are not in opposition—they are in relationship. Day needs night. Fire needs water. Drive needs rest.

When yin and yang are balanced, there is harmony. When one dominates, we feel out of sync. And in our modern world, most of us have been taught to over-identify with yang—to act, to build, to push. But we’ve lost touch with yin—the part of us that knows how to rest, feel, receive, and simply be.

Again, this isn’t about gender—it’s about energetic archetypes that live in all of us:

• Masculine energy is ambition, output, structure, and pursuit.

• Feminine energy is receptivity, flow, softness, celebration, and surrender.

Our society exalts the masculine and diminishes the feminine. We’re praised for being driven, efficient, self-disciplined. But we’re judged for being soft, slow, cyclical, emotional. And yet both are essential. This deep discomfort with softness isn’t accidental—it’s cultural. Patriarchy has long villainized and diminished feminine energy, even as it demands and depends on it. It elevates traditional masculine traits while mocking the very femininity it exploits—celebrating women for nurturing and caregiving, while punishing them for softness, emotion, or rest.

But we must not forget that one builds the bridge. The other invites you to walk across it, barefoot, feeling every breeze. (Funny, isn’t it? That in this context we call the masculine the energy of creation, when it is women—those associated with the feminine—who literally create life within their bodies. It just goes to show how deeply language, culture, and power structures have distorted our perceptions.)

Without yin, the feminine, we accomplish and accomplish and accomplish… without ever feeling fulfilled. Without yang, the masculine, we float and dream without ever being grounded in reality.

This is why burnout feels so spiritually devastating. Because it’s not just exhaustion of the body—it’s imbalance of the soul. It's what happens when we've spent too long pushing and striving, and not nearly enough time receiving, replenishing, and rejoicing.

Ambition without receptivity becomes suffering. Achievement without softness becomes burnout. To thrive, we must balance striving with surrender.

And that balance takes practice.

Tapping into Yin & Yang: Utilizing Masculine & Feminine Energies

You don’t have to meditate on a mountain or overhaul your entire life to feel your yin and yang. You just need awareness and intention.

When you need to be in your Masculine:

• Set clear, actionable goals (with timelines that inspire you, not paralyze you).

• Create a schedule, set boundaries, and honor your commitments.

• Move forward on your dreams with courage—even when you're scared.

• Speak your truth. Claim your space. Assert your needs.

• Take up the responsibility of becoming who you want to be.

Masculine energy helps you initiate, helps build momentum. It moves the dream from vision to form.

When you need to be in your Feminine:

• Allow space for rest—not as a reward, but as a right.

• Connect with your body: stretch, walk, cry, laugh, dance.

• Sink into the moment: light a candle, make tea, savor the quiet.

• Celebrate what you’ve already done—pause and bask.

• Surround yourself with beauty and wonder. Let it move through you.

• Receive—support, love, compliments, inspiration—without deflection.

Feminine energy doesn’t force. It welcomes. It doesn’t rush. It unfolds. And it’s often the thing we’re most starved for. After a long push in your masculine, you must return to your feminine. You can’t stay in drive forever. You’re not a machine. Your soul was built for rhythm—not a straight line. Let yourself enjoy the fruit of your labor. Soften into your own becoming. Celebrate your small wins along with your big wins.

Celebrating Your Becoming

Our culture tells us to keep moving. Hit one goal? On to the next. Check off the milestone? Cool—don’t get complacent. But this mindset keeps us perpetually chasing and rarely receiving. It erodes joy. And more dangerously, it teaches us that our progress only matters if it's big, fast, or publicly impressive.

But growth happens in micro-movements. In quiet decisions. In the hard, invisible work of showing up for yourself. And that deserves to be honored.

So celebrate the small wins: getting out of bed when it’s hard. Drinking water. Sending the email. Writing one paragraph. Choosing rest when your body asked for it. Celebrate the medium wins: following through on a project. Setting boundaries. Practicing consistency. Saying no. Saying yes. And yes—celebrate the big wins too. Launching the thing. Healing the pattern. Making the leap. Finishing what you started. But don’t wait for those to be the only reason you throw yourself a little joy party.

You don’t have to earn your right to be proud.

Ways To Celebrate Your Wins

Small Wins—For the quiet triumphs, the invisible victories, the days you simply showed up.

Examples: Got out of bed. Wrote a sentence. Drank water. Resisted a spiral. Set a tiny boundary.

• Make your favorite warm drink and savor it slowly

• Add whimsy to your world: fairy lights, stickers, sparkles

• Let yourself relax without guilt

• Play your favorite video game or cozy mobile game

• Have a mini treat: a pastry, candy, tea, coffee, or a walk

• Play a board game with friends or family

• Sing and let your voice out, don't hold it back

• Romanticize your life: light a candle, burn incense, practice gratitude, notice beauty

Medium Wins—For moments of forward motion, courage, and care that deserve more than a passing nod.

Examples: Finished a task. Said no. Set a boundary. Started therapy. Showed up.

• Take yourself on a solo artist date (go somewhere inspiring!)

• Take yourself out on a dedicated solo coffee date

• Order your favorite takeout and eat it like a ritual

• Gift yourself something guilt-free

• Take a no-work day and protect it like gold

• Make art just for fun

• Enjoy a movie or comfort show

• Create a collage or vision board

• Buy a small luxury (notebook, blanket, candle) that reminds you: I did that

Big Wins—For the milestone moments. The accomplishment of big goals.

Examples: Finished a novel. Left a job. Launched something. Ended a toxic cycle. Moved forward after healing.

• Host a small gathering with your favorite people

• Take yourself out to a fancy (or your favorite) restaurant

• Go on a trip—solo or with someone you love

• Create or commission something to symbolize the milestone (jewelry, art, tattoo)

• Write a letter to your future self, praising who you’ve become

• Invest in your next phase (class, tool, mentorship, coaching, retreat)

• Let yourself cry, laugh, scream, sleep. Whatever you need to feel it.

You are becoming. You are blooming. You are not standing still. Let that be enough today. Let your celebrations be sacred—not performative. They are how you witness yourself growing. How you remind your inner child, your soul, your weary adult self: We’re doing it. We’re still here.

And while your journey inward matters, remember you don’t have to do it alone. Humans are social creatures for a reason. We're meant to be in communities. So find your people. The ones who remind you of who you are when you forget. The ones who celebrate your small wins and hold space for your messy becoming. Healing doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens in community. In laughter. In late-night texts. In coffee dates and hang outs. Despite our technology bringing us closer together, there is an loneliness epidemic and a fear of opening up to others. But we shouldn't let all that prevent us from finding our communities. We need people around to help remind us that we're not alone.

*A Note For Adding Whimsy To Your World

Whimsy is the art of delight without reason. It’s the unexpected sparkle, the unnecessary magic, the softness that says, “You’re allowed to enjoy this moment just because.” In a culture that tells us everything must be useful, whimsy can be an act of defiance. A flower in your hair. Stickers on your laptop. Fairy lights around your mirror. A ridiculous mug. A stuffed animal on your desk.

Whimsy reminds your inner child that they’re still invited to the party. It makes the world feel more alive, more colorful. Don't snub it, overlook it, or think it silly.

The Wise Inner Child Knows the Way

Children don’t think about legacy or deadlines. They sing because they want to. Dance because they feel like it. Play because joy is its own reward. They haven’t yet learned to measure their worth in metrics or milestones. They just are. They live in the now—not out of mindfulness training, but because the past and future don’t yet exist in their minds. Time is immediate. Fluid. Felt in colors and sensations, not clocks. And honestly? That’s where presence lives. Not in overthinking. Not in ruminating or forecasting. But in being. Fully, joyfully, now.

I personally believe that is the medicine our adult selves need. A balancing act between taking responsibility and releasing pressure. Between planning the future and allowing play. If you never let your inner child out, your adult self will become buried under the weight of ambition and stress. The pressure to do, achieve, prove, and perform will silence the part of you that knows how to rest in delight. When we embrace the youthful spirit, we become present.

So what would it look like to stop just for a moment and feel your now? What would it mean to treat your life not as a to-do list, but as a playground? Would you color for fun? Would you dance in your kitchen? Maybe even climb something? Touch grass? Eat fruit slowly? Laugh at something ridiculous? Whatever it may be, let wonder interrupt your routine.

And when you do find your way of stopping and becoming present, celebrate it. Even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small. Because children don’t wait for permission to be proud. They celebrate tying their shoes. Making a doodle. Running fast. Let them reteach you how to live.

Embrace the inner child who wants to sing just because. Embrace the inner child who wants to dance just because. Embrace the inner child who seeks to play, explore, and create, without needing a reason.

Now, if you keep smothering that child’s fire, ask yourself why. If they existed outside of you—as a small, tender being you were responsible for—would you keep extinguishing their joy, shaming their spark, postponing their aliveness? If your answer is yes… I have serious concerns about you. But if you’re like most people—with any shred of empathy or compassion—then your answer is no. So why do you keep doing it to yourself?

Suppressing that inner flame—telling it “later,” “not now,” “grow up,” isn’t discipline. It’s abandonment. A slow silencing of the most sacred, essential part of you. The part that still feels wonder. Still holds magic. Still believes. Because every time you delay joy, every time you treat play as a waste, every time you push through instead of softening into the moment… You’re slowly killing yourself.

Not in the dramatic, obvious way—but in the soul-deep, chronic ache of becoming a husk of who you could be. A shell of someone great. So… let the child dance. Let them sing. Let them come out to play and color outside the lines and make a mess. Let them be heard. Because in doing so, you don’t lose your power—you return to it. Let them remind you that this life isn’t just about building—it’s about being.

The Gift Of A Silent Hour

Before we close, I want to offer a gift. Or perhaps a challenge. Something that’s made a significant difference in my life—and could change yours. In the spirit of just being, I challenge you to take one silent hour a day for yourself. No phone. No screens. No input. Just you. Journal. Book. Walk. Sit in stillness. Stare at a wall. Let your nervous system catch its breath. Give yourself permission to not produce. To not perform. To not please anyone but the version of you that’s quietly waiting to be heard.

You’ll twitch. You’ll reach. You’ll worry. But nothing will collapse. And the world will still be there when you return. This hour is your reclamation. A return to sovereignty.

Make it sacred. Light a candle. Close a door. Play soft music on a record player. Breathe deeply. Tell your mind: We are safe here. Carve out your sacred time. Not because it’s efficient, but because it’s essential.

And if anyone calls it selfish—including your own inner voice? I call bullshit. You are allowed to be selfish with your peace. You are allowed to close the door. To step away. To say, “Not today.” Because sometimes, solitude is the only place you can hear yourself again.

Rest is not a luxury. Rest is not weakness. Rest is not selfish. Rest is your fucking right. Some days you might not even be able to give 30%, let alone 120%. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. That means you’re human.

So have a brain-rot day if it helps. Read a book. Write a book with quill and ink. Play the silly game. Watch the comfort show. Let yourself unravel. But I implore you: disconnect, too. Carve out the hour. Morning, midday, or midnight—whenever you can. Lock your devices in another room. Feel the withdrawal. Let it pass.

And if you can't, ask yourself honestly: Why can’t I give myself just one hour of silence? Be real, be honest, what's really stopping you?

Take a walk. Go for a bike ride. Journal. Pray. Stretch. Cry. Dance. Paint. Breathe. If it's raining outside (like it is now as I write this), go outside and let the rain soak you to your bones. Whatever you do, take your attention back from the systems that profit off your exhaustion. From the culture that told you stillness was a waste of time. Reclaim your mind from the algorithms that profit off of your doomscrolling.

Even scarier for some: don’t be productive. Stare at the sky. Doodle something pointless. Lay in the grass. Do something with no outcome attached. Just… exist.

You weren’t built to be a machine. You weren’t meant to monetize every breath. You were meant to live. To be.

And maybe all this sounds obvious. Maybe it sounds “basic.” But let me remind you: Just because you know something intellectually doesn’t mean you’ve internalized it. Knowing and living are two different things. So don’t scoff at people who are learning what you’ve already learned. And don’t shame yourself for needing to relearn what you thought you’d mastered. We are all on different timelines. Walking different terrain. So stay open. Stay kind. To others, and especially to yourself.

Learning To Let Go: A Practical Guide

Now, it's easy to spout “just rest,” “just be,” “just let go” as if it's that simple. But where do you start? How do you start?

If your nervous system has been stuck in fight-or-flight, or your mind is racing from a culture that values productivity over presence, or your own deadlines and commitments to your own dreams weighs heavy on you, the idea “letting go” can feel impossible. How do you actually let go and "be"?

Here are some methods I use.

Step 1: Start with the Body, Not the Brain

You can’t think your way into calm—you have to physically signal safety to your body.

• Shake out your limbs. Literally. Hands, feet, shoulders, head. Wake up your energy.

• Exhale with sound. Sigh, groan, hum, blow raspberries—anything that tells your system, “We’re okay now.”

• Tense and release. Start with your toes, move upward. Clench, hold, let go.

Try putting on a song and just move. No choreography. No judgment. Let your body lead.

Why This Works: Trauma and stress live in the body. When you move, you dislodge what’s stuck. You remind yourself you are not frozen. You are not trapped. It shakes up the stagnant energy, trauma, or stress living inside you.

Step 2: Name It to Tame It

Unspoken emotions tend to spiral, but when you name what you’re feeling, your nervous system begins to regulate. This can be rather difficult if you're not used to catching yourself when you're about to, or already in a spiral. But like I've said in other blog posts, our language shapes reality. The way we describe our lives—internally or externally—changes the way we process, remember, and relate to those experiences. So try and speak aloud what you're feeling.

Optional Phrases To Say To Yourself:

• “I’m overwhelmed.”

• “I’m scared and I don’t know why.”

• “I feel like I’m failing and I’m exhausted.”

Don’t overthink it. Use your Notes app. A journal. A sticky note. Or say it out loud to an empty room. If you’re blanking, start here: “I don’t know what I’m feeling, and in this moment I don't know why, but I want to feel lighter.”

Why This Works: Naming emotion activates the prefrontal cortex and helps reduce emotional overload. It brings you into awareness, not just reaction.

Step 3: Interrupt the Spiral with Play

If your inner critic starts judging—“This is dumb," "you’re doing it wrong,” "this is pointless and nonsensical"—that’s your cue to get weird. Blow raspberries. Make a goofy face in the mirror. Say something dramatic like, “I am a stressed-out mushroom under a heat lamp.”

The goal isn’t to be silly for the sake of it—it’s to disrupt self-seriousness and let your body remember joy.

Why This Works: Play brings you back into the present. It can activate cortisol. It tells your system: We are allowed to feel good.

And if you can't embrace the weird and silly just yet and the spiraling thoughts just won’t stop, try a grounding technique:

• Name 5 things you can see. Describe each in color, texture, and detail. Let your eyes linger.

• Name 4 things you can touch. Feel the temperature. The grain. The weight.

• Name 3 things you can hear. Distant sounds. Near sounds. The in-between.

• Name 2 things you can smell. Breathe deeply. Let the scent tell you where you are.

• Name 1 thing you can taste. Even if it’s just the inside of your mouth—notice.

These small sensory observations are anchors. They remind you: I am here. I am safe. I am real.

And once you’ve let go—even a little—pause. Notice. Appreciate.

Step 4: Create A Sanctuary

Create a space—physical or energetic—that says: nothing is required of me here. It can be anything. It doesn't have to be a brand new space, it can be your bed. A blanket fort. A closet. A patch of sunlight. But let it be a sanctuary, a hallow place of rest and presence. Light a candle. Sit with a warm drink. Put on lo-fi. Call it something like: My safe space, The Chamber of Secrets, the room of no expectations.

Why This Works: The body responds to ritual and space. When you build a pattern of comfort, your system begins to trust it.

Step 5: Make Rest a Ritual

Let rest become something you practice, not something you have to earn. Choose one tiny act:

• One cup of tea in silence.

• One walk without your phone.

• One slow stretch before bed.

• One page in a “brain dump” journal.

Repeat it. Honor it. Make it sacred.

Why This Works: Repetition builds regulation. Tiny rituals teach your nervous system: “This is the rhythm of peace.”

Bonus: If You Can’t Relax, Forgive Yourself Anyway

Sometimes the harder you try to relax, the more tense you feel. That’s okay. Rest isn’t a switch. It’s a practice. A remembering. If all you do is lie down and breathe for a minute, that counts. If all you do is want to rest and can’t, that awareness is still sacred.

You’re not broken if stillness is hard. You’re just learning to feel safe in your own space again. But once the stillness settles, even for a breath, you might even try to begin to notice the details you forgot to love. The slant of light. The quiet hum of being. And that noticing? That’s the beginning of gratitude. Let gratitude and appreciation ground you. Let it be your anchor.

When you slow down, you begin to not just see, but observe: the way light illuminates a loved ones eyes. The way your breath softens. The way your heart has been trying to speak to you all along.

Appreciation is presence. It’s a way of saying thank you—not just for the big things, but for every little thing that reminds you you’re alive.

This ties into a truth from another piece I wrote: How To See The World Like An Artist. When you look closely—really look—you realize that everything is miraculous. A chipped cup. A dusty window. The sound of footsteps. A curl of steam. To notice is to honor. To appreciate and practice gratitude is how we stay present. It's how we come home to the world as it is. How we come home to ourselves.

Let yourself unwind. Not for performance. Not to prove you’re doing “self-care.” But because you are tired. And you are worthy. And you are allowed to feel good. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

Final Truths & Affirmations

You are not your goals. You are not your timeline. You are not your productivity. You are not a machine. You are not a brand. You are not your output. You are a human. You are a soul.

And you deserve joy. Stillness. Nourishment. Celebration. Even when you feel like you have nothing left to give or feel undeserving. Because you are not meant to create from an empty well. You are meant to drink first. And then, only when you’re ready, create.

Closing Thoughts

I like to end most blogs with an inspiring quote that's relevant to the posts content, but instead of a quote, I’d like to leave you with a song: Billy Joel’s Vienna. For the version of you that’s tired, burned out, but still trying. I see you, I believe in you, you can do it. Keep going :)

“Slow down, you crazy child…”

You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to be. That’s enough—you are enough♥︎

—Bair✍︎

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