Here’s something I’ve learned over the years of helping folks connect to their innate creativity, whether it’s related to career paths, research projects, writing endeavors, or living a more alive life.

Using your imagination isn’t just something you do when you’re being “creative.” It’s a resilience skill you can cultivate.

(And it might be exactly what you need right now.)

As I wrap up the Summer of Resilient Joy Creativity Lab workshop series with my clients this week, summer reaches its peak.

Pleasure, nature, and slow are part of our healing, not luxuries or rewards.

Yet, if you grew up like me, you’ve been taught to treat nature time like a reward or something you “earn” when the work is done. Or that Nature is separate from your real day-to-day life and something to be conquered or controlled. Or in a nicer way, maybe a place you go to vacation or relax or exercise. 

But I want to offer another perspective: Nature isn’t an escape from your life. It’s an essential part of it.

As I write this, I’m preparing for something I’ve never done before: a 5-day, 250-mile bike ride through southern Nebraska with Tour de Nebraska. When you read this, I’ll be camping in Curtis, getting ready to bike out 42 miles on Wednesday to Elwood. (Send me some resilient joy vibes, will ya?)

It’s something I’ve been building toward for the last six months, not just physically (although lots of that), but mentally, emotionally, and yes… creatively. Because if I’ve learned anything about Resilient Joy, it’s that even the good things - the things we choose with intention - will stir up self-doubt, fear, or old patterns.

If you’re feeling creatively flat, anxious, or like your energy is scattered in twelve different directions, you’re not stuck - although I hear us saying that we are all the time. You’re likely just disconnected from your body. And honestly? That makes sense.

We live in systems that reward overthinking and disembodiment. Many of us were trained, especially in academic, clinical, or leadership environments, to live from the neck up.

Maybe you saw it coming. Maybe it hit you out of nowhere.

A layoff, a funding cut, a toxic new leader, or a quiet realization that your work no longer fits the life you want. Career shocks come in many forms. Some are loud and sudden. Others build slowly, until one day you can no longer ignore the signs.

Whatever brought you here, I want you to know: you are not alone. And you are not starting over.

You are starting from experience.

We all hit moments in our lives and careers when we need support. But not all support serves the same purpose or leads to lasting change.

Advice tells you what they would do.
Mentorship often shows you the path they took.
Courses offer frameworks, but not always the clarity to apply them.
Therapy helps you heal patterns and process emotions.

Mentorship coaching, the way I practice it, offers something different.

The first half of 2025 has been a shit storm. Dumpster fire after fire. And if you're exhausted and scattered, all the while feeling fired up, you are not alone. Or maybe that just describes me, ha.

As a counterweight to that, this June and July, I’ll be sharing weekly insights, prompts, and practices all summer long to help you build what I call Resilient Joy. I’m inviting us back to the practices that help us reset, not out of obligation, but out of care. Not to get more done, but to come back to what matters.

One of the most powerful things about this work—coaching, Creativity Lab, and community sessions—is witnessing someone remember who they are.

This month, I want to share the story of one of my clients, a healthcare professional who came to our coaching space feeling stuck, scattered, and ready to “rage quit” her job. What unfolded over a few months was more than a career pivot in the traditional sense. It was a creative reawakening.

Ahhh, the first week of June!

As we embrace the long light of summer, I’m reminded that this season doesn’t ask us to work harder, it invites us to grow differently. Summer holds a particular kind of energy: expansive, sensory, alive with possibility. But too often, we drag our spring hustle into summer’s warmth, expecting the same grind to yield new fruit.

Over the past month, I’ve shared my story of leaving academia. But really, it wasn’t about leaving. It was about unlearning. About remembering. About creating the space to ask:

“What kind of work and life restores me instead of depletes me?”

It took years. It took breakdowns and break opens. It took healing, play, and creativity.

And it took community.

Imposterism thrives in environments that demand external proof (hello, external evaluations, blind reviews, anonymous 360 feedback, student evaluations, and on and on).

It whispers:
“Do I belong?”
“Am I qualified enough?”
“Will they believe me?”
“Maybe this is just imposterism.”

But creativity doesn’t ask for credentials.

One of the most common “What comes next?” responses comes masked as one of these:

“I don’t think I’m ready.”
“I need more training first.”
“I know I’ve done a lot, but…”
“There are other people who…”
“Here are the 3 certifications I need to start_____”

You don’t need another certificate. 

Stop confusing overing with being worthy.