How Relationships Shape Our Creative Lives
For most of my life, I didn’t understand the role relationships played—not just in my emotional world, but in my creative one.
As a Libra rising with an Aries stellium, I grew up feeling the tension between wanting deep solitude and wanting meaningful connection. Between disappearing into my creative pursuits and longing for the presence of others. Between independence and belonging — the one always pulling against the other, always asking more of me than I knew how to navigate.
For decades, that tension read only as confusion, and it led to deeply imbalanced experiences:
I lost myself in romantic relationships.
I struggled to make and maintain friendships.
And whenever I did try to be social, I never knew how to exist in community without losing touch with myself.
This made every part of life feel harder: working, partnering. Showing up. Staying present. And yes: writing, making, and living the broad, depthful creative life that I truly desired.
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Post-autism diagnosis, I have a whole different understanding of the mechanisms at play in all this.
After discovering my neurodivergence, everything began to rearrange itself. Not overnight, but gradually. Gently. Logically. I began to see my need for space and quiet as a requirement, not a flaw, and not something to overcome, power through, or outgrow.
And—paradoxically—I became more social than ever before.
It seems like a contradiction, but it actually makes perfect sense:
The more clearly I understand my needs, the better I can meet them.
And when I meet my needs, I can show up in relationships with clarity, steadiness, and choice. I can choose the kinds of relationships that help me feel seen and safe instead of trying to mold myself into ones that don’t suit me.
It’s the Aries part of me (direct, self-directed, fiercely independent) finally getting what it needs.
It’s the Libra part of me (relational, connective, community-oriented) finally getting what it needs.
And it’s my autistic brain being recognized as a valuable component of my life, something I want to consult and accommodate, versus something “at odds” with living a rich, fulfilling, and community-oriented existence.
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Now, I see the polarity inside me no longer as tension, but rhythm.
I relish in the neutral preference for immense amounts of solitude and silence.
I choose the relationships I want, the ones that authentically nourish me, with people who are capable and willing to see me fully.
I articulate what helps me feel safe in community and group settings.
And I can let people in without losing access to myself.
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This shift—from tension to rhythm—has changed my creative life completely.
And it’s led to a rich collection of authentic resources:
people I can send messy, unfinished drafts to
communities where my voice is heard
a network of peers who understand how my brain works
readers who meet my writing with tenderness, curiosity, and encouragement
a life that makes space for both solitude and connection
Most importantly, I have the sense that my creativity isn’t something fragile or private anymore. It’s connected, held; in conversation with the people and places that surround me.
My creativity, in other words, belongs in the world.
And there is nothing more healing, empowering, or inspiring than a consistent sense of belonging.
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What I want to ask you today:
What’s your relationship to relationships?
And how might your creative world open if you had the right support, the right people, the right spaces?
What might become possible for your experience of making art?
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If this resonates…
If you’re navigating your own version of balancing solitude and connection, and you want support clarifying what your creative life needs, I’d love to sit with you in that exploration.
Book a free, nourishing consultation →
We’ll look gently and honestly at what wants to grow; what kinds of support might make things feel easier; and what possibilities or resources are waiting to be found.
