I had another label in school that I clung to as if my life depended on it: ‘artistic’. What I lacked in the reading department I made up for in the art classroom. Drawing was my thing. I could imagine anything and bring it to life with a pencil. It felt as natural to me as breathing and I knew I was good at it, because everyone kept telling me. Overtime art became more of a party trick than a passion, something I did for other people’s entertainment (and approval) rather than my own pleasure.

I sped out of my regional town to go to uni in Melbourne and study design. Uni felt like a limbo between childhood and real life. It was at uni that I learnt how to procrastinate and panic-work. Classmate bonding centred around the last minute all-nighters to make our deadlines. (If I could go back in time I would tell myself that just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea, this unhealthy habit will haunt you! Not that I would have listened).

Real life wasn’t what I imagined. The degree under my belt didn’t mean diddly if I couldn’t bring myself to call studios and ask for work. There was an invisible wall stopping me from putting myself out there. I successfully evaded the invisible wall for a while by accidentally selling a painting on facebook, and thus becoming a struggling artist. I even got a studio near the Vic Market. Unfortunately as the novelty wore off that invisible wall reappeared. I romanticised my tortured predicament, like Picasso in his Blue Period I thought, until I got so hungry I stole tins of home brand tuna from the supermarket. Nothing romantic about that. If I wanted to eat I needed to make ‘good’ art. The pressure I felt to perform in the studio escalated to the point that I could no longer step foot inside.

I tried I really did, with the only tool I had, a stern inner critic that motivated me with threats and anger. To my genuine surprise it only made matters worse. My identity as a ‘gifted creative’ was crumbling around me. I couldn’t made art, I couldn’t afford my rent and I longed for the familiar limbo of education.

I applied for art school and had art teaching as my back-up course. I didn’t get in to art school, another knife in my self confidence, and so I went to study teaching with my tail between my legs. I discovered two important truths during my second stint as a uni student. The first being: knowledge is power. Educational psychology gave me a language to talk about and make sense of my invisible wall. Understanding the mind, and the fact that mine was dyslexic, was game changing.

The second truth came in the classroom from the students I was teaching. They too suffered from my invisible wall syndrome: I was not alone. Only they seemed to have it worse. They were tied up in knots, concealing their panic attacks over high school tasks that were not even being graded. Why was their anxiety so high? Why wasn’t anything I said helping them?

This was my turning point.

The moment I decided I’d been a victim for too long and it was time to become the role model that these students desperately needed. I was going to figure out the fear of failure.

I dove into research - positive psychology, innovation, play theory, mindfulness and more. I gathered it together into what I called the ‘Failure Friendly Framework’. A set of rules, guides and exercises for fostering a safe space for creativity. (This became the first chapter of my book which you can download for free here).

The moment I started using these tools on myself - my life changed. Dramatically. I finally had the guts to stop playing small. I began trying things that sparked my curiosity. I got a job as a Marketing Manager, no experience just confidence baby, I wrote a masters research thesis (not bad for a dyslexic person), I went backpacking for 6 months, started selling my art at markets, opened a branding business, purchased an e-commerce store and ran two businesses at once. I was a girl on fire thanks to the tools I had uncovered.

Until I was a girl burnt-out.

My burnout is a dark story and I go into more detail about it in my book. The light at the end of the tunnel was that burnout forced me to learn the missing piece. I had the action taking, dopamine stacking, masculine side down pat, what I didn’t have was the reflection, restoration and self-compassion piece.

Learning these feminine skills balanced out what became the Failure Friendly Mindset, a sustainable tool for kind creativity. And that’s what I do here, share the skills and insights my research has uncovered to help other burnout anxious creatives who are fighting battles with their own invisible walls.