The Art of Becoming: For The Artist Who Is Still Figuring It Out
Becoming is not a destination.
It is not a perfect version of yourself waiting at the end of a long road. It is not a polished portfolio, a clear style, or a moment when the doubt disappears and the work finally feels “good enough.”
Becoming is quieter than that.
Slower.
More tender.
It is the long, wandering process of returning to yourself — again and again — in new ways, with raw questions, through each stroke, pause, and attempt to listen more closely.
The Lie of "Not Yet Enough"
Somewhere along the way, many of us began to believe that being an artist required permission.
Not from ourselves, but from others. From systems. From platforms. From people who might decide our work was valuable enough, marketable enough, consistent enough to be taken seriously.
We learned to shape our art around expectations.
We were told to define our style, build a brand, stay visible.
We started sharing before we were ready. Creating for applause.
Measuring worth by momentum.
And slowly, we began to forget the freedom we once felt when we created just to feel something — not to prove anything.
That forgetting leaves a quiet ache.
A grief that is hard to name, but easy to carry.
Grief for the part of you that once moved freely through color and sound and story.
Grief for the way joy got tangled in performance.
Grief for how much energy you spend trying to get it “right.”
This grief is not a detour.
It is part of the process.
And it deserves to be felt.
A Quiet Return To Yourself
Becoming is not about improving.
It is not about refining or evolving into some higher version of yourself.
That might be what we are told. But that is not how it feels.
For the artist, becoming is often a soft undoing.
A return to instinct.
A quiet rebellion against the belief that your creativity must always lead somewhere.
It is not about becoming better.
It is about becoming more honest.
It is about staying with yourself in the middle of doubt.
Not rushing to fix it.
Not abandoning the process because it got uncomfortable.
But learning to recognize that discomfort as part of the rhythm.
Some days you will feel inspired.
Other days you will want to quit.
Both belong.
The Messy Middle
How does this idea of becoming meet us in the ordinary moments — in the studio, within the sketchbook, in the quiet corners of our creative lives?
Because it is one thing to talk about letting go of striving. It is another to feel it in your body when a painting does not turn out the way you imagined, or when you scroll through someone else's polished feed, or when you set aside time to create and suddenly feel paralyzed by self-doubt.
Becoming, in practice, is not a grand gesture.
It is not a perfectly executed routine.
It is soft and subtle. Often invisible.
It is about meeting yourself gently — especially in the moments when you are tempted to be harsh.
It might look like:
Laying down the first wash of color and watching it bloom across the page
Returning to a technique you have not touched in years — not to master it, but to reconnect with it
Making space in your day for creating, even when life feels full
Letting yourself follow what feels alive in the moment, not what makes the most sense
Building something slowly, without rushing to the finish
Rearranging your creative space to feel more like a sanctuary
Picking up your tools after a long pause and letting that be enough
Feeling a familiar pull to compare, and choosing instead to keep your eyes on your own work
Noticing your growth in a small, almost invisible shift — the way you stay curious longer, or judge yourself a little less
Sometimes, becoming means feeling everything — doubt, resistance, grief, hope — and still letting your hands move.
Not to perform.
Not to perfect.
But to stay close to yourself.
Reclaiming The Process
There is no perfect path.
There is only the next honest step.
You are allowed to not know where your art is going. You are allowed to take breaks. You are allowed to change your mind about what you want to make and how you want to share it.
Your work does not have to become a business.
Your creativity does not need to justify itself to be valuable.
Sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is create something no one will ever see — and let that be enough.
Because it is enough.
And so are you.
A Gentle Invitaiton
If you are in a season where things feel tender, uncertain, or slower than you expected, take heart.
You are not lost. You are becoming.
Let this be your reminder: you do not have to rush, fix, or figure it all out.
You are allowed to grow gently.
To move at your own pace.
To keep showing up, even when the way is unclear.
Before You Go...
Thank you for spending a little time here with me. I hope these words offered you a soft place to land — or at least a small breath of recognition in the midst of your day.
If you would like to linger a little longer, you are always welcome to explore other posts here:
And if today’s post stirred something in you, here are a few gentle prompts. You are welcome to journal through them, hold them quietly, or share in the comments if you feel called.
What is becoming in me right now, even if I cannot yet name it?
What part of my creativity am I ready to reclaim?
What does it feel like to make something without needing it to be “good”?
When do I feel most like myself while creating?
