Messy Is Better Than Empty: How I’m Unfreezing My Creativity After Perfectionism

I used to think of myself as a creative person. But over the years, that part of me didn’t just dim — it froze. It wasn’t sudden. Perfectionism have a way of creeping in quietly, like shadows at dusk. You don’t notice the darkness until it’s everywhere, and by then, you’re stuck, paralyzed, unable to begin.

The signs came slowly at first. The notebooks were the beginning. For years, I’d buy beautiful, expensive ones — small indulgences that felt like promises to myself. Their soft covers called to me, their blank pages whispering possibilities, smelling faintly of ink and potential. You’ll create something wonderful with these someday, I’d tell myself. But I didn’t. Instead, they began to pile up, untouched.

Not yet, I’d think. Not until I have the perfect idea. But the perfect idea never came.

Then there was the DJ set, a gift from my partner — something I’d dreamed of trying for years. I loved the flashing lights, the weight of the knobs under my fingers. It was alive even when I wasn’t touching it. But instead of diving in, I let it gather dust in the corner. I couldn’t bear the thought of “ruining” it, of fumbling my way through it imperfectly. So I didn’t touch it at all.

I told myself I was too busy. Life was full, demanding, relentless. There was no time for indulgences like creativity. But deep down, I knew the truth: I was frozen. Fear held me in place, whispering lies. If you can’t do it perfectly, don’t do it at all, said perfectionism. You don’t have the energy anyway. At the end, it conspired to keep me still.

But here’s what I’ve learned: waiting for the “perfect moment” to start is a lie. Creativity doesn’t need perfect conditions. It doesn’t need confidence or certainty. It doesn’t even need you to know what you’re doing. It just needs you to begin.

The Freeze

Perfectionism don’t just block creativity — they feed on each other. It drains you of the energy you need to play, to experiment, to try. Perfectionism swoops in to remind you that even if you could muster the energy, it wouldn’t be good enough. And at the end it creates a vicious loop, a mental quicksand that feels impossible to escape.

For me, this feeling stuck began with the grind of daily life: deadlines, responsibilities, the endless weight of doing more. Add to that the comparison trap — watching others on social media seem effortlessly creative and productive — and the freeze felt inevitable. Creativity started to feel like another thing I needed to be perfect at. Another task to fail at.

Maybe for you, it’s not notebooks or a DJ set. Maybe it’s a paintbrush you haven’t picked up in years, an unfinished story gathering dust on your hard drive, or a guitar whose strings haven’t been touched since “someday” became “not now.” Whatever it is, I want you to know this: You’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re just stuck.

And stuck is something you can work your way out of — one messy, imperfect step at a time.

How I Gave Myself Permission to Be Messy

The hardest part was letting go of the idea that creativity needs to be perfect. It sounds simple. But unlearning something you’ve carried for years is anything but.

For so long, I treated my notebooks like sacred objects. I wouldn’t touch them unless I had an idea I thought was “worthy.” I wouldn’t touch the DJ set because I was afraid to make mistakes. But perfectionism feeds on inaction, and the only way to break its grip is to act — messily, clumsily, imperfectly.

Here’s how I started to shift my mindset:

• “This is for me, not for anyone else.” Your notebook, your creative project, your process — it doesn’t have to impress anyone. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, shareable, or Instagram-worthy. It just has to matter to you.
• “Messy is better than empty.” A chaotic page, a half-finished song, a single awkward word — they’re all infinitely better than a blank slate.
• “Starting imperfectly is still starting.” You can’t improve on what doesn’t exist. But even a messy beginning gives you something to grow from.

At first, I just repeated these mantras, hoping they’d sink in. Slowly, they did. And every time I scribbled in a notebook or turned on the DJ set for two clumsy minutes, I felt the freeze thawing.

Tiny Steps That Helped Me Move Forward

Shifting your mindset isn’t just about what you think — it’s about what you do. I needed to prove to myself that it was okay to start messy. So I took small, deliberate actions that lowered the stakes and built trust with myself.

Here’s what helped:

1. The Chaos Page
   The first page of a notebook always felt intimidating — too clean, too full of expectations. So I gave myself permission to ruin it. Scribbles, nonsense words, random marks. There was no way to “mess up” a page that was designed for chaos.
2. Tiny Starts
   I stopped aiming for grand creations. Some days, I wrote just one word, one sentence, one fragment of an idea. Even a single drop of creativity was enough to break the freeze.
3. Pre-Made Mistakes
   To eliminate the illusion of perfection, I’d intentionally “ruin” a notebook — spill coffee on the cover, write something silly on the first page, or tear a corner. It was liberating. Once it was imperfect, I no longer felt the need to protect it.
4. Doodles Instead of Words
   On days when words wouldn’t come, I drew instead. Squiggles, messy lines, random shapes. It didn’t matter what. The act of creating — even without purpose — was enough to remind me that I could still make something.

Reframing Guilt

Even after I started creating again, guilt lingered. The untouched notebooks, the dusty DJ set — they still whispered, You’re wasting time. You’re wasting potential.

But guilt is a liar. It feeds on all-or-nothing thinking, convincing you that if you’re not doing everything, you’re doing nothing. Progress doesn’t have to be big to matter.

Here’s what I tell myself now:

• “I’m not failing; I’m learning.” Creativity is a process, not a product.
• “Potential isn’t wasted — it grows.” Every messy attempt adds to your growth, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.
• “I don’t have to earn the right to create.” Creativity isn’t something you have to justify. It’s a gift you give yourself.

It wasn’t overnight, and it wasn’t easy. But step by step, I started to trust myself again. The freeze thawed, and those tiny, messy starts began to grow into something more.

I wrote in those once-untouched notebooks, not with perfect ideas, but with raw, imperfect ones that felt alive. I dusted off the DJ set and laughing at the mistakes instead of fearing them. The magic wasn’t in perfection — it was in showing up, in trying, in letting myself create without judgment.

Now, I’m creating regularly again — not always perfectly, but always with joy. Creativity feels like a friend I’ve welcomed back, not a task I have to master.

Your Permission Slip

If you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect idea, or the perfect version of yourself to start creating again, stop waiting.

Write one messy word.
Make one imperfect mark.
Take one shaky, hesitant step forward.

Because messy will always be better than empty.

With love, always.

Gizem

Istanbul, 2024