Creative Practice with Chronic Illness: Tips for Entrepreneurs

As a kid I didn’t need to call it a creative practice.

I liked drawing, so I drew all the time—often on paper rolls stretched across white tablecloths in restaurants while the adults talked and drank. I was an only child, and despite the minivan my parents bought in hopes of more kids or a future cadre of friends, I spent most of my time alone or with people decades older than me.

Isolation and privilege: fertile ground for creativity.

I kept journals and modeled myself after Harriet the Spy, who had a dumbwaiter much like the one in our downtown DC apartment. I ate tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches like Harriet. I sat alone under a tree at recess, observing classmates, like Harriet.

I filled stacks of marble-bound composition notebooks (because it was the ’90s). At some point, a classmate got hold of one and I was so mortified, I destroyed them all.

That embarrassment never really left—it just mutated. The watchful eye became critical teachers. Then more talented creatives. When you spend your time watching others and scribbling about them, it’s easy to imagine they’re watching and judging you too.

A creative practice has returned now that I live with chronic illness

Now that I’m older, and living with multiple chronic conditions, I’ve restructured my life in many ways. Cultivating a creative practice has cropped up naturally as I build my own self-employed schedule. My body doesn’t always give me consistent energy, so I’ve had to unlearn hustle culture and instead design a rhythm that honors my health.

A friend recently reminded me of Julia Cameron’s 12-week recovery program for “blocked” artists called the Artist’s Way. The main ingredients of the program are writing every day and taking yourself on solo dates to find inspiration. It urges me to structure my life around seeking joy and honoring a creative practice. This is coming at just the right time. I’ve been clearing out what’s gotten in the way of my art and health: leaving a part-time job, ending an exhausting relationship, and now I’m left with….myself.

This past April, Suleika Jaouad—best known for her cancer memoir and pandemic-era newsletter The Isolation Journals—released her own take on The Artist’s Way. Journaling has been her steady anchor since childhood, a way to process the highs and lows of life. Jaoud and Cameron have helped me rediscover journaling. This practice anchors me in the wisdom I have within myself to lead the life that I want.

Can I create my own structure?

It’s a question every business owner has to answer. For a long time, my answer was no.

I didn’t think I was disciplined. I looked to other people—bosses, parents, teachers—to “tame” me. But recently, I’ve realized I do have routines. I’ve been building structures.

What I’ve learned about habits: they stick better when they cluster. I already have a solid morning ritual, a firm boundary around not working after dinner, and a sedative-assisted 9:30 p.m. bedtime. Tacking a new creative habit onto one of those anchors gives it a real shot at survival.

I’m also learning not to punish myself when I inevitably don’t write every day. Esmé Weijun Wang, author and mental health advocate, cautions against rigid expectations for those of us with medical limitations. Sometimes you just can’t write every day. 

Another source of support: meetups for people living with chronic illness. The time-boxed format and gentle Zoom accountability help me carve out space for art. One of my anchors has been the Chronic Boss Collective, a community of ambitious women living with chronic illness. Here, I donn’t have to over-explain or shrink myself. I can show up exactly as I am: messy, motivated, and in progress. 

Building structure through practice

Building a creative practice has been about practice rather than perfection. You can read about my latest art projects on my substack where I recommend other artists inspired by their chronic illnesses. Sometimes looking at other artists’ work has the same effect as a blank page—where do I even start? It’s all been done before!

Cameron calls those thoughts “blurts”—the inner critic that pipes up before you even begin. One of the first goals of The Artist’s Way is learning to quiet that voice.

For those of us living with chronic illness, the “blurts” don’t just whisper about artistic inadequacy. They echo fears of being unreliable, unproductive, too much or not enough. Creating anyway feels like an act of defiance and self-trust.

Whether your creative practice looks like a daily masterpiece or a scribbled note in the margins, it counts. Especially when you’re doing it with a body that demands rest. If you’re trying to build something meaningful while managing your health, know that you’re not alone. We’re doing it together, one page, one practice at a time.

Author: Sarah