Does Happiness Kill Creativity?

I got everything I wanted—and then I stopped creating

Being creative makes us happy.
But what if happiness kills creativity?

And no—I’m not here to glamorize the tired trope of tortured artists chain-smoking through heartbreak or spiraling on mushrooms in Topanga.
Although, let’s be honest, sometimes that works too (IYKYK).

There’s been a flood of essays about how motherhood leaves women not knowing who they are anymore. That’s never been true for me. Motherhood was the one thing I always wanted. I didn’t lose myself when I had kids—I found something I’d been waiting for.

Maybe it’s because I came into it later. There’s a kind of clarity that happens when you become a mom after you’ve already been a woman. It felt more of me, not less.

So I’d roll my eyes at those “I lost myself” essays. It never made sense to me to see motherhood as a place of lack. It felt so abundant—an exponential opportunity for growth.

(And yes, I’m fully aware I’m speaking from a place of privilege. Not everyone has the support, the health, or the headspace to experience it this way. Postpartum depression is real. But for those of us who don’t fall into that category—it also feels limiting to pretend it’s always a tragedy.)

Still, I’ve been surprised to notice this: while I feel deeply alive and expansive as a mother, I’ve felt a little... dead creatively.

Happiness had me stagnant.

There was no fire in me anymore. I had gotten what I wanted—the husband, the kids (still manifesting the girl & the wealth & the toned body), but hey I live in a nice house, in a safe area, we are all healthy. And given the world is falling apart, it feels like a privilege bubble. Which is great. But also? It leaves me in a limbo.

I’m not unhappy. I’m not anxious or falling apart. I’m not even bored.
I’m just… fine.
Which, for someone who’s always been moved by fire, feels like death.

There’s no urgency. No ache. No rawness to pull from.
And without that? My ideas feel flat.

There was a whole era of my life where I only read poetry by women who didn’t survive themselves. Alfonsina Storni. Alejandra Pizarnik. Love them both. I genuinely believed greatness came from suffering—from daring to push the limits of pain, of feeling, of form. That you had to bleed for the words to be any good.

So to now find myself here—content, safe, loved—is disorienting.
I used to write from the edge. Now I live in the middle.
And I don’t quite know how to create from here.

Am I being ungrateful?
Is this just the part where I’m supposed to enjoy it?
Or—am I supposed to be in full hustle mode, scaling the startup, monetizing the newsletter, branding my motherhood into a lifestyle and launching a new product line while I’m at it?

Capitalism wants me in hypergrowth. My nervous system wants a nap.
So what’s the move?

Yesterday I read something that said:
“Survival lies in sanity. Sanity lies in paying attention.” —Julia Cameron.
And it hit me hard.

Because parenting requires attention. Constant, obsessive attention.
But not the soulful kind. Not the kind that inspires poems or insights or connection.
It’s the survival kind. Is the baby breathing? Did someone eat? Who needs sunscreen? Is that a fever or just a hot forehead?

It’s not attention as in presence. It’s vigilance.

We’re told women are great at multitasking—and we are. But just because we can do it all… does that mean we should?

Because the more we split our attention, the less of it there is to actually feel anything.
And creativity doesn’t come from chaos. It comes from noticing. From stillness. From the space between things.

Maybe this is why I’ve felt uninspired. And maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe some of you feel it too—not because we’re not trying hard enough, or doing enough, or branding ourselves well enough.

But because we’re too maxed out to pay attention.

And if joy lives in attention—if the good stuff comes from being awake—then it makes sense why we’re all kind of stuck.

So maybe it’s not happiness that kills creativity.
Maybe it’s the constant noise.
The logistics.
The mental tabs that never close.

Maybe the lesson is that creativity isn’t random. It’s not some lightning bolt that shows up when the house is finally quiet.

It’s a muscle. A habit. A thing we have to make time for—on purpose.

Stillness isn’t a luxury; it’s a requirement.

If we want to create, we have to start paying attention again.
Not just to our kids, or our partners, or the world falling apart—
but to ourselves.

Victoria

If this made you laugh, nod in agreement, or immediately think of someone who needs to read it, go ahead and tap that little heart—it helps more people (including the lurkers) find this.

For more questionable takes and semi-useful life insights, come hang out on Instagram—follow me @victoriadela_fuente for behind-the-scenes nonsense, and while you’re at it, give Zillion Trillion a follow too. Because let’s be honest—your feed could always use one more mildly chaotic account.