How to Stay Creative When You're Tired of Everything

There are days, sometimes weeks, when nothing feels worth it. You open your notebook or your laptop and every idea feels flat. The spark you used to chase feels like it belongs to somebody else. Everything you see feels derivative, everything you write feels forced, and the projects you were once excited about now feel like obligations you can't quite escape.

I don't think we talk about that enough.

We talk about burnout in terms of work, of exhaustion, of stress. But there's a specific kind of creative fatigue that doesn't always come from overworking. Sometimes it comes from monotony. From scrolling through the same kind of content, seeing the same ideas repackaged in different fonts, watching trends cannibalise themselves before they even fully form.

It's a kind of spiritual tiredness. A weariness of novelty.

And yet, even in those seasons, I've found there are ways to stay close to the creative part of myself, even when I'm not actively creating. Not every season has to be about output. Some seasons are about gathering. About paying attention. About quietly refilling the tank in ways you don't even realise are working until the spark finds its way back.

Here's what I've learned.

First, get boring.

The world will tell you that you need to stay "inspired" to be creative, but sometimes what you need is the opposite. Let yourself be bored. Turn off the podcasts and the endless scroll of curated feeds. Take a long aimless walk. Stare at a wall. Do the dishes without music. Boredom is underrated. It creates space for your mind to wander, and in that wandering, odd connections start to form. Some of my best ideas arrived not when I was chasing them, but when I was trying to remember if I had any more dish soap.

Second, touch things.

I mean this literally. When everything feels digital and detached, get your hands on something physical. Bake bread. Rearrange your bookshelf. Scribble nonsense on a piece of paper. Paint terribly. Fix a leaky tap. Creativity is a tactile thing. It lives in your hands as much as your head. And when you engage with the physical world, you're reminding your brain how to be curious again.

Third, consume outside your lane.

If you're a writer, stop reading writing advice. If you're a designer, stop scrolling through design Twitter (or X, as it is known nowadays). When your world starts to feel small, it usually means you're only feeding yourself what's immediately around you. Read about how plats survive in the desert. Watch a documentary about ancient cities. Listen to a genre of music you typically won't listen to. Cross-pollinate your curiosity. It works.

Fourth, talk to weird people.

Not literal weirdos (unless that's your thing), but people outside your industry, your niche, your bubble. A retired chef. A mechanic. A kindergarten teacher. People who don't care about your metrics or your mailing list. Conversations like that remind you how much bigger the world is than your follower count. And how ideas, when left to collide with other ideas, often turn into better ones.

Lastly, let it be okay to rest.

The myth of constant productivity is exhausting. Some seasons aren't about making things. They're about surviving them. About paying attention to what moves you, even if you're too tired to act on it. You don't owe anyone endless momentum.

I used to panic when I hit these creative dry spells. I would beat myself up for not being consistent, for letting projects stall, for losing my spark. But over time, I realised that the quiet stretches were never wasted. They were doing invisible work. Healing work. Making room for whatever was coming next.

The spark always comes back. It's stubborn like that.