2026: The Year of Creativity

When I was in high school, I decided I wanted to be a photographer. A war photographer, specifically. I’d always loved art and music. I attended dozens of art camps as a kid during the summers, loved singing, and played half a dozen instruments (including handbells). My junior year of high school, I was able to get a spot in our photography elective class. I’d always enjoyed taking pictures with my point-and-shoot, but I’d never had the opportunity to truly dive into the vast world of photography.

I fell in love.

In love with the science intertwined with the art of processing film and prints. In love with how drastically an image could change with just a few clicks of a dial or the speed of the shutter. I loved it so much that, at one point, we seriously considered putting a darkroom in my parents’ house. The guy who took my senior pictures—which we didn’t even purchase, sorry, they were not flattering—gave me a vintage enlarger for said darkroom.

In college I attended a university focused on art. I loved my classes, but I was struggling with my mental health. Years earlier, doctors had diagnosed me with depression and ADHD and put me on Zoloft and a high, twice-daily dose of Adderall, without realizing that combination was actually making my symptoms worse—more extreme. In 2017, after many years of mania influencing a majority of my decisions, in turn causing huge, often times negative, impacts to portions of my life, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. But back in 2007, I thought everyone struggled the way I did in college and early adulthood.

We aren’t going to get into all the murky details, but I ended up wasting a lot of the opportunities I had. My decisions and impulses led to me getting mono, which went on to impact the rest of my life. Symptoms eventually linked to chronic illnesses began to pop up shortly after the initial mono infection, but weren't officially linked until 2019.

Alright, I've rambled and jumped around enough. Let’s get back to those college years.

As I said, I squandered a lot of learning opportunities. I think one of the major turning points came when my digital photography professor told me I would never be a war photographer and should start looking into weddings, because that’s where the money was. She then introduced me to the work of An-My Lê—a woman who wanted to be a war photographer but ended up documenting training exercises and rehearsals at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in California. While An-My Lê is a brilliant photographer, that experience wasn't what I wanted.

I felt my vision and dreams crush.

(Please note: in the years that followed, An-My would go on to travel with the Navy around the world, capturing deployments, explorations, and other incredible work.)

After realizing I would never get to do what I’d planned, and coming to terms with the fact that film wasn’t going to be as prevalent in my future, I sort of dragged myself through a few more attempts at college.

Then, in 2009, everything changed.

I was in a toxic, on-again-off-again relationship when I found out I was pregnant with my oldest child. I no longer had the privilege I’d had before—the time, the money, the support to keep trying to graduate with a degree in anything all started to disappear. The person I was with began controlling more and more aspects of my life, and school became impossible.

Once I escaped that relationship, I tried to get back into the swing of things, but a toddler, the need to work, and continued struggles with mania shut down that creative side of my brain. I just wanted a “big girl job” so I could support my daughter. I put the camera down and didn’t really pick it back up for almost ten years. Even then, I only photographed for the church I was attending. Nothing felt creative or inspiring—it just felt like a volunteered task. Me serving because I felt like I needed to for God.

A lot has happened since 2009 - babies, marriages, moves, different roles at different companies, a divorce - and now I find myself here again, with a husband who is supportive of that creative need.

Last year, I started Chronically Chaotic and tried to reclaim my creativity. But I quickly fell into a familiar pattern of not feeling good enough. My art wasn’t as good as someone else’s. My art wasn’t realistic enough. I’m not entertaining. I can’t create captivating content. Excuse after excuse after excuse.

Here we are, January 2026, and I’m determined to change how I think.

I want to create freely without constantly thinking, I’m bad at this or this isn’t any good. I want to focus on improving and learning new skills—not being intimidated by the thought of looking stupid. My goal is to create, to discover what I’m good at and keep working to improve, while also learning new things—without giving up before I even start.

A few projects I’ll be working on and sharing this year:

• “Escaped the TBR Shelf” Cross Stitch Sweatshirt
  I borrowed this idea from LaurensBookDiary11 on TikTok (though I found her through Instagram). For every book I read this year, I’ll stitch something onto one sweatshirt. By the end of 2026, I’ll have a wearable record of everything I’ve read.
• Watercolors & Gouache
  Becoming more carefree in the work I create.
• Making My Own Stationery
  This will include printmaking using a few different methods.

There will be other projects—some involving photography, some using other mediums—but these three are what I’m promising myself I’ll give real, dedicated focus to.

So, what does your 2026 look like? What are your goals, or the things you want to focus on? I’d love for you to share in the comments.

I also highly recommend checking out your local library for resources. Whether your goal is to read more (my reading goal this year is 88 books) or to learn a new skill, there’s a good chance your library has something to help you get started.

And if you’d like to follow along with my journey, I’d love for you to subscribe. It’s free and I promise I won’t spam you. You’ll just get notified whenever I publish a new post here at Chronically Chaotic.