Unlocking My Creativity

For a long time, I stopped writing.
My school reports called me “too verbose.” In English lessons, I felt unseen — quiet, shrinking, uncertain. I learned to express myself visually, but part of my creative voice stayed hidden.

Now, I’m exploring creativity in all directions — journalling, storytelling, improv, even stand-up — giving space to the voice I once silenced.

These turning points shaped how I work and why I believe creative expression is for everyone.

Here are three of those moments.

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Three Stories About Me

one

Harriet, You’ve Got Such a Vivid Imagination!

"Are you listening to me? Are you?"

I used to let myself be put on mute instantly—shrinking like an unwelcome tiny mouse, crawling back under the rug of expectation. Hiding behind the mismatch of blurred ‘80s curtains, buried under the lingering, dehydrated mashed potato and sweaty, khaki-green petit pois of shame.

Everything is suburbanly suffocating me. I want to rewind this film in my mind, speed up the back-out-of-the-door with my friend under the blue skies and little fluffy clouds, and feel the glowing warm sunshine on my bright red and fed-up skin. I want to run to the upturned tree roots—except now, they’re pushing their luck against the concrete.

What’s wrong with me?

I’m screeching, dancing, laughing, leaping—wild feet and limbs moving to the powerful words of Neneh Cherry. And then, in the next breath, Somebody by Depeche Mode drifts into the darkness of my bedroom, over the empty pile of junk I never once put away. Soft pastel rainbows on the walls, saccharine pink stained with dark grey clouds.

two

The Storm and the Studio

I raise my voice, just a little, to be heard over the wild thrashing storm outside. Paynes grey pounding pellets drum against the windows. Inside, we laugh—this is the film-opening backdrop to my oasis of calm, the place people have paid to find peace.

The scent of lavender lingers. Peaceful piano music drifts through the space. On the table: muted colour palettes, freshly almost-sharp pencils poised, a glass half-full, ready for anyone who needs it.

The doorbell rings, late.

A muddy brown puddle spreads in the hallway. A stranger, soaked and shivering, stands there apologizing. I hand her warm clothes and a soft fluffy towel. She takes the last empty spot at the back of the studio. I pass her the half-full glass of water. She smiles.

We begin—eyes closed, colour in hand.

I watch her sink into the earth. I feel her arrive back home.

"Harriet showed me big magic can happen in five minutes."

The storm vanishes into thin air as quickly as it arrived—until next time.

three

Permission-Given Sweet Shop

I pull on my orange fake fur teenage coat, big DMs, bright purple tights, and a flowery charity shop dress. A cool pink bunny sits in my hair. The nightclub bouncers laugh at me—I laugh back.

We step into the wide-awake morning, into little clouds drifting through the blue skies of wonder.

We fling open slightly unhinged doors of possibility. A patchwork of self-expression, where nothing quite fits—except in the way that re-invention does, when it’s touched by brutally honest human hands.

On the cold concrete floor, there’s an artwork by a fifteen-year-old. It’s about the day her dad left—shrouded in bandages, a solid white plaster cast of a toddler’s pair of shoes.

I am transported to that moment. To the silence of not knowing. The haunting rejection. The whispering voice tugging at the precious tiny hand of all-those-who-know.

And yet—I feel like I’ve finally arrived. Amongst the soulful shoes that just fit.

I’m a kid in a giant, permission-given sweet shop. Peeling back the wrappers of whatever we desire. Delighting in the naturally sweet taste of bold and brave. Crawling into the nooks and crannies of I-never-knew-that-about-you-and-I-feel-it-too.

Basking in the golden sunlight of all the inner fearless toddlers running off to play.

The Principal is smiling, “Just loving it all, H!”

But I can’t receive this. My mind is too loud, looping that relentless admin email, muting the sounds of creative souls transforming in front of me.

At this moment, I have a choice.

I choose to stand with the tiny cast feet, asking awkward questions of being human.

I close my eyes. My foot finds the upturned roots of the earth, pulling me back home—into my vivid imagination.

I’m there. Wondering. Wandering.

And finally, I BREATHE.

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Ready to Unlock Your Creativity?

Whether it’s for your team, your classroom, or yourself, creativity is a powerful way to reconnect, reflect and spark new ideas.

If you’re curious, let’s talk — and create something meaningful together.