When motivation goes missing

(it's not what you think)

I’ll be honest with you: I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately.

Not a dramatic, staring-at-the-ceiling, questioning-all-my-life-choices slump¹, just that low-grade, background hum of “I should be doing more” that follows you around like a slightly judgmental houseplant. You know the one.

I’ve been freelancing for 25 years. You’d think I’d be immune to this by now. I am not. What I do have is enough scar tissue to recognize what’s actually happening when motivation goes quiet, and it’s almost never what it looks like on the surface.

So this week, let’s talk about it.

The between-projects slump nobody warned you about

One month you’re turning down work because you’re completely swamped. The next, you’re refreshing your email hourly, hoping for literally anything. Your Instagram feed is full of illustrators apparently drowning in exciting projects while your inbox resembles a digital ghost town.

This inconsistency isn’t just hard on your bank account: it wreaks havoc on your creative confidence.

When you’re busy, motivation is that reliable friend who shows up with coffee exactly when you need it. Deadlines create urgency (nothing like mild panic to fuel productivity, thanks ADHD brain²), client feedback gives direction, and the promise of payment keeps you moving. But when those external motivators disappear?

Suddenly your sketchbook looks less like an opportunity and more like an avoidance to get back to it. Fun times!

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Do you need a break, or a pep talk?

Here’s where it gets tricky. Sometimes what looks like a motivation crisis is actually your brain sending up emergency flares that scream FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, TAKE A NAP. Other times, what feels like fatigue is actually fear in disguise — and what you need is to push through the resistance.

How can you tell the difference? Ask yourself:

• When did I last take intentional time off? Not just days between projects, but actual restorative Netflix-without-guilt kind of rest?

• Does thinking about drawing something just for myself feel exciting once I get past the initial “ughhh” barrier? Or does it make me want to leave everything and tend goats on a remote farm?³

• Am I avoiding drawing entirely, or just certain parts of my practice?

If you’ve been grinding for months without a real break, your creative well may simply be dry. Rest isn’t a reward, it’s maintenance.

But if you’ve been in a prolonged slump and find yourself avoiding your sketchbook altogether, you might need the pep talk instead. Sometimes motivation only comes back after you start moving the pencil.

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Here’s the thing nobody says out loud

A lot of what looks like a motivation problem is actually a clarity problem.

When you know who you are as a creative — what makes your work yours, who it’s for, what you’re building toward — the slow periods still happen, but they don’t swallow you whole. You have something to return to. An anchor.

Without that anchor, every quiet week feels like evidence that you’re on the wrong path. Every unanswered pitch feels personal. Every scroll through someone else’s highlight reel feels like a verdict.

It’s not a verdict, it’s just noise. But clarity is what helps you hear the difference.

More on that in the coming weeks. For now — back to the pep talk.

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It takes longer than anyone admits

We live in a world of 30-second transformation videos and overnight success stories that casually omit the decade of struggle beforehand. That illustrator whose career you’re jealous of — the one with the distinctive style and impressive client list? They absolutely had fallow periods where they questioned every life choice. They just don’t post about those parts.

Every meaningful creative accomplishment is built on a foundation of showing up repeatedly, often when it felt about as appealing as a root canal. Those quiet periods between projects aren’t voids — they’re where your most important (and least Instagram-worthy) growth happens.

Give yourself permission to work slowly and imperfectly. Set tiny, almost embarrassingly achievable goals. Consistent baby steps will get you further than occasional heroic sprints followed by weeks of creative coma.

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When did you last actually celebrate?

Let me ask you something that might make you squirm: when did you last celebrate your progress? Not the obvious wins everyone can see — the book deal, the viral post, the magazine credit — but the small victories only you might notice?

We are Olympic-level champions at moving goalposts. We accomplish something we once dreamed about, then immediately set our sights on the next shiny thing without so much as a high-five to ourselves.

Take a moment (yes, right now) to think about what you’ve accomplished in the past year that would make your year-ago self lose their mind with excitement. What skills have you developed? What fears have you faced?

These victories deserve more than a passing nod. They deserve cake. Definitely cake⁴.

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Practical things that actually help

When you’re in the thick of it, here’s what works for me:

Create structure when none exists. Set studio hours that work for YOUR rhythm. Develop rituals that signal to your brain it’s time to create — I use music and a scented candle that is aggressively named something like “forest meditation”⁵. Try time-blocking: from 10–12 I work on this thing, no matter what. Find an accountability buddy who will lovingly harass you if you disappear.

Reconnect with your why. Keep a folder of nice messages from clients or followers. Label it something like READ WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE GARBAGE. Write a letter to your future self about your creative dreams — make it embarrassingly sappy, no one has to see it. Look at your earliest illustrations not to cringe (inevitable) but to marvel at how far you’ve come.

Plant seeds for future work. Update your portfolio. Send a past client a no-pressure check-in. Work on your Bitching Pitching List™. Create a targeted series for your dream client as if they’ve already hired you. Manifest that job into existence through sheer artistic will.

Feed your creative well. Visit a gallery and play “steal this technique.” Study illustrators (or any artist) completely different from you — cross-pollination creates the most interesting mutations. Go for walks. Urban sketching counts as leaving the house AND being productive, which feels like cheating in the best way.

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This too shall pass

Creative careers are cyclical. The quiet times aren’t something to endure, they’re part of the ride. If you’ve been doing this for any length of time, you know that eventually, often when you least expect it, the email arrives, the phone rings, and suddenly you’re longing for those quiet studio days.

So breathe. Draw something ridiculously impractical today. Make art that makes you snort-laugh. Trust that the work you do now, in this in-between space, isn’t wasted — it’s secretly laying the groundwork for everything good that’s coming.

See you next week. 💙
Valerie xo
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P.S. I've been quietly building something for illustrators who are tired of feeling unclear about who they are and what they're building toward. If that sentence just made you exhale a little, you might want to be on the waitlist. No commitment, just first access when it opens. → [link] for early bird pricing.

1. That was last Tuesday.

2. Officially diagnosed now. A lot of things made sense after that.

3. Legitimate life choice. No judgment. The goats need someone.

4. I'm serious about the cake. This is not a metaphor.

5. It's called Cedarwood & Clarity. I did not choose it ironically.