Creating Something Larger

What I Wish People Understood About "Creating Something Larger"

You know that thing where people say, “Just create something amazing!” like it’s a simple tap on the shoulder? Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: That’s the most toxic advice for anyone trying to make something meaningful. I’ve been waiting for that lightning strike since 2003, and let’s be real—it’s not how it works.

Common Misunderstanding: Creating something larger (a book, a song, a community project, even a decent casserole) happens in a flash of genius. You just know it, and boom—done.

Reality: It’s mostly me staring at a blank page at 2 a.m., wondering if I should just order pizza and call it a day. It’s showing up when the “spark” is buried under laundry, anxiety, and the crushing weight of “What if I’m not good enough?” It’s writing one terrible paragraph, then another, then realizing maybe it’s not terrible. It’s the 3 a.m. panic that I’m wasting everyone’s time.

Why It Matters: When we think creation is a magical, effortless thing, we shame ourselves for the messy, slow, human process. We think we’re broken because we’re not producing like a machine. But here’s the truth: the struggle is the work. The “something larger” isn’t born in a moment—it’s built in the moments you show up anyway.

I used to believe if I wasn’t inspired, I wasn’t “creating.” Now I know: inspiration is a bonus. Discipline is the real MVP. It’s the 10 minutes of writing while my anxiety screams, “You’re wasting time!” It’s the courage to share something imperfect because done is better than perfect.

And yes, I still have days where I want to quit. Anyway, that’s my trauma response to the “just create” pressure. But the thing that keeps me going? Knowing that the people who need that “something larger” aren’t waiting for a perfect spark. They’re waiting for the real thing—the one made with all the messy, human stuff in it.

So next time you hear someone say, “Just create,” tell them: “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for that lightning strike since 2003. But hey, I’ll keep writing anyway.”

— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry