The "Drammatical Sabbatical" — 25 Tips for the Burnt-Out Creative

We’ve been taught that real artists never stop.
That if you’re not always producing, you must not be serious. That’s a lie.
 
I welcome you, dear reader, to honor the sacred pause—the breath between acts, the quiet before the curtain rises again.

Look. I love art. I love making it, thinking about it, being dramatic about it. But sometimes? Art is the reason I’m lying face-down on my carpet Googling “how to get out of literally anything.” If you’re reading this, there’s a 92% chance you’ve got a half-finished project whisper-screaming your name from under a pile of laundry, and your muse is somewhere in the backyard hiding under a lawn chair.
Burnout is real. It’s sneaky. One minute you’re like “yay creativity!” and the next you’re hate-watching a toddler paint on TikTok and yelling “WHY IS HE MORE PRODUCTIVE THAN ME?!” 

You don’t need another lecture about discipline. You need a break. A soft, juicy, permission-soaked summer of not trying to win a Pulitzer by Labor Day.

Sometimes we chase productivity because we’re afraid of the quiet. 

But stillness isn’t laziness. It’s rebellion. 

You don’t have to earn your peace. You just have to let yourself feel safe enough to rest. 

Burnout isn’t failure. It’s your body begging for wholeness. 

You’re Not Lazy. You’re just a Toasted Marshmallow in a Human Suit

In a culture that trains us to hustle harder, prove ourselves endlessly, and tie our worth to our output—rest becomes radical. 

For artists especially, rest is not optional. It’s how we refill the well. It’s how we remember we’re not machines. It’s how we hear the quiet voice of inspiration again. When you rest, you are not “falling behind.” You’re reclaiming your time. Your nervous system. Your dignity. Your right to be before you do.
 
So I made this list. A list of 25 nourishing, soul-restoring things a burnt-out artist might do during a “summer break” to recover their creativity. Not of “ways to maximize your output” (ew), but of things that might gently coax your soul back into the room after it peaced-out sometime around mid-April. Some are sweet. Some are weird. Some are borderline unhinged. But all of them are here to help you feel like an artist who still has a pulse, not a productivity robot who ran out of battery.

Do one. Do twenty-five. Do none and just lie on your porch drinking a cherry Coke while thinking about doing one. There’s no wrong way to resurrect your weird, wild magic.

 25 Ways for Burnt-Out Artists to Heal Over a Summer Break

1. Take an intentional creative sabbatical (with no guilt). I call mine the "Dramatical Sabbatical" and it not only always gets a smirk and a "that's funny" but it also REALLY WORKS. 
 
2. Delete your social media apps for a week. Or a month. Or forever. 
 
3. Revisit the art you loved before it paid your bills. Just go as a spectator. Be the little kid losing their mind in the audience that screams “I LOVE MUSICALS!!!” at curtain call like a lunatic. Be a giant nerd. Geek out. Turn on music and don't pick it apart, just enjoy it. Read a book and get swept away, instead of writing a review as you read it. You get it. 
 
4. Start a “No Project Journal.” Start a notebook for ideas that don’t have to become anything. 
5. Go analog. Write by hand. Collage. Touch paper again. 
6. Give yourself a week of “bad art on purpose.” (Messy, silly, rule-breaking—just for joy.) 
7. Unsubscribe. Untether yourself from 10 email lists that flood your nervous system with “shoulds.” (Sending them to junk is acceptable too, if unsubscribing is more trouble than its worth)
8. Read something that has nothing to do with your career. Have you heard of reading for pleasure? It’s excellent. 10/10 would recommend.
9. Make one room in your home a “creative sanctuary.” Not for work, just for wonder.
10. Move your body gently. No performance, no punishment—just movement as medicine.
11. Say “no” to something that drains you. Don’t over-explain, and practice this with grace and kindness.
12. Plan an “mute or unfollow party.” Curate your feed with people who inspire, not exhaust. (You can always look the exhausting people up if you need to know what's going on. Once upon a time people sought out news, not news seeking out people. replicate this as best you can in the 21st century)
13. Do an Artist’s Date every week. (à la The Artist’s Way) Indulge in a solo, joyful, inspiration-forward and deliciously unproductive date with your inner artist who is screaming for a playdate. 
14. Wake up early. For the purpose of "not rushing." Just to exist. To sip. To breathe. 
15. Take a “no content” walk. No phone. No podcasts. Just listen to the world. And if you see a perfect flower or a cute dog? Take this opportunity to resist filming it, and use your five senses to simply commit it to memory like our damn ancestors had to do. 
16. Lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. Really. Let yourself do nothing.
17. Reclaim a childhood hobby you left behind. Macramé, piano, horses, whatever.
18. Write a “permission slip” to yourself. e.g., “I’m allowed to rest without proving my worth.” 
19. Join a workshop or retreat as a participant, not a performer.
20. Write a love letter to your creativity. Especially if you’re mad at it.
21. Rewatch a movie that made you fall in love with storytelling.
22. Try a “no outcome” art day. Create without documenting, posting, or polishing. Just enjoy the sensations. 
23. Declare one whole day “sacred.” No work, no obligations, no guilt.
24. Ask your body what it needs and actually listen. Rest? Get thee to bed. What I call “beauty secrets?” Break out the nail polish. Silence? Embrace it. Connecting with friends? Call them all or go see them. Crafts? Go nuts. Address your actual human needs. 
25. Remember: your art doesn’t need you to hustle. It needs you to come back to yourself

 
 
If all you do this summer is breathe, nap, pet something soft, and scream into a decorative pillow once a week? That’s still “a healing season.” Burnout doesn’t mean you’re broken — it means you’ve been very alive in a system that doesn’t care if you fry. 

Take your time. 
Fill your well. 
Turn down gigs that feel like punishment. 
Eat a peach in the bathtub. 
Let your inner art goblin resurface when she’s good and ready.

Because she’s coming back!!
And you are, too. 
I promise.