Notes on Creating While Grieving

Plus, 3 Ways I’m Taking Extra Good Care of Myself Right Now

The acrylic paints pictured above aren’t mine. They belong to my bonus dad¹.

BELONGED. I’m still not used to talking about him in the past tense.

At the end of February, he died suddenly from a catastrophic brain bleed following a fall outside my sister’s home in Australia.

Nearing the end of their month-long trip down under, he and my mum were just getting back from lunch with family nearby. The accident took place early on Tuesday afternoon, and my mum was aware of his prognosis by around 5pm the same day. She would spend the next 12 hours at his bedside.

Back in the UK, I woke as I usually do at 6am. I made my way downstairs, poured myself a cup of tea, and started turning the lights on in the living room. I heard my phone vibrate at around 6.15am, saw my sister’s name flash up, and immediately knew something terrible had happened.

I spent the day in a strange kind of limbo – making calls, waiting for news, and feeling very far away from the people I most wanted to be with.

We were eating our evening meal as a family when my mum’s text came through. For us, it was Tuesday evening. For her, it was the early hours of Wednesday morning.

And just like that, he was gone.

Navigating a ‘Drop Everything Emergency’

It took me around 24 hours to decide I was going to fly to Australia. What happened next is all a bit of a blur, but somehow, I managed to pack and prepare for at least four weeks away in just a couple of days.

So, as March began, I found myself in the southern hemisphere – supporting my family, completing masses of complicated death admin², and ultimately planning a cremation while also continuing to run my copywriting business.

We did so much in those weeks, and not all of it was awful. There was plenty of warm weather, beach walks at sunset, and lots of quality time with my sister and niece. But it was also painful, sad, and surreal.

Losing Time

When we finally made it home to the UK, it was almost April. When I left, it was still winter, and when I returned, it was spring. Literally – the clocks went forward a couple of days after we landed. I feel like I lost a whole month of my life. Four weeks on, I’m not sure my brain has caught up.

Intellectually, I know what happened and I understand what we went through in the aftermath, but emotionally, I’m still confused, still searching, still trying to make sense of it all.

This isn’t my first rodeo. I lost my ‘real’ dad³ to cancer when I was 22, so you could say grief and trauma are old friends of mine. But knowing what to expect and actually moving through it are two different things.

I’d like to think my past experiences make me more resilient, but some days I’m not so sure. What do you mean I’ve got no dads left? Seems a bit unfair.

Notes on Creating While Grieving

My relationship with creative play currently feels complicated.

I travelled to Australia with some journaling supplies, but I only reached for them once or twice. Then, when I got home, it took me a while to find my way back to my normal rhythm. Mainly because nothing feels normal after such a significant loss.

Although I feel the pull to create and play, I often lack the motivation to try. Gathering supplies, setting up, and getting started feels overwhelming. I know making something would make me feel better, but picking an activity or choosing a task to focus on feels impossible.

In these moments, I feel restless and untethered. After more than two years of successfully prioritising creative play, perhaps you’ll understand why this feels like such an unsettling, dramatic shift.

Rather than being steady and constant, the creative energy I do have seems to arrive in sudden bursts. A couple of weeks ago, I finished my Oslo travel scrapbook in a frenzy of cutting, sticking, and journaling. On another occasion, I spent a whole day creating flat-lays, taking photos and shooting videos.

These long, absorbing stretches of making definitely fill my cup, but they also feel like an attempt to distract myself from some of my more overwhelming emotions. Should I be creating through grief, or should I just be crying?

I feel like I need to end this section with some kind of positive affirmation about healing and moving forward with my life, but I’m just not there yet.

They say grief comes in waves. At the moment, they’re still 100 feet tall and ten seconds apart, knocking the breath from my lungs. No amount of scrapbooking or baking or tending to my garden is going to fix that, but I guess it gives me something to do while I wait for the waves to subside and come further apart.

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3 Ways I’m Taking Extra Good Care of Myself Right Now

1. Walking Often

In general, chronic illness makes daily exercise pretty tough, so I’m grateful I’ve been able to get outside and walk so much in the last few weeks. It definitely helps.

Taking a ‘silly little walk for my mental health’ has become a cherished part of my evening routine. Just before or after I’ve made dinner, I pull on my trainers and my headphones, stick on a playlist, and walk to a nearby nature reserve. Most days, I have a good cry as I take in the view.

2. Sleeping Lots

Grief is exhausting. Truly. I know I need more sleep at the moment and I’m doing everything I can to ensure I get it. I’m taking naps during the day, going to bed early at night, and regularly sleeping through my morning alarm.

3. Slowing Down

In the immediate aftermath of my bonus dad’s death, when I’m sure adrenaline was coursing through our bodies, everything felt incredibly urgent. Some things were, but some things definitely weren’t. To avoid spiraling, we made a conscious effort to slow down and prioritise tasks based on facts rather than how fast our hearts were racing at the time.

To be honest, my nervous system still hasn’t fully recovered, so I’m continuing to lean on this strategy. Rushing feels too much like ‘fight or flight’, so whatever I’m doing, I’m doing it slowly and gently.

I’m also making a concerted effort to reduce my screentime. On my worst days, scrolling is such a tempting way to dissociate, but it doesn’t make me feel good in the long run.

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I thought I’d close this post with some photos of my bonus dad’s art. I once asked him if he’d always been creative. He laughed and said he wasn’t. We were surrounded by his paintings at the time.

I didn’t understand his response at the time, but now I think I do. For my bonus dad, making things wasn’t about ‘being creative’, it was simply a way to fill his days and keep life interesting. He was endlessly curious and always open to being inspired, trying new things, learning, and experimenting – a poster boy for everything I believe creative play should be!

How lucky I was to have him in my life for so long.

1. Bonus dad = step-dad. It always felt like a more fitting title {and we were using it long before Gwyneth Paltrow caught on!}

2. Death admin is always complicated, but dying overseas takes it to a whole new level. As if that wasn’t enough, my bonus dad was Danish. Although he lived in the UK for over 60 years, he never applied for full citizenship, which meant the British consulate couldn’t help us and we were unable to repatriate his body home. Fun!

3. I see no difference between my biological family and my step-family. In the end, my bonus dad was in my life longer than my ‘real’ dad. He watched me grow up, he gave me away on my wedding day, and he’s been a grandfather to both my children. What some people would call a ‘blended family’ is the only family I’ve ever known.