I think there are two kinds of creative women, generally.
One kind is invested in making her surroundings beautiful, and reliably hers. She uses her imagination to stamp herself into her home, her walls, her papers, her day to day, until she is holding a world of her own making in her hands. Her rooms are color-saturated or modern country, her Ikea billy cases are hacked to look built-in, her front door transitions through the seasons in an ever changing parade of wreaths and planters and carefully arranged gourds. She has sourdough starter babies on her kitchen shelf, and plants kitchen gardens in aesthetically aligned raised beds. For the most part, her world runs as she likes, and little nuisances are swept into her routine maintenance and major catastrophes becomes tests of strength that she will undoubtedly overcome. It's a pretty place, what she has created, and she has made it make sense, to her, but crucially, to so many others, such that she becomes a blueprint that they can live by.
And then the other is birthing multiple worlds in her head, and she must wrestle to make space to let them be. They bloom, sometimes hesitantly, in keyboards and paper, in watercolor and oil, in digital screens, and pain-lined melodies, and chaotically carved flower beds. Sometimes they spill over into wallpapered bathrooms and velvet pouffes, family feasts that borrow palates from China and dishes from Turkey, holidays that yearn to traipse over the world. The worlds in her head change her over and over, just as she herself changes them as she grows. Often she feels trapped in the strictures of her day to day, often she longs to escape, often she can only leave breadcrumbs and the debris of the things she carries. And yet sometimes they are enough. Sometimes, they are beautiful unto themselves and call like-minded souls, reminding us we're not alone, telling us to not be afraid to feel the chaos churn, because our infinite worlds are worth it.
I suppose they overlap too, sometimes.
I am digging into my own head, and finding I need to stop a while. And when I do, I feel the urge to stamp myself into my current space, and make it make sense for the time that I'll be here. But I know I will uproot again, when the churn gets faster and the worlds must hatch and expand and grow. But until then, my flower beds will bloom and my walls will glow with color, and I will be sure to overcome.