The Creative Paradox: How Having Less Time on the Clock Gave Me More Time to Create

When I was a teacher, I had a seemingly infinite number of sick days. But it was often more work to take a day off than it was to drag myself into the classroom and be my own substitute. When my Mother-in-Law died and I took eight days off, my division chair confronted me about how much of an inconvenience my absences were to him. The message was clear: you show up at all costs.

By the time I left teaching in 2022, I was burnt out in a way that feels almost inadequate to describe now. I hated teaching and teaching post-COVID didn’t help. While I was crushed that my program was cut, I was also desperate for an escape route.

The only creative endeavor I had was my weekly 52 Frames photo submission. Even that I barely squeezed in by allowing myself one hour to brainstorm, shoot, edit, and submit my photo. My seven-year streak was the only thing that kept me showing up. Seldom did this photo shoot ever fill my cup up– I was just doing it so that I did SOMETHING creative.

The Vacation Negotiation

My next job came with its own lessons about rest—or the lack of it. Not only did I take a $30,000 pay cut when I left teaching, but I also didn’t get much time off. When I was negotiating my hire at PADS of Elgin, my boss didn’t understand the concept of vacation time. I came with 20 years of work experience. I wasn’t expecting teacher-level PTO, but I did expect more than a new-grad package. I negotiated two weeks of unpaid time off because it was the only way to get breathing room.

My commute was shorter and I was grateful to escape teaching, but the hours were rigid and she didn’t grasp the idea of taking a day off just to take a breath. She took one day off in the entire time I worked for her—to clean out a storage unit.

A year later she was gone and I renegotiated and landed at six weeks total: four weeks paid, two weeks unpaid. Suddenly I could take Christmas break with my husband Tom AND still have time for a real vacation AND take a random Tuesday when I needed it.

Protecting the Asset

Then last year, PADS hired a new executive director who changed everything. She recognized quickly that she couldn’t pay us more—the budget simply wouldn’t allow it. But what she COULD do was offer flexible PTO.

She talks constantly about “protecting the asset.” If you look at our budget, the highest line item is staff salaries. We cost a lot of money. And if we’re burnt out or running on empty, we’re good to no one—least of all the guests we shelter 365 days a year.

Every full-time staff member is encouraged to take at least 15 days off per year. Beyond that? If our work gets done and we communicate with our supervisor, we have incredible flexibility.

My best friend needs a ride to the hospital for a biopsy? I can work remotely. My husband has a doctor’s appointment? I take the day without hesitation. I’m sick as a dog? I stay home.

My work gets done. And it gets done better.

The Morning That Changed Everything

But here’s the part that transformed not just my work, but my creative life: I have complete flexibility with my schedule.

Technically, I start at 9:00 AM. Most days, I’m just leaving my house at 9:00. I’m in my office by 9:15– no more 100 mile round trip commutes.

I haven’t set an alarm—unless I had an early morning appointment—in almost three years.

Every single morning, I wake up leisurely. I do yoga. I work out. I create in the Oodlearium—my creative space. I’m not chasing a few more minutes of rest. I’m not starting my day in deficit, already exhausted before I arrive at work.

I start my day the way I want to. I’ve already filled myself up before my workday even begins.

The Creativity Equation Nobody Talks About

Here’s what nobody told me about creativity: it doesn’t happen in the margins. It doesn’t happen when you’re running on fumes, hoping to squeeze in fifteen minutes before bed if you’re not too tired.

Creativity happens when you’re rested. When you’ve moved your body. When you’ve already created something that morning, just for yourself, with no deadline and no one to please.

For years, I was trying to be creative despite depletion. Now I create from a place of being nourished first.

The teaching years taught me what burnout looks like when it becomes your baseline. The first year at PADS showed me what happens when rest is treated as an indulgence rather than a necessity. And this last year has shown me what’s possible when an organization actually understands that protecting the asset means protecting the whole person.

I work fewer rigid hours than I ever have. I take time off without guilt. I start my mornings in the Oodlearium instead of with a blaring alarm.

And I’ve never been more creative, more productive, or more present in my work.

Turns out, you can’t draw water from an empty well. And you can’t create anything meaningful when you’re too exhausted to think clearly.

The paradox is this: the more space I have to rest, the more I’m able to create. The less I’m chasing time, the more time seems to expand.

Maybe that’s not a paradox at all. Maybe it’s just how humans were meant to work all along.