When stress and anxiety take hold, thoughts can feel overwhelming — like being pulled under the surface by something unseen. In this reflective piece on creative life coaching for anxiety and overwhelm, I explore the powerful metaphor of a rip current and how gentle practices like drawing, walking in nature, and naming the feeling we want to move towards can help us find calm again. This is not about fixing yourself, but about softly returning to steadiness, breath, and self-kindness.
There are moments when the mind does not feel like a quiet place to rest. Instead, it feels like the sea in poor weather. It’s a pull beneath the surface, invisible, but powerful, and a sense of being dragged somewhere you didn’t choose to go.
Stress… Anxiety… That looping feeling of being caught, tugged, and held in place.
Many people describe it as overthinking. Others call it worry. Some simply say, “I feel stuck.” In my work, both as an artist and a creative life coach, the image that returns again and again is this:
A rip current.
From the shore, the sea can look calm. But underneath, there is force… Resistance… Movement that does not let you stand still. And when you fight it, when you thrash against it, you only grow more tired.
When my thoughts begin to feel like this, I don’t try to fix them. I don’t tidy them up or reason with them, or tell myself I should feel differently.
Instead, I draw.
I sit with pencil and watercolour and let the current move onto the paper.
I draw myself, sometimes as a form, sometimes as a line, sometimes barely recognisable.
Around me, I draw the thoughts that keep circling. The worries that repeat. The emotions that bump into each other.
There is no plan. No expectation of beauty or judgement of skill. Just movement.
This part matters: nothing needs to be a masterpiece. It is not about outcome; it is about process.
Be as messy as you like. Let the pencil press too hard. Let the paint bleed where it wants to. The paper can hold what you are carrying, from movement to stillness.
After the current has been drawn, something shifts. It may not be a dramatic shift, not all at once, but there is space.
Then I create the calm sea… The quieter water… The place where the surface softens… Where breath slows.
In that calmer space, I write the feeling I want to feel.
Not because I feel it yet, but because I am naming it.
This matters too. We are often very good at naming what hurts, and very hesitant to name what we want.
I want to pause here, because this is something I say often in my sessions:
You’re not doing it wrong if your mind feels busy. You’re not failing if your thoughts loop, and you’re not broken because you feel overwhelmed. You are human.
The brain’s job is to protect, anticipate, and scan for danger. In times of stress, it simply works harder — sometimes too hard — and we feel the pull.
Creative practices like drawing, walking, or working with the hands give the nervous system a different rhythm. And this is important. They move us from thinking about life to being in it.
One of my clients, Matilda, is fourteen. She’s bright, thoughtful, and deeply sensitive. Right now, life at home feels unsettled. Her parents are arguing a lot. Voices raised. Doors closing. That heavy atmosphere that fills a house when no one quite knows what to say, but everyone feels it.
Matilda doesn’t always have the words for what’s happening inside her. She just knows her stomach feels tight, her shoulders creep up,and her thoughts spin at night.
When Matilda first came to a session, she said,
“I feel like I’m in the middle of something, but I don’t know where to stand.”
So we didn’t start with talking. We started with paper. I invited her to draw the feeling — not the situation, not the people — just the sense of it.
She drew fast. Bold lines. Repeated shapes circling in on themselves.
“This is my head”, she said quietly.
There was no correcting. No analysing. Just noticing. Then, once the movement had somewhere to go, I asked a simple question:
“If this page could become calmer, what would you add?”
She paused. Then she softened the pressure. She added water and let colours spread.
At the edge of the page, she wrote one word:
Calm.
Not because calm was present — but because calm was needed.
This practice has become something Matilda now uses at home. When the noise rises, when she feels pulled into something that isn’t hers to fix, she draws. It doesn’t change her parents’ arguments, but it changes her relationship to the feelings those arguments create. And that is powerful.
We often think of creativity as something extra.
But creativity is older than that. It is how humans have always processed fear, change, grief, and uncertainty. Long before we had language for mental health, we had marks on cave walls. Rhythms. Repetition. Story.
Practices such as creative life coaching for anxiety and overwhelm regulate the nervous system because they:
You do not have to be “good” at art. You do not have to show anyone or understand what appears. The only thing you have to do is let it move.
Alongside drawing, one of the most grounding tools I use in life coaching is the nature walk. Not power walking… Not goal-oriented walking… Just walking.
Trees do not rush you. Paths do not ask you to perform. And the ground holds you without question.
I often invite clients to walk with one question, rather than many thoughts.
For example:
You don’t need answers straight away. Sometimes the answer comes as a sensation. It might be a loosening or a breath that drops lower. Sometimes it comes later, when you least expect it.
Nature has a way of organising what feels tangled.
If your thoughts feel like a rip current right now, here are some gentle questions to explore — on paper, on a walk, or simply in quiet moments:
And perhaps the most important one:
The calm sea is not permanent… and that’s okay.
It’s important to say this gently and honestly:
The calm sea does not stay forever. Neither does the current. Life moves. Emotions rise and fall. Stress returns. Then eases. Then returns again.
The work is not about staying calm at all times. It is about learning how to come back.
Back to the body… to the breath… to something solid beneath your feet.
Drawing, walking, creating… These are not escapes. They are returns.
I want to end where we began.
Remember: you’re not making a masterpiece. This is not about producing something beautiful. It’s about being honest.
Messy pages are welcome. Unfinished thoughts are welcome. You are welcome exactly as you are.
So I’ll leave you with this:
What are you caught in right now?
And, just as importantly, what would you like to feel instead?
You don’t have to reach the shore today. Sometimes, it’s enough to stop fighting the water
and let yourself float… until the pull begins to loosen
Sometimes the way back to calm isn’t through more thinking, but through creating, walking, and coming home to the body.
In my creative life coaching coaching sessions, we use gentle creative practices and nature-based reflection to help you process what you’re carrying — and move towards what you need.
If this speaks to you, I’d love to support you with creative life coaching for anxiety and overwhelm. You can find out more about working with me here or book a free 30-minute discovery call.

February 2, 2026