When I came home from college, I found a stack of my old artwork shoved into the back of a drawer. I pulled them out, expecting to feel a little nostalgic, but instead, I was mostly horrified. The drawings looked stiff, awkward, even unrecognizable from what I had originally imagined. I caught myself thinking, How did I ever think this was good?
And honestly, that feeling stuck with me for a bit. It’s humbling to realize how your standards change over time. But it’s also kind of incredible. Because that discomfort, that cringe, is proof that I’ve grown.
That growth doesn’t always take years either. Sometimes, it only takes a week.
One of the clearest examples of that happened recently. I had been working on a charcoal drawing of a cat in class. I remember being so frustrated during the first session. No matter how hard I tried, the proportions were off, the expression looked flat, and I couldn’t get the fur texture right. I left that class feeling pretty defeated. I didn’t even want to look at the drawing again.
But a week later, we returned to the same piece. I hadn’t practiced more, I hadn’t switched tools, I just gave myself time to step away. When I sat back down with fresh eyes, everything looked different. I saw what needed adjusting. I paid closer attention to the shadows. I softened the edges, deepened the contrast, and slowly, the drawing came to life in a way it hadn’t before.
The difference between the two versions, just seven days apart, is something I’m still thinking about.
It made me realize that sometimes it’s not about skill. It’s about space.
We’re so used to pushing through discomfort and trying to make something good in one sitting. But taking breaks, real intentional ones, can be part of the creative process too. Rest gives us the distance to return with a new perspective. And sometimes, all it takes is a little space to see your work, and yourself, more clearly.
Looking at the two drawings side by side, I still see imperfections. But I also see growth. I see what happens when I trust myself enough to pause. I see proof that things really can get better, even when they start off rough. Especially when they start off rough.
So now, when I catch myself hating something I’ve made, I try to be a little more patient. I don’t rush to tear it up or abandon it completely. I remind myself that I might just need a break, and that it’s okay to return later, when I’m ready to see it again.
Sometimes, growth looks like a new sketchbook. Sometimes, it looks like a total rework. But sometimes it just looks like one week of rest.
Jana Yan 