Thoughts on Mental Health While Being a Writer/Creator
Haven't done a blogpost in a while, so pardon my clumsiness.
I have been an internet scriptwriter/voice artist/ASMRtist for close to a year now. Not only has it been tons of fun, I think I have found a calling in a way I haven't before (which is a big deal for someone who hesitates to admit is entering her late 20s. . .).
Something big: my channel has given me a place where I can be someone outside of my mundane day-to-day.
I clock out of my shift at a retail store, and suddenly, I am Villa Lactea. I have gotten to meet some lovely fellow ASMRtists. I have interacted with very sweet members of my audience. And I have developed my writing, voice acting, and even just my personality in ways I only dreamed before.
But of course, there are dark days. Dark periods, even. In particular, since December 2024 until early March 2025 as I write this, my mind has been through hurricanes and sunless days. (Although I'm doing pretty solid right now, or else I wouldn't be writing this post as coherently. . .)
Putting aside the obvious state of my country/the world at large, this winter season has been rough for a myriad of personal reasons. But one that I think is pretty relevant to many others right now:
Ironic, as I make primarily comfort audios, and stuff meant to give some sense of company, escapism and joy to others. But also, not so ironic, since this is the kind of stuff I like to listen to myself, so returning the favor felt like a clear choice when I began making these audios.
The truth is, a creative outlet is only that. An outlet. You put stuff out, people might pick it up, glance at it, think it's neat, and leave. And that's okay.
In my early 20s, on a new journey of self-exploration, I started a variety of YouTube channels of different art-types and topics, all of which felt "personal." Villa Lactea Audio was only one of many, and even the one I was least confident would ever leave the ground. And of course, I compared myself to others, doubted myself, went into hiatus, and second guessed my content. Many of these channels never got more than 5 or 10 videos.
But even after all the novelties of having a channel finally pick up steam, all the cool people you meet, all the "oh my gosh, this is actually happening!. . ."
Not all collaborative connections go anywhere. Not all momentum stays. As someone with a history of deep attachment issues, some of these moments were devastating.
Now I know this sounds overstated and cliche, but you know what helped? Going outside. To a nearby park, by myself, with a blanket to sit on, a water bottle, maybe some snacks, and some music (shout out to Yoste for the dreamy, teary-but-joyful bops).
Sometimes when I am drenched in heavy feelings, the sturdiness of a grassy hill carrying the weight of my body while I lie there, staring dead at the afternoon sky was just medicinal.
Not a cure. The heavy feelings lingered. But it helped.
It was me getting off my computer, where I obsessed over analytics and click-rates and viewer retention. It was me making myself vulnerable to being a person in a public place (even as a brown trans girl, which is a bit extra daunting in my country right now). In these moments, in someways, I am not Villa Lactea. I am just myself. Maybe things I see at the park could be script or thumbnail inspirations, but I try not to actively think about that.
I want to be able to make the stuff I do on the channel from a place of love.
Cheesy, I know. Maybe even foolish, as being too precious with your stuff can lead to being more sensitive to dislikes or low views. And love is a messy thing, especially on the internet. But the best stuff out there, in my opinion, is stuff where you can tell the creator was passionate and enjoying themselves while making it.
The opposite of being over-controlling is giving something space.
Space to breathe. Space to grow and become something neat.
Media creation culture tells us that we need to be in control at all times. All the numbers, the like-to-view ratios and average watch times. But watching every second tick by is not being in control of your time. It's obsessing over it. And obsession is not love. (Trust me, I've been learning that the hard way. . .)
If you love your mind, all that it imagines and connects together and creates, you gotta give it space.
If you love your channel, and appreciate all the kind folks that come and go and say hi, and admire all the cool friends you've been able to meet, you gotta give them all space.
It's not easy. Especially when struggling with loneliness. But when you give space, and later it all seems to wonderfully stick around, it might be worth it to stay with it as well.
