If I let my creativity speak without judgment — what would it say?

The biggest judge is, and has always been, myself.

I was thinking about this while driving today —
how long I’ve carried both the desire to create
and the fear of being seen.

My story with creativity began early.

I was five when I received my first instrument:
a little keyboard with colored keys.
I learned to play not by notes or theory,
but by color —
intuition instead of rules.

I didn’t know it then,
but that was my first lesson:
creativity does not always follow the system.
Sometimes it follows the soul.

At around ten,
I started guitar lessons.
I loved it —
until my teacher wanted me to perform a solo
at the Christmas show.

I froze.
The fear swallowed everything.
So I quit.
I hid that part of myself away.
And I didn’t touch a guitar again for years.

Even then,
I never stopped singing —
but only where I felt safe.

In high school,
I joined choir as an extra class.
We did musicals —
Annie, Hello, Dolly!,and others.
(“Hello, Dolly” was my favorite.)

It was amazing
because I never had to sing alone.
I had others to lean on.
No solos —
thank God.
If they’d asked,
I would have run out the back door.

It was 1986.
I still remember the thrill.
The comfort of blending my voice
with others.
Visible, but protected.

After high school,
during a gap year,
I worked in a boarding school kitchen
and found another choir —
soul and gospel.
I ended up singing
in front of thousands.
A huge performance.
And it was glorious.
But again —
I wasn’t alone.
I was held by many voices.

Then life carried me
in another direction.

I began working with children —
and music came with me.
We sang.
We played.
We made noise.

Children are the best audience —
honest, present, unfiltered.
I saw how music lives inside all of us.
How it frees something.
How every child deserves
to know music as a language.

One of the most magical things I ever did
was letting kids paint
what they felt
while listening to music —
Vivaldi one day,
modern songs the next.

Their artwork was breathtaking —
emotion on paper.
Proof that creativity doesn’t need explanation.
It just needs space.

Life continued —
five children of my own.
That kind of love and responsibility
becomes its own art form.

About ten years ago,
I began painting myself —
my creativity finding color again.

And now…
in 2025…

I’m writing lyrics.
Me —
who ran from a guitar solo at ten.
Who hid her voice in choirs.
Who never dared stand alone.

Now I’m writing songs.

With AI,
I can shape sound and expression.
Some songs carry bits my own voice.
Others are sung by AI.

I have released seven songs so far,
and next week
another four will be out
on all the major platforms
under the name:

The Afterlove Voice.

I still feel too shy
to reveal my true identity.
I’m not chasing spotlight.
Only truth.
Only expression.

I like being in the shadows.
I just want the message to reach
whoever needs it.

So,
if I let my creativity speak without judgment —
what would it say?

Maybe this:

> “You were never meant to be small.”

Or:

> “Fear is not a sign to stop —
it’s a reminder of how much this matters.”

Or:

> “Your voice is your medicine.
Not for applause —
but for healing.”

It would say:

Keep creating.
Even when you shake.
Even when you doubt.
Especially then.

Your creativity does not ask to be perfect —
only honest.
It doesn’t need permission —
only breath.

It doesn’t ask you to stand in the spotlight —
just to stand with yourself.

Maybe that is why
I write now more than ever —
because creation has become
the way I survive,
the way I stay open,
the way I let grief transform into beauty.

Maybe I am writing myself
back into life.

And maybe,
that is enough.

Here are some songs that came from surrendering to my creativity. The pictures are from the Bandstand in West Park, Wolverhampton. Decorated for the 1-year mark of Liam’s death.

You find my music on all platforms, Spotify, YouTube, iTunes, amazon music etc.

Under

“The Afterlove Voice”

🔱♾️⚖️🏹🌌✨️

💫-Maggie

The Afterlove Voice 💫