Sobriety, Creativity & The Artist’s Way

How the 12-week workbook became the foundation for my sobriety and artistic renewal

When I was ten days sober, I led a cohort of 20 people through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. That was in January 2022. Since then, the principles in The Artist’s Way have been foundational to my sobriety.

When I first began planning to guide others through Cameron’s 12-week workbook, I had no intention of getting sober. I thought I couldn’t stop smoking weed, but I didn’t anticipate how dramatically my life would change in order for me to get sober. The Artist’s Way has since become instrumental in helping me stay on that path.

But first, let me explain my relationship to The Artist’s Way.

---

In 2018, I experienced my first weed-induced hypomanic episode during my second year of graduate school. I was in a writing program, convinced I didn’t belong—my imposter syndrome whispering in my ear every time I sat down in a workshop: youdontbelongyoudontbelongyoudontdeservetobehereyoudontbelong.

In June of that year, turning to my vape pen to cope, I tipped into a mania that was fun and delightful and convinced me that I might be god, until it turned slightly scary. I couldn’t stop talking, and the pace of my speech became unyielding and disorienting. I didn’t stop smoking weed, but I did get off Lexapro. Inevitably, I was prescribed a small dose of mood stabilizer to bring me back to Earth.

Of course, I did not stop smoking weed.

What goes up must come down, and by July, I had slipped into a grinding, unyielding depression. My good friend at the time—who was just as depressed as I was, hitting the bong just as hard—handed me his copy of The Artist's Way. 

Slowly but surely, I worked my way through each and every task. Every day, I convinced myself to write a single page. Three pages every morning felt insurmountable, so one page of my “Morning Pages” felt like an accomplishment. Six months later, I completed the book for the first time.

All I wanted was to feel legitimate as an artist. At school, it felt hard to qualify as a writer and believe it. But because of The Artist’s Way, I started to ask my peers how they felt: Do you identify as a writer? The men said yes, easily. But the women? They all stammered. When I get published. If I make money. If, if, if… And so, I started the column “Women who Write” and began interviewing the women around me.

The Artist’s Way helped me begin to ask the question I had been holding close to my chest. I learned that I wasn’t alone.

---

The second time I went through the workbook, I used it as a structure to complete my graduate thesis. Twelve weeks before the thesis was due, I started The Artist’s Way again. I was writing, and I was starting to peel back the layers of my own imposter syndrome, unfolding the stories I had told myself my entire life.

In the first week’s tasks, Cameron asks us to write two lists: our Hall of Monsters and our Hall of Champions. When I first did the exercise, I was so angry about my childhood figure skating career. Rage kept me blocked. I was mad at my mom, the childhood nutritionist, and the “friend” who had the whole rink shun me when I won and she didn’t. Before The Artist’s Way, I couldn’t write about figure skating at all. I could barely talk about it.

Ice skating, when I started, was my first love. But by the time I stopped, my eating disorder and the sport felt like an unyielding obligation.

When I first started drinking at 18, it was to bury my rage. I did not realize that that same rage still lived in me, and that I was smoking at it.

---

In the summer of 2020, I was tired of being alone. So, I asked a group of close friends if they wanted to do The Artist’s Way with me. I had started facilitating workshops online, but when June 2020 came, it felt insane to ask people to focus on their creativity. It felt as though the world was falling apart, and it felt insane and insanely selfish to focus on ourselves.

But a beautiful thing happened—we weren’t just doing the work to unblock our inner artists; we were showing up for each other, week after week. I had unintentionally created a supportive community of artists.

One friend wrote her first EP. Another auditioned for a play. Another started stop-start clay animation. I continued to write and smoke weed.

Because addiction is progressive, it quickly got to the point where I could only smoke weed. I would wake up wanting to write, but my addiction would convince me that I could not write if I did not smoke. I knew that if I smoked, I could not write. I knew I could not write stoned—I had learned that lesson. I had once submitted a piece in graduate school that I had written stoned. My mentor looked at me and asked, “What the fuck happened?”

But my addiction had me by the throat: weed was my higher power.

And so, inevitably, I’d wake up wanting to write, but by 11 a.m., I would be stoned in the bathtub, mourning the fact that I could not write and would not write.

---

I craved the community I’d once created in 2020. And so, in the fall of 2021, I set out to bring a group together at the start of 2022. I spent each night getting so stoned that I could feel where my muscles met my bones, and I’d beg my fiancé to help me stop. But the next day, I’d wake up and get high again.

God did for me what I could not do for myself when we ran out of weed and decided to do a “Sober Christmas.” Driving from New York to New Orleans, my fiancé entered weed-induced psychosis. And for three days, I was sober, experiencing what I had been smoking through for the seven months prior.

I fell to my knees at an Alabama gas station and had a panic attack: I surrendered.

I took an emergency flight home to LAX, gave up my life in Brooklyn, ended my engagement, and spent my first day sober on December 22, 2021. (I had one glass of Chablis at my mother’s birthday dinner the night before—I thought I was very demure, very mindful only having one.)

Since that date, I have been sober from all mind-altering substances.

Ten days later, I was leading more than 20 people through The Artist’s Way. It’s absolutely insane to me now—I don’t know how I did it. But it felt important to stay sober, to hold myself accountable, if only to be able to show up for my cohort.

---

It is no secret that Julia Cameron is a sober woman of dignity and grace, but she adheres to the traditions and holds her anonymity close.

From the start, Cameron lightly suggests doing the 12-week workbook sober, but I had never done it before. I still got a lot out of it, but doing it sober was an entirely different experience.

Because I was sober, I was starting to see for the first time that what Cameron talks about is not productivity—it isn’t about the six-figure book deal or pumping out a masterpiece; it is about making your life your primary medium. Process over product: how you live your life is how you spend your days.

Why not get the fluffy throw pillow that you’re too afraid to admit you love? Throw out your mismatched socks. Repot that crunched-up plant.

Life is your primary medium. And I’d been too high to know how to live it.

---

In 2021, the channel was clear, and week after week, I was telling my group my day count. By day 90 and week 11, I was building up the courage to lace up my ice skates, which I hadn’t touched since I graduated high school. With the support of the group and the work I had started in The Artist’s Way and sobriety, I was able to do the thing I feared most: get back on the ice.

As soon as my blades touched the ice, I remembered the joy: my Hall of Monsters no longer held power over me.

My resentments toward the sport were boiling—they had frozen in my body at age 18, and at age 29, I was finally addressing them. But I was working through them with the Steps and my sponsor, so I could no longer use them as a reason to drink or use. Even more, I could not use my rage as an excuse to not skate. It only hurt me to stay away.

Because I was sober and doing The Artist’s Way with a community, I was back to skating, writing, and creating. I was open enough to receive Cameron’s message: Your inner child is your inner artist. Take play seriously. It is time to get back on the ice.

Since then, I have led seven more cohorts through the book—over 100 people in total. Most are not sober, nor do I ask them to be. But I do ask them to try to abstain if they can. It does make a difference.

Because yes, you can get a lot out of the book when you’re still drinking or getting high. But when you’re sober? You get rocketed to the fourth dimension.

As I gear up to lead my eighth group of people through the book, I know that The Artist’s Way has taught me that life is my most precious creative medium. I invite you to join me in January 2025!

Now you.

We’d love for you to share in the comments:

• Have you done The Artist’s Way? Has it supported your sobriety?

• What role has creativity played in your sobriety?

And if you found this article helpful, please tap the little heart. It lets others know there’s something useful here and will help us grow this community.

---

Paulina Pinsky

is a Minnesota-based, LA-bred writer who received her MFA from Columbia. She writes the Substack newsletter

newly sober

, which she started when she was just 70 days sober. She offers one-on-one writing coaching and leads people through The Artist’s Way, all of which can be found at paulinapinsky.com.

---

Want to be published on Sober.com? If you’re a sober writer, we invite you to contribute! Reach out to hello@danaleighlyons.com for details.