Tag Archives: #Burnout

Your Brain Isn’t Broken. It’s Creative

The Engine and the Armour: A Truer Story of Creativity

It starts with profound curiosity doesn’t it? That low-level hum beneath the surface of things. The sense that you can’t quite switch your own brain off. You’re in the supermarket, trying to remember if you need milk, but you’re also cataloguing the precise tone of fluorescent hum from the overhead lights, the discordant percussive rhythmic rattle of trolley wheels, and the quiet, tragic history etched on the face of the man staring at the price of coffee. For many, this is just background noise and mindless distraction. For you, it’s the entire orchestra, and you’re standing right in front of the brass section.

This isn’t a poetic exaggeration; it’s a neurological reality. Your brain isn’t just passively receiving more data; it’s wired for a different kind of processing. We now understand this as a dynamic, chaotic dance between three key neural networks. There’s the Default Mode Network (DMN), the brain’s dreamer, spinning daydreams and forging wild connections. There’s the Executive Control Network (ECN), the project manager, trying to focus and evaluate those ideas. And mediating between them is the Salience Network, the scout that constantly scans the horizon, deciding what’s interesting enough to deserve your attention.

In many creative people, the connectivity between these networks is unusually high. The dreamer and the manager are in a constant, frantic conversation, and your scout is working overtime. This is the very mechanism that allows you to see patterns others miss. It’s also why it feels like you can’t turn it off. But to frame this experience purely as a burden is to tell only half the story. The truth is far more powerful.

Chapter 1: The Addictive Pull of Deep Focus

Here’s the part the tragic artist myth always leaves out. The reason you can’t switch off isn’t just some curse. It’s because, when channelled, that relentless mental energy triggers one of the most powerful and rewarding states a human can experience: flow. Coined by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, flow is that sacred state of total immersion where time dissolves, your sense of self evaporates, and the act of creating becomes its own magnificent reward. It’s what makes the process autotelic, the joy is in the doing, not the done.

This isn’t just a feeling; it’s a neurochemical cascade. Theories like Self-Determination Theory tell us that we are intrinsically motivated by a need for autonomy, competence, and connection. The creative act is a direct line to satisfying those needs. As you engage, your brain rewards you with dopamine surges in the striatum, reinforcing the behaviour and making it deeply pleasurable. This is what makes creativity addictive in the best possible way, not just an obligatory coping strategy. You’re not just offloading sensory data to survive; you are chasing the profound, intrinsically rewarding high of mastery. It’s a private, powerful truth. Which makes the public lie we’re told all the more infuriating.

Chapter 2: The Lie of the Lone Genius

Our culture loves a simple hero narrative, doesn’t it? The lone genius, struck by a bolt from the blue, toiling in a dusty garret to produce a masterpiece all on their own. It’s a romantic story. It’s also a convenient and profoundly damaging lie. The truth is that creativity isn’t a solo performance; it’s a team sport. It’s what Brian Eno, a master of these things, brilliantly termed ‘scenius’.

The polar opposite of genius scenius is the idea that groundbreaking work emerges not from a single mind, but from the collective intelligence and energy of a scene. Think of the Bloomsbury Group, tearing up the literary rulebook over tea and fierce arguments. Think of the punk scene in 1970s London, a glorious, feedback-drenched conversation happening in grubby pubs and rehearsal rooms. Innovation doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens in conversation, in collaboration, in the fertile friction of minds rubbing up against one another.

So why does the myth of the lone genius persist? Because it’s incredibly useful. It serves a clear economic and social function. A single, tortured genius is a simple, compelling product to market. A collaborative, messy ‘scenius’ is not. More insidiously, it atomises us. By telling creatives they should be toiling away alone, it keeps them disconnected, less powerful collectively, and far easier to exploit in industries built on precarious, gig-based work. It allows a small group of cultural gatekeepers to bestow the ‘genius’ label, maintaining a power structure that is far from meritocratic. The myth of the lone genius isn’t just wrong; it’s a cage with no bars, designed to keep us from realising our collective strength.

This is why the composition of a ‘scenius’ is so critical. A homogenous scene is a stagnant one. If everyone in the room comes from the same background, shares the same reference points, and holds the same assumptions, you don’t get innovation—you get an echo chamber. The cultural river becomes dangerously shallow. True, world-changing creativity is almost always the product of friction between different perspectives and experiences. Fighting for genuine diversity and inclusion in our creative fields isn’t just a moral good; it is a strategic imperative for any culture that wants to progress.

Chapter 3: An Engine for Growth, Not Just Survival

So yes, the cost can be brutal. That survey finding 73% of musicians experience anxiety and depression is real and it matters. But it’s a profound mistake to see art only as a coping mechanism for trauma. While it absolutely can be a powerful therapeutic tool, its purpose extends far beyond mere survival. To create is to experience a unique form of well-being, what the Greeks called “eudaimonia”—the joy that comes from living a life of purpose and growth.

In an age where artificial intelligence can generate slick, novel content in seconds, this distinction has never been more vital. AI can replicate patterns, but it cannot replicate the messy, embodied, human experience that gives art its soul. It hasn’t felt heartbreak or stood in a supermarket overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of existence. Our creativity, our ability to connect, to feel, to find meaning in the chaos, is not just a nice-to-have. It is our last truly wild resource, and our most valuable strategic asset.

The Pragmatic Path: How to Service the Engine

Understanding all this is one thing. Living it is another. In an economy increasingly dominated by AI, nurturing our uniquely human creativity isn’t a soft skill; it is the most important work we can do to make ourselves indispensable. It’s not enough to validate the feeling of being overwhelmed; we need a practical toolkit to navigate it. If your creativity is an engine, not a curse, then it requires maintenance. This isn’t about suppressing your nature; it’s about learning how to handle a high-performance machine without burning out.

First, practise neurological hygiene. Your hyper-aware brain is taking a constant beating. Mindfulness isn’t some fluffy wellness trend; it’s a direct intervention. Start small. Ten minutes of deep breathing before you even look at a screen creates a vital buffer. A body scan, where you simply pay attention to physical sensations from your feet upwards, can ground you when your mind is racing. This activates your parasympathetic nervous system—the body’s own braking mechanism—and gives you a moment of quiet agency in the storm.

Second, build resilience through radical self-compassion. The “lone genius” myth leaves no room for failure, which is, of course, the most essential part of the creative process. Reframe your inner critic. Instead of seeing a failed experiment as a personal failing, see it as data. Keep a journal of small wins. When you feel that familiar pang of alienation, pause and remind yourself: “This feeling is a known occupational hazard for people like me. I am not alone in this.” This isn’t self-indulgent; it’s a strategic move to build the emotional stamina you need for the long haul.

Third, defend your environment. In 2025, our attention is the most valuable commodity on earth, and everything is designed to steal it. You have to fight back. It’s not optional. Establish non-negotiable digital boundaries. Have screen-free times or zones. Crucially, get outside. Spend time in nature—forest bathing, a walk by the sea—to recalibrate your senses away from the urban assault. Counterintuitively, the best way to refuel your creativity is often to engage in low-pressure hobbies entirely unrelated to your main work. Cook a meal, fix a bike, do something with your hands that has no audience and no stakes.

Fourth, actively build your ‘scenius’. Don’t wait for community to find you. Seek out artist groups, online or in person. Share your work, but more importantly, share your process and your struggles. Find a mentor. Offer to mentor someone else. Start a collaborative project with the sole aim of distributing the cognitive load and sparking unexpected ideas. Connection is the antidote to the existential drain of feeling like you’re the only one seeing the world this way.

Finally, look after the machine itself. The link between mind and body isn’t mystical; it’s physiological. You cannot sustain high-level creative output on a diet of caffeine, booze, digital dopamine or anxiety. Prioritise sleep as if it were a critical project deadline, because it is. Move your body in a way that feels good, not punishing. And if the overload becomes chronic and debilitating, seek professional support. Finding a therapist who specialises in the mental health of creative people isn’t an admission of defeat; it’s an intelligent investment in your most valuable asset.

Your creativity is not just your armour against an overwhelming world. It is the very engine that propels you through it. Our job is not to wish for a different, simpler brain, but to learn how to service the magnificent, complex, and powerful one we have.

The Digital Panopticon: How Social Media Fuels Informational Autocracy

Modern authoritarianism has evolved. No longer solely reliant on the brute force of the 20th century, a new model of control has emerged: informational autocracy. This contemporary form of rule prioritises the sophisticated management of information flows over overt repression, manufacturing legitimacy by curating a reality where the regime is competent and opposition is illegitimate. While these autocrats maintain the façade of democracy through managed elections and hollowed-out institutions, their true power lies in dominating the narrative. In this digital age, social media platforms have become the principal arena and accelerator for this strategy, fundamentally transforming the complex relationship between the state, a knowledgeable “informed elite,” and the general populace. Social media acts as both a tool of co-optation and a vector for chaos, enabling autocrats to silence dissent while exporting tactics that actively erode democratic foundations worldwide.

At the heart of informational autocracy lies the strategic management of the “informed elite”—a segment of society comprising intellectuals, journalists, and professionals who possess the critical capacity to recognise and expose the regime’s flaws. Traditionally, this group poses the greatest threat to authoritarian stability, and social media presents a dual-edged sword for their neutralisation. On one edge, platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Facebook, and WeChat serve as tools for surveillance and control, allowing regimes to monitor the elite’s online activities, identify dissenters for targeted repression, and deploy subtle censorship through algorithmic demotion or shadow-banning. On the other, these same platforms are used for co-optation, recruiting influential figures to amplify state-approved narratives and lending a veneer of credibility to propaganda. In Turkey and Hungary, for instance, allied influencers and troll farms are leveraged to dominate online discourse, effectively turning a portion of the informed elite into digital mouthpieces for the state.

This capacity for control, however, is not absolute. The democratising nature of social media simultaneously threatens to disrupt the informational asymmetry that autocrats depend on. By allowing information to bypass state-controlled media, these platforms can potentially expand the informed elite, making it too large to co-opt or silence entirely. This forces regimes to intensify their grip on the broader information ecosystem, often through outright media monopolisation. This tension reveals the core paradox for modern authoritarians: the very platforms that offer unprecedented control also carry the seeds of their potential undoing. They fracture the elite’s traditional role as gatekeepers of information while simultaneously empowering grassroots dissent.

The very architecture of social media is uniquely suited to advancing the goals of informational autocracy. Platforms’ business models, predicated on maximising engagement, inadvertently favour the sensational, divisive, and emotionally charged content on which autocrats thrive. Algorithms designed for virality rather than veracity create echo chambers that reinforce regime propaganda and shield citizens from dissenting views. This allows rulers to “flood the zone” with disinformation, blurring the lines between fact and fiction until the public becomes cynical and disengaged. False political narratives, as studies have shown, spread significantly faster than truth, creating a “post-truth” environment where objective reality is secondary to partisan identity. This systematic degradation of trust in institutions—from the media to the electoral process—is not merely a byproduct of social media; it is a central objective of informational autocracy, and platforms provide the most efficient means to achieve it.

Perhaps most insidiously, the tactics of informational autocracy are no longer confined to authoritarian states. Social media has created a borderless information environment where these strategies are exported globally, seeping into and poisoning democratic societies. Autocrats have learned to weaponise the very freedoms that define democracies, using the openness of platforms to interfere in elections, amplify social divisions, and discredit liberal values as chaotic and weak. State-backed actors from Russia and China have perfected the art of cross-border disinformation, creating what can be seen as a “disinfo axis” that coordinates to undermine democratic solidarity on the world stage. In response, threatened democracies may find themselves adopting autocratic tools—such as increased censorship or surveillance—to combat these hybrid threats, risking an erosion of the very principles they seek to protect. This global spillover normalises autocratic practices and accelerates a worldwide trend of democratic backsliding.

In conclusion, informational autocracy represents a pernicious and adaptable evolution of authoritarian rule, and social media serves as its central nervous system. These platforms have revolutionised the autocrat’s toolkit, enabling a subtle yet pervasive form of control built on narrative dominance rather than physical coercion. By transforming the role of the informed elite into a dynamic contest of control and resistance, and by leveraging algorithms that prioritise engagement over truth, social media directly fuels the erosion of public trust and institutional legitimacy. This model is no longer a distant threat but a clear and present danger to established democracies, which now face an onslaught of digitally-native autocratic tactics designed to turn their own open systems against them. The struggle for the future of democracy is therefore inextricably linked to the battle for the digital public square, demanding a new focus on platform accountability, digital literacy, and the cultivation of an “info hygiene” resilient enough to withstand this slow-acting poison.

Autocracy in the digital space.

We were all raised on stories of obvious tyranny. We were taught to look for the book burnings and the public shamings. We were told to listen for the sound of the cage door slamming shut. But what happens when the cage has no bars? What happens when the prison isn’t a place, but a state of mind, meticulously constructed to feel like freedom?

This is the world of informational autocracy. It’s a far slicker, more sophisticated beast than the clumsy dictatorships of the last century. It doesn’t need to rule by fear when it can rule by manufactured consent. This new model of power doesn’t abolish elections; it mimics them, ensuring the outcome is a foregone conclusion while maintaining a veneer of legitimacy. It doesn’t ban the free press; it buys it, starves it of advertising, or floods the zone with so much state-sponsored noise that the truth is simply drowned out. Look at Putin’s Russia, Orbán’s Hungary, or Erdoğan’s Turkey. The playbook is the same: project an image of competence and stability, paint all opposition as chaotic or treacherous, and ensure the majority of the public never gets a clear enough signal to know the difference. The primary goal is not to terrorise the population, but to convince them. And the engine room of this entire operation is the device in your pocket.

Enter the social media platform: the greatest accelerator of informational autocracy ever invented. These systems are not neutral tools; they are battlegrounds designed for a very specific kind of warfare. Their algorithms, built not for truth but for traffic, are perfectly tuned to reward the divisive, the sensational, and the outrageous. It’s no accident that, on platforms like X, false political stories are proven to spread 70% faster than the truth. Outrage is profitable. Division drives engagement. In this environment, an autocrat’s propaganda isn’t just another post—it’s premium fuel for a machine designed to run on it. We are not just the audience; we are the unwitting foot soldiers, sharing and amplifying narratives that fracture our own societies. But this battle isn’t just for the hearts and minds of the masses. There’s a more specific, more strategic target in its sights.

Every society has an “informed elite”—that small but crucial group of journalists, academics, professionals, and artists who have the access and the training to see through the noise. In the old world, an autocrat had to arrest or exile them. In the new world, the strategy is far more subtle. Social media allows the regime to monitor them, identifying dissenters for a quiet campaign of shadow-banning, legal threats, or professional exclusion. Even more effectively, it allows them to be co-opted. A slice of the elite is turned into well-paid influencers, their credibility used to launder regime propaganda. The very tool that could expand the ranks of the informed by democratizing information also shatters their authority, turning public discourse into a chaotic free-for-all where a verified expert has the same algorithmic weight as a state-funded troll farm.

It leaves us in the crossfire of a silent, borderless war. The tactics perfected in Moscow and Beijing are now exported globally, seeping into the bedrock of democracies. This is the slow poison: the erosion of public trust, the exhaustion of civic life, and the creeping sense that objective truth no longer exists. This is the ultimate goal. The aim isn’t just to win an argument; it’s to create an environment where the very idea of a shared reality seems naive. It is to foster a deep, weary cynicism that leads to democratic fatigue, where we disengage not because we are forced to, but because we are too tired to continue.

So, what is the way out? It is not to find a mythical, uncompromised platform or to wait for a single heroic leader. The resistance begins with a conscious and deliberate act of what can only be called informational hygiene. It starts with us. We must become fierce curators of our own information, deliberately seeking out and paying for quality, independent journalism. We must take our conversations offline and into the real world, rebuilding the connective tissue of society in our own communities. And above all, we must build our own resilience as if it were armour. They are counting on our burnout. An exhausted, cynical public is their ideal political landscape.

This is the work. It is not glamorous. It is not easy. But it is real. The most radical act in an age of quiet persuasion is a loud and curious mind. Keep yours sharp. Keep it open. And never, ever let them convince you to close it.