Creative Curiosity by Nathalie Le Riche — self-discovery

Welcome to a Life of Creative Curiosity

Step into a space where art, storytelling, and soulful reflection meet. Here, creativity is not just about making—it’s about exploring, questioning, and discovering the joy of being fully alive. My blogs are invitations to wander with me through the landscapes of imagination, creative reflections, and community connection.

Whether you’re drawn to artistic experiments or insights on the journey of becoming whole, each post offers a doorway into curiosity and play. Let yourself be inspired, surprised, and reminded of the power we all hold to create the life we want.

✨ Begin your journey of creative curiosity by exploring Nathalie Le Riche blogs.

Following a dream can feel exhilarating—until the path becomes weighed down by challenges, especially the lack of money. What do you do when trying harder only brings more strain, more obstacles, and less joy? Pause. Ask yourself: • Am I forcing my dream to happen in one fixed way? • Do I believe I must achieve this dream to be happy, loved, or at peace? • Why do I want this dream—truly? Is it to fill an inner void, or to prove something to the world? Challenges are not punishments; they are alarm clocks. They remind us that perhaps the...

I see her.The one who believes she doesn’t have time.Grinding herself to the bone, skipping meals, ignoring the body’s whispers.She’s chasing a dream with clenched fists, believing she must suffer to earn it. I see her exhaustion.It was once mine. She says, “I have no money. I can’t afford to rest. I don’t have time to do what I need to do.”And so she pushes harder.And I watch, knowing that no matter what I say, her fear will keep her in the rut of force.She won’t believe until she chooses to be curious. Because the how doesn’t come from force.The...

For years, I believed that silence was safety. That if I swallowed my truth, others would feel better. That my quietness could mend their sadness, soften their anger, create peace. But instead, my silence became a breeding ground for pain—mine and theirs. I didn’t just lose my voice. I lost myself. When I finally spoke, it wasn’t gentle. It was fierce, raw, and misunderstood. My truth, long buried, came out like a storm. And in its wake, I met resistance. Arguments. Accusations. Almost physical confrontations. Not because I was wrong—but because none of us had learned how to speak without...