The Cost of a Culture That Devalues Creativity
- Suzanne Comelo
- Oct 11
- 6 min read
Updated: Oct 22
How our neglect of art, imagination, and empathy weakens not only individuals—but also the creativity of our communities, economies, and workplaces.
by Suzanne M. Fischer Comelo, JD, MFT, Neurodivergent Coach
Emerging from darkness into light — a quiet reminder of what’s at stake, and what’s possible.
(Getty Images | Credit: Rasica)
How Silent Words Saved Me
Writing and reading books quite literally saved me. Creativity wasn’t a pastime; it was my lifeline growing up. Through stories, television, and music, I found ways to process overwhelming emotions, imagine other worlds, and build a quiet sense of agency, resilience, and hope.
When my mother’s unpredictable moods made every word a potential landmine, creativity became the one place I could escape to and exist freely. On the page, there were no eggshells. I wasn’t small or silenced—I could speak, feel, and dream without fear.
Stories showed me people, lives, and places where I could either recognize pieces of myself or glimpse something different to hang my hope on.
Two Childhoods, One Lesson
I grew up in Wisconsin, straddling two very different worlds. My father, who came to the U.S. from Germany at twenty, worked more than three decades at a local factory—a job that bought him a modest house and a steady life. With him and my grandmother, things were grounded and predictable.
Life with my mother was the opposite: untreated mental illness, frequent moves, and food bank lines for government cheese and milk. Those contrasting worlds gave me an early education in both the stability that strong communities can create and the fragility of life without that support.
I also grew up with the collective anxiety that rippled through our factory town whenever layoffs or closures were rumored. If the factory shut down, whole neighborhoods could fade. Those experiences shaped my belief that communities survive on empathy, mutual responsibility, and shared fate. It’s a lot harder to demonize neighbors for what they do—or don’t—believe when they’re the same people who help dig your car out of a snowbank one day or watch your kids the next.
The Power of Creativity
Now, as a therapist, I see every day how creative expression supports mental and emotional well-being. The arts teach essential human capacities—patience, emotional regulation, resilience, and the courage to make and learn from mistakes (Csikszentmihalyi, 1996). They remind us that life is a process, not a product.
I’ve seen more progress in a depressed teen who discovered a new artistic outlet than in hours of cognitive-behavioral work alone. You can see it in their eyes, their loosening shoulders, the way they let themselves sink into a state of play—how confidence begins to replace collapse.
For many neurodivergent people—those whose brains simply aren’t built for rigid nine-to-five or twelve-hour days—creativity and freedom of expression are powerful medicine. Living out of sync with one’s natural rhythms and integrity takes a profound toll; burnout becomes almost inevitable. Honestly, I think all human beings could benefit from living more in sync with their humanity rather than being driven solely by the compass of productivity.
Many spend years masking to fit a system never designed for their minds or strengths. Over time, that effort erodes the self until even imagining being authentic in the moment feels uncomfortable, if not dangerous. For late-identified neurodivergent adults, unmasking isn’t a phase—it’s survival (Hull et al., 2017; Pearson & Rose, 2021).
Creativity Builds Empathy & Connection
Creativity doesn’t just help us heal and grow as individuals—it strengthens our capacity to connect with others. Art classes like painting, woodworking, drama, music or even shop are like gyms for empathy: they exercise the muscles of imagination, perspective, and emotional understanding. It’s hard to extend empathy to others when we’re disconnected from—or afraid of—our own emotions.
When we make something—paint, write, dance, act, sing, or even daydream—we step outside ourselves and into a space where we can imagine someone else’s inner world. We learn to tolerate uncertainty, to sit with complexity and the “gray” of nuance, and to see life from angles that differ from our own—without needing to make them wrong. And I’m not talking about art as a profession, although I’d take a hundred more artists over a hundred more bankers or lawyers any day.
Research increasingly supports what artists and educators have long known: creative engagement helps people develop empathy. Reading literary fiction (Kidd & Castano, 2013), participating in theater (Goldstein & Winner, 2012), or making art (Belman & Flanagan, 2010) can all expand our ability to understand our own as well as others’ emotions and experiences.
At a time when social and political divisions run deep, creativity may be one of the most underused tools we have for bridging differences. Through art and imagination, we practice the very capacities—curiosity, openness, compassion—that build connection. Creativity, in this sense, isn’t an afterthought; it’s a form of civic health.
Diversity as a Strength
Once, speaking with a business owner, I said that if you gather ten people with identical backgrounds around a board table, you’ll probably get ten versions of the same idea—each trying to impress the other. But if those ten voices come from different cultures, ages, and life experiences, you’ll have ten distinct ways of seeing the problem—and a far better chance of finding new and innovative solutions.
Add a neurodivergent mind to the mix, and you’ll often get the long-game perspective—the one asking how today’s decisions will ripple out to affect the broader community and society. It’s the essential “should we?” that balances the constant corporate and commercial obsession with merely “can we?”
That is the power of diversity. Evolution preserved diversity in humanity for a reason—it’s a feature, not a flaw. When societies limit contribution, suppress participation, or attempt to erase difference altogether, they weaken their capacity to adapt and thrive (Page, 2007).
Empathy as Infrastructure
Empathy is the glue that holds communities together when life gets hard. Creativity is what helps us find new solutions when old ones fail. When we neglect either, fear and division fill the vacuum.
You can see it in public schools where art, shop, and music have nearly disappeared, and even in private schools where students are pushed to overperform—drowning in test prep and anxiety (Winner et al., 2013). I see kids putting in hours that would challenge an early-career attorney: commuting, studying, juggling homework and extracurriculars—all under a constant pressure to achieve.
I see it in workplaces that treat people like machines rather than humans, where families are stretched thin trying to make ends meet and find small moments of connection amid the rush. I see it in politics that reward outrage over understanding.
Imagine flipping that script—schools that value creativity as much as test scores, workplaces that honor how different brains work best, and communities that see connection as a sign of health, not inefficiency.
We don’t need to abandon progress or productivity to do this—we just need to remember that both mean little without humanity at the center. If we valued people even half as much as profit, the ripple effects would reach every corner of our culture. We’d all be better for it.
Finding My Voice
For years I believed my voice didn’t matter. Many who have learned to stay quiet—especially those wired for deep empathy—know that feeling.
But silence only leaves more room for the loudest, most divisive voices to dominate. It isn’t just about me; it’s about all of us who underestimate our power to shape culture. That collective silence becomes a gift to those who profit from disconnection—and that is how empathy erodes, how democracies weaken (Brown, 2018).
A Call to Courage and Connection
I’m not someone who often speaks up, but I’ve learned that silence can cost too much. Creativity saved my life, and empathy could save our country—and our shared humanity.
I still believe most people long for a kinder, more creative, more human world. The extremes don’t speak for the majority of us. If we start listening—to understand rather than to win—we can rebuild a culture where creativity replaces fear, diversity is celebrated as strength, and empathy guides our choices instead of being dismissed as weakness.
Every great cultural shift has begun with voices that once thought they were too small. One voice can ripple outward. I still believe that together, we can change the story.
About the Author
Suzanne M. Fischer Comelo is a former public interest attorney turned therapist, writer, neurodivergent coach and advocate. Her work blends personal storytelling with a commitment to empathy, creativity, and systemic change. Raised in a working-class Midwestern immigrant family, she now writes about building more human-centered schools, workplaces, and communities.
© 2025 Suzanne M. Fischer Comelo, JD, MFT, Neurodivergent Coach. Share this essay with attribution. All other rights reserved.
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