Running a Business with Chronic Illness:

Health & Wellness

13 Dec

You won’t see it on Instagram.

You won’t see the days I spend in bed with heat packs and panadol packs scattered around, essentially passed out.
The weeks where bipolar depression flattens my motivation into a thick fog.
The mornings when every joint screams before I even put my feet on the ground.

You won’t see the skipped showers. The calendar reshuffles. The internal negotiations between pain and progress.

But this is the reality for so many of us running businesses with chronic illness. And it deserves to be seen.

Pacing: The Invisible Backbone

My days don’t (and won’t) follow a 9-to-5 rhythm. They’re built around pacing… a dance between what I want to do and what my body (or mind) will allow.

Some days, I’m in the zone. I design for hours, deep in creative strategy, totally lit up by the work I’m doing. Other days, I rest between every meeting, or postpone deliverables entirely because my hands are too inflamed to hold a pen. My mind too foggy to make the simplest decision.

And the thing is… I used to fight it. Felt guilty. Ashamed.
Like I wasn’t a “real” business owner if I couldn’t hustle through the hard stuff.

I now know better.

Pacing isn’t a compromise. It’s a strategy.

It’s how I stay in business at all.

Shame: The Quiet Companion

Even after years of therapy, diagnoses, and self-acceptance… shame still rears its ugly head.

It shows up when I miss deadlines.
When I cancel a call last minute because a flare hits out of nowhere.
When I see others posting their 12-step funnels and 6-figure launches and feel like I’m moving in slow motion.

It’s hard not to compare. Hard not to feel like I’m falling behind.

But I’ve learnt that shame thrives in silence and I won’t stay silent anymore.

Because I know I’m not the only one juggling meds, moods, pain, and profit margins.

And when we speak it aloud, it loses its grip.

Acceptance: The Hardest, Kindest Choice

Acceptance didn’t come easy. It doesn’t come easy. But it has come through burnout, breakdowns, and overworking myself until my body made the decision for me.

Acceptance is not defeat.
It’s not giving up.
It’s choosing to work with myself instead of against myself.

It’s letting my body set the tempo. Not some algorithm or hustle culture or highlight reel.

And in acceptance, I can find something precious: peace.
And a surprising bonus? Creative clarity.

Building a Humane Business Model

With all that honesty on the table, I had no choice but to redesign the way I run my studio.

I swapped urgency for clarity. Pressure for process. Perfectionism for presence.

Here’s what it looks like for me now:

Flexible timelines that honour chronic fluctuation
Project scopes with built-in buffer space for flare days
Client communication systems that reduce stress and avoid overwhelm
Offers that are aligned with my energy and not just what’s “trending”

I also built in more automation and delegation, clearer onboarding, and content systems that let me batch on good days and rest on the hard ones.

It’s not about working less. It’s about working in a way that feels humane for you.

Why This Makes Me a Better Designer

I used to think my illness made me less of a professional.

Not I see it for what it is: the reason I design the way I do.

Because of my lived experience, I:

Centre accessibility in every brand I build
Prioritise clarity over complexity
Ask the right questions that cut through overwhelm
Design with compassion, nuance, and flexibility
Honour my clients’ capacity as much as my own

Many of the people I work with are also neurodivergent, chronically ill, or simply tired of traditional business models that feel too harsh, too fast, too hollow. They come to me because they don’t want a branding process that burns them out.

They want strategy with soul.
They want clarity without chaos.
They want someone who gets it.

And I do… Deeply.

Running a business with chronic illness means learning to live inside a paradox.

It means being ambitious and limited.
Creative and exhausted
Resilient and still very, very human.

But this life? This business I’ve built?

It’s not a compromise. It’s a revolution.

A rejection of shame.
A blueprint for running a business on your own terms.