Trusting Myself as a Designer (When the World Doesn’t)
There’s a strange kind of silence that follows you when the world doesn’t believe in you. It lingers in doctor’s offices, Centrelink meetings, hospital corridors, family dinners… It whispers: you can’t. It shouts: you won’t.
And for a while, I listened.
I didn’t always trust myself. I didn’t even know who myself was. I was too busy surviving bipolar episodes that left me wrecked, chronic pain that made me question my worth, a health system that overlooked, misjudged, and dismissed me. I was always too much or not enough or somehow both at the exact same time. Too chaotic. Too sensitive. Too unwell. Not productive. Not “reliable.” Not viable.
But when the world gave me no place to belong, I made one.
Designing As Survival
When I first started designing, it wasn’t for clients. Rather, it was for comfort. For escape. For a scrap of control in a body that constantly betrayed me and a life that didn’t fit. I’d stay up tweaking fonts on fake moodboards, building brand kits for imaginary businesses. This act of designing wasn’t even just limited to brand design. I would spend hours designing fashion outfits I’d never sew and buildings I’d never build. not because anyone would see them, but because I needed to make something beautiful. Something that made sense when nothing else did.
Design became a lifeline. It helped me make order out of chaos, tell stories I wasn’t ready to say out loud, and remind myself I was still here. Still capable. Still worthy of creating.
The hardest part wasn’t learning the software. It was learning to stop second-guessing every choice. Trusting my instincts (the colours I reached for, the spacing I preferred, the style that kept showing up) were valid, even if they didn’t look like what the “cool” designers were doing.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparison. Especially when you’re starting from the margins. I didn’t have a degree (yet, and even then I majored in Architectural design). I didn’t have a traditional career path. I had lived experience, a hell of a lot of grit, and an eye for storytelling.
But I had to unlearn the belief that I needed someone else to give me permission.
I burned out more times than I can count. Pushed past my limits to prove I was “good enough,” “well enough,” “serious enough.” I said yes when my body and brain screamed no. I took that drained me, because I didn’t believe I could afford to be picky. And I paid the price in hospital visits, in tears, in disappearing for weeks on end just to recover.
Eventually I realised I wasn’t the problem. The way I was working was the problem.
So I changed everything (and only recently, at that).
I started pacing. Resting. Saying no. Giving myself the space to create slowly, intentionally, humanly. I stopped trying to be “the best” and starting trying to just be honest.
Clients Who See Me
And Who I See…
I thought that if I built a business around my disability, no one would hire me.
But, in actuality, the opposite happened.
I attracted people who were just like me. People who’d also been dismissed, who also felt overwhelmed, who needed someone who would get it. They came for logos and left with language for their story. They cried happy tears at their brand reveals. They told me, “You made me feel seen.”
And slowly, I started to see myself too. As a designer. A business owner. Not despite my pain, but because of the perspective it gave me.
These days, I don’t rush. I don’t hustle. I work with intention. I design slowly, with meaning, with empathy.
I ask: What’s the story beneath the surface? What’s your nervous system trying to tell you? How can your brand feel like home?
This is what I bring to my clients:
A trauma-informed, disability-informed design experience
Flexible, thoughtful pacing
A deep respect for their identity and lived experience
The belief that branding should feel right, not just look right
Because I’ve lived the reality of feeling like I don’t belong. And now? I build brands that help people belong to their business, to their message, and to themselves.
Please know that it’s okay to build slow. It’s okay to doubt. But it’s also okay to try anyway. Your way of designing, thinking, seeing… it all matters. It doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s to be real.
You don’t need to be perfect to be powerful. You just need to begin.
And if you need someone who’s been there, who’s still there (some days), I’m right here.
Let’s build your brand together; one that honours your story, your pace, and your voice.
Book a discovery call today
