I Did My Best Design Work Once I Believed I Was Worthy of It
It was time to put that little voice in my head to bed.
When I was a kid, I spent hours drawing cartoon characters like Care Bears and Ninja Turtles. Then in high school, it was my favorite ball players like José Canseco, Jim Abbott, and Mark McGwire.
Despite that, I never thought of art as a career choice. An English teacher turned me on to writing, so when I started my freshman year at Mississippi State University, I declared a communication major in hopes of writing for Sports Illustrated one day.
I still had an itch for art, so I signed up for Drawing I. The class met Wednesdays at 6 p.m. for two and a half hours, and a man named Mickey was the instructor. I was familiar with him; my brother and sister, who had already earned art degrees at MSU, used to tell stories about him with affection.
I was sitting near the front of the room when Mickey called Roll for the first time.
“Sue Anna Joe?”
I raised my hand. He paused and stared at the list.
“Are you related to Belinda and Johnny?”
I nodded.
“Sister?”
I nodded again. He broke into a big smile and chuckled.
I shouldn’t have let that bother me, but it did. I had never lived in my siblings’ shadows, but if I took more art classes, the faculty would always see me as Belinda and Johnny’s kid sister. Plus, it felt like I was copying them. I wasn’t, but I wanted to create my own shtick.
The next day I dropped the class from my schedule. The required art supplies were expensive, and I didn’t want to spend a long evening in class. These were legit issues, but they also were a cover for my insecurity.
From a False Start to the Majors
I was hired right out of college by a newspaper to cover the local education and county beats. But painfully shy people like me make terrible reporters, so my journalism career lasted less than a month.
Without a clear direction, I took clerical jobs like data entry and receptionist for the next few years. The art bug bit me again, so I broadcasted to my network that I was available for graphic design side jobs even though I had no education or experience in it.
I picked up a few projects designing ads and newsletters. When I told a co-worker about my freelancing, he said I should build websites because the Internet was the hot, new thing. I was scared of something incredibly foreign, but he was right. So I started spending my Saturdays reading web development magazines at Books-A-Million to learn HTML and CSS.
In time, I built a humble portfolio and got a job with a small agency to do design and coding. Our firm partnered with outside designers and software engineers. I had great working relationships with them, but I noticed that some designers were territorial, catty, or both.
I could empathize. Artists tend to view their work as direct extensions of themselves. When our work is praised, we feel personally validated. When someone else’s work wins out over ours, it’s a blow to our egos. This is unhealthy, but some designers grow thicker skin over time and mature their perspective.
Unfortunately, some don’t. I was intimidated by people like this, and worse than that was the time someone refused to call me a designer because they thought I didn’t deserve a seat at the table.
Sure, I didn’t have an art degree or textbook knowledge of typography, color theory, or grid design. I had to learn all that on the job. Our clients loved my designs, but I still couldn’t cut myself a break when I was surrounded by people who could articulately defend their work. If it were me on the spot, I would simply shrug and say, “It just felt right.”
Plagued with imposter syndrome, I questioned my worthiness and talent during most of my time at the agency. I compared myself to other people, and I felt like I’d never be as good as them.
Several years later I searched for another job, applying for both design and coding positions. Within six months I was hired by a tech company in San Francisco to do strictly HTML and CSS. I was relieved. Design had become repetitive, but I mostly wanted to get away from big egos and feelings of inadequacy.
My new job was a blast. I learned how to code in the big leagues, thanks to my world-class co-workers. Occasionally that art gremlin whispered in my ear, and I would answer by adding CSS animations to the interfaces created by our designers. They always approved my ideas which kept the gremlin happy.
Clarity Emerges When the Waters Lie Still and Dirt Settles
Seven years into my job, our company was bought by foreign interests, and our entire staff was laid off in phases over the next year. I was among the last to go, and although I knew it was coming, our final day devastated me.
Sometime later I took a career break and moved back to my hometown in Mississippi. I had lived away from my family for 23 years, and I deeply missed the friendliness and laid-backness of the South.
Shortly after arriving home, I dove into my mental well-being. As much as I loved my job in San Francisco, I still felt like a fraud. Similar to my job at the agency, I worked with colleagues who held degrees in our industry: computer science, human-computer interaction, and data engineering. During our meetings, I always felt like the dumbest person in the room.
But at the same time, I was tired of feeling beaten down, so I examined my mindset through childhood exploration, philosophy, and meditation. It was extremely painful, but I kept at it. Bit by bit, my self-denigrating mentality started to chip away.
After uncovering my lifelong struggles with identity, self-esteem, and worthiness, I pinpointed why I never felt good enough and deserving of life’s gifts. That allowed me to finally see that none of my negative thoughts were true. I worked to retrain my thinking, and for the first time, I started responding to the critical voice in my head with assertive disagreements.
My sister had also moved back to our hometown a few years earlier. One day she showed me some bookmarks she bought at our local bookstore. The designs sported clever messages like “The World Belongs to Those Who Read” and “Read Books. Drink Coffee. Fight Evil.” The simple art reminded me of a few enamel pins I had bought recently.
Enamel pins are accessories commonly displayed on tote bags, luggage, and backpacks. What I love about them is that they can express any hobby or interest whether it be dogs, doughnuts, sewing, or snowboarding in a few words, or none at all.
Suddenly, my mind was flooded with ideas that were important to me but were never priorities in practice: personal boundaries, self-care, and self-acceptance. I sketched out these ideas as pin designs with a drive I hadn’t felt in years. I have always been too intimidated to speak my mind. Now I found a way of expressing myself—without having to say anything—through these pins.
Over a week’s time, I banged out 11 designs. And I loved them. They spoke my truth with no apologies. I partnered with a pin retailer to sell my pins on their website.
I designed another collection that expressed my feelings about my hometown. Greenwood is a complete 180 from San Francisco, and I never thought I’d return to it.
But Greenwood gave me the breathing space and familiarity I needed, so I embraced the inspiration. Because my hometown pins are niche, I’m selling them at our farmer's market. I’m also trying to get them into local gift stores.
After uploading my product photos to Instagram, I’ve caught myself gazing at my profile page on multiple occasions.
“Bitch, you’ve seen these pins a million times. You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” the little voice in my head would ask.
“No, I’m just proud that I accomplished something new for myself,” I’d reply. “And that’s okay.”
A Small Taste of Sweet Liberation
The thing that tickled me the most about this adventure was that finally, I was the client. No creative briefs, no design by committee, no change orders. It was my vision, my voice, my fonts, and my colors. I made design decisions that not only felt right but because I felt like it.
The breakthrough, however, was that my designs looked nothing like anyone else’s, and I was okay with that. I don’t have to match other people’s aesthetics to be a good designer, and the beauty of their work doesn’t take away from mine.
I also threw away the idea that I shouldn’t “go for it.” This old habit of keeping myself down was due to past events telling me that I didn’t deserve success, that successful people are show-offs, and that only good girls and boys sit still and keep their mouths shut.
Unfortunately, many of us are trained to think this way which detrimentally holds us back. The good news is that these ideas are not true. They were put in our heads by a person or incident from the past. With the help of a counselor or online resources—and lots of self-compassion—you can free yourself from the gray cloud looming over your head.
I’ll be honest: it’s not easy. Sometimes I still think my work sucks, or I have nothing of value to offer the world. Sounds dismal, but it’s normal. Just give yourself space to own those feelings and not beat yourself up for having them. Acceptance helps me move through the bad days, so I can start creating again. But it has to begin with exploring your past and how it interferes with your self-judgment. Then you can heal.
So go ahead. You deserve to speak your truth, shine in the spotlight, and serve every bite of that delicious dish that is you. It’s not too late, and there’s plenty of room at the table. The world is waiting for you. And it’s hungry.
