This summer marks almost six years since I stopped drinking.

That might sound more dramatic than it really is, because I don't consider myself someone who "can't drink." Every now and then I'll have a glass at a celebration or a champagne toast at an event. Alcohol just isn't part of my everyday life anymore.

But for years, it was. Especially when I was creating.

Some people light a candle before they sit down to work. Others put on a playlist. My ritual was pouring a glass of wine. That was how I moved from "work mode" into creative mode. Or at least that's what I believed.


When every day felt like the same day
Like so many of us, 2020 completely disrupted my routines. The days blended together. There wasn't much to celebrate, but somehow there was always a reason to have a drink. Happy hour became... whenever. Wine slowly turned from something I enjoyed into something I expected every evening.

Sometimes it was a bottle a day.

Eventually my body started telling me something wasn't right. I developed a constant sore throat and stomach issues, and when I traveled to Torreón, Mexico to visit my parents, my dad took me to see a gastroenterologist. I was diagnosed with GERD and learned it had already started damaging my esophagus.

I was put on a strict treatment plan, and for a while, I did really well.

Then life happened. My dad was preparing for knee replacement surgery. COVID was quietly making its way through our family, though we didn't know that yet. We were focused on his recovery, and because I was feeling better, I slipped back into old habits.

A case of white wine I'd ordered from Costco arrived at my parents' house. I remember thinking, "At least it's white wine. That's probably better." Looking back, I smile at how our minds try to negotiate with our habits.

But what I remember most isn't the wine. It's the look on my dad's face. He was disappointed — not because of the wine itself, but because he knew how hard I had worked to get healthy again.

A couple of weeks later, he passed away from complications related to COVID.

One of the last things I remember is how worried he was that I wasn't taking care of myself. And I realized I never wanted him to worry about me again.

So I stopped drinking. For him.


Relearning creativity
What I didn't expect was how much of my identity felt tied to alcohol. Not socially — creatively.

For years, my favorite way to work late into the night was with a glass of wine next to my computer. Somewhere along the way, I'd convinced myself that wine helped me access my creativity. Without it, I felt stuck. The ideas didn't come as easily. Or maybe they did, and I just didn't trust them yet.

I had to relearn how to enter that creative flow without a ritual I'd repeated for years. And it turns out the wine wasn't creating the ideas — it was simply signaling to my brain that it was time to create.

Over time, I built new rituals instead: a cup of coffee, a clean-ish desk, music, an evening walk before sitting down...

None of those things made me more creative. Neither did wine. The creativity had been there all along.


Learning to unwind
The hardest lesson wasn't actually creating without alcohol. It was resting without it.

For years, wine had marked the end of the day. It helped me disconnect from work, quiet my thoughts, and tell my brain it was finally okay to relax. Without that routine, I had to figure out what relaxation actually looked like. I had to learn how to sit with my thoughts instead of numbing them, how to process grief instead of postponing it, how to end the day without needing something in a glass.

That part took much longer.


Six years later
I don't think alcohol was ever the source of my creativity. It was just something I happened to pair with it.

Today I still design brands. I still stay up late when inspiration strikes. I still have those magical moments where ideas seem to come out of nowhere. The difference is that now I know those ideas were never hiding inside a wine glass.
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They were always inside me. ☺️
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And maybe that's the lesson I wish more creatives heard: you don't need to become someone else to create your best work. Sometimes you just need to trust that the creativity you already have is enough.
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​Last week, while I was in Washington, DC, I was standing in line at a coffee shop when I noticed the woman in front of me pull out her phone and Google the coffee shop she was already standing inside.

She glanced at the reviews, looked at a few photos, nodded to herself, and then placed her order.
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The funny thing is, I had done the same thing earlier that morning. I was staying nearby and had looked up the coffee shop before heading over from my hotel. By the time I walked through the door, I had already checked the reviews, looked at photos, and decided it was worth the visit. I even knew exactly what I was going to order.
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​She was already there. She had already made the decision to walk in. But before spending her money, she wanted one last confirmation that she was making the right choice.

​That's branding in 2026.

People don't just evaluate your business when they discover you anymore. They evaluate you while they're deciding whether to trust you. Before they fill out the contact form. Before they schedule the consultation. Before they click "buy now." Sometimes, before they've ever spoken to you.

As a brand designer, I've spent years helping businesses create trust at first sight, and I've never seen the visual landscape shift as quickly as it is right now. So rather than giving you a list of trends to copy, I wanted to share some of the things I'm actually seeing and what they mean for small businesses.
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When perfect became easy
For years, the goal of branding was polish. We wanted everything to look clean, professional, and perfectly put together. Then AI entered the chat.

Almost overnight, “good” design became accessible to everyone. Logos, graphics, images, websites, social media content... things that once required specialized skills could suddenly be generated in minutes. And while that's not necessarily a bad thing, it has created an interesting challenge.

When everyone can create something polished, polish alone is no longer enough to stand out.

The brands that are catching my attention right now aren't necessarily the most perfect ones. They're the ones that feel human. The ones with personality. The ones that don't sound, look, or feel like everyone else in their industry. In a world where polished design is easier than ever to create, being memorable often comes down to being authentic.

Another shift I'm seeing is that logos can no longer just sit there.

Most people experience your brand through a screen. They visit your website, scroll through your social media, read your emails, or watch your videos long before they ever speak to you.

Because of that, a single logo isn't enough anymore.

Today's brands need flexibility. Your logo needs to work in a website header, a social media profile photo, an email signature, a presentation deck, a favicon, and dozens of other places where space and context are constantly changing.

That's why I'm a big believer in logo suites rather than a single logo file. A primary logo, secondary logo, submark, wordmark, and supporting brand elements give you the flexibility to show up consistently, no matter where your audience encounters you.
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And while subtle animation and movement can add personality to a brand experience (I love creating these for my clients!), they're not a requirement. A thoughtful brand system is. The goal isn't to create something flashy. It's to create something versatile, recognizable, and built for the way people interact with brands today.

Typography is having a moment right now, too.

For years, typography was treated like the supporting actor in a brand identity. Today, it's often doing much more of the branding heavy lifting. The right typography can communicate confidence, warmth, sophistication, creativity, or expertise before someone reads a single word.
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That's one of the reasons I pay close attention to typography when creating a brand identity. While I often recommend easy-to-use Google Fonts for websites and body copy, I love incorporating distinctive, licensed typefaces into logos and brand identities whenever possible. It's a simple way to create something that feels more ownable, memorable, and uniquely yours.

People want real businesses, not perfect ones
Perhaps the biggest shift of all is authenticity.

Consumers have become incredibly good at spotting businesses that feel generic or manufactured. The polished stock photos, the corporate jargon, the messaging that sounds exactly like everyone else in the industry—it simply doesn't resonate the way it used to.

What resonates are stories. Personality. Opinions. Behind-the-scenes moments. Real people doing real work.

This is one of the reasons I encourage my clients to share more of themselves. Not because every business owner needs to become an influencer, but because people connect with people. The businesses that are building the strongest relationships right now aren't necessarily the loudest. They're the ones that feel genuine.

I'm also seeing businesses benefit from embracing what makes them unique instead of trying to look like everyone else.

As design becomes increasingly global, local identity is becoming more valuable. Your culture, your community, your perspective, your lived experience—these things are not limitations. They're differentiators.

Now, does that mean every business needs a complete rebrand because trends are changing? Absolutely not.

But if you've found yourself thinking, "My business has evolved, but my brand hasn't," or "This doesn't really feel like me anymore?" that's worth paying attention to.

One thing I always tell my clients is that branding isn't about looking bigger than you are. It's about looking as good as the work you're already doing.

A brand that no longer reflects who you are and where your business is headed creates friction. It makes you hesitate before sharing your website. It creates a disconnect between the quality of your work and the impression your business makes. And over time, that gap can start costing you opportunities.

The goal isn't to chase trends. It's never been to chase trends.

The goal is to create a brand that reflects who you are today, builds trust with the people you want to serve, and supports where your business is going next.

Because trust at first sight still matters. It just looks a little different in 2026.

​If your business has grown, evolved, or outgrown its current visual identity, a brand refresh may be exactly what you need. The best brands aren't the trendiest ones. They're the ones that feel aligned with who you are, what you do, and the people you serve.
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If you're ready for a brand that earns trust before you ever say hello, I'd love to chat.
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Most client inquiries are pretty straightforward.

Someone needs a logo, a website, or a brand refresh. We hop on a call, talk about goals, and see if we're a good fit.

But every once in a while, an inquiry comes along that makes you stop and say, "Wait... what?"

This is the story of the wildest client inquiry I've ever received—and the four red flags it taught me to never ignore.
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At the time, I was in my second year as a full-time independent designer, my first year as a single mom, and fresh off a cross-country move. It was one of those seasons where every inquiry felt important and every project felt like it might change everything.​

I had just wrapped up a project for a big-name tech client who shared my work on her Instagram stories. Suddenly, my inbox was getting a lot more attention than usual, and one of those inquiries came from a foundation that taught some sort of “sensual meditation.”

Was it my typical client? Not even close.

But I also try to stay open-minded and not assume something is weird just because it's unfamiliar to me. Their website looked professional, they cited research, and the project itself sounded straightforward. And, if I'm being completely honest, I was still in that phase of business where I wasn't asking nearly as many questions as I do now.
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So I moved forward.

The first red flag
The first red flag appeared during one of our conversations.

The person I was working with casually mentioned that the organization had dealt with some controversy and false accusations in the past. At the time, I remember thinking that was an odd thing to bring up. Most clients start by talking about goals, timelines, or deliverables. This was the first time someone led with controversy.

Still, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I did a quick search online and couldn't find much. Looking back, that was probably the moment I should have slowed down and done a little more digging.

Instead, I kept moving forward.


The moment everything clicked
A few weeks later, they sent over access to their website. As I was getting logged in, I noticed another name associated with the organization. It wasn't the name they had been using with me. It was a completely different one.

So I Googled it. 

What came up wasn't a few negative reviews or some internet drama. The FBI had shut them down. Not "someone is upset in the comments section" shut down. Actually shut down. 😳

And that's when everything they had mentioned on our call about controversy and false accusations suddenly clicked.

Up until that point, I had assumed they were talking about the normal kind of controversy that sometimes happens when organizations have strong opinions or do things differently. What I found was something entirely different.

Once I started connecting the dots, I knew it was time to make a graceful exit.

Truthfully, I was running away from that project so fast I probably left cartoon dust clouds behind me. 💨
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Six months later
About six months later, Netflix released a documentary about them.

I nearly fell out of my chair!

There they were: the same organization, the same people, and the same story I had gotten a glimpse of during my research—except this time it was much deeper, much more intense, and accompanied by dramatic music, interviews, and an entire production team.

As I watched, all I could think was, Thank goodness I ran away from that project.

More than anything, I felt relieved. Relieved that I had paid attention when something felt off and taken the time to dig a little deeper before getting any further involved.
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What this experience taught me
Looking back, the biggest lesson this experience taught me was to trust my gut.

At the time, I couldn't have told you exactly what felt off. Nothing had happened that was obviously wrong, and I was genuinely trying to stay open-minded. But there were little things that kept nagging at me. 

Instead of brushing those feelings aside, I got curious and started playing detective.

What I've learned since then is that red flags rarely travel alone. If a client is showing you one red flag, there's a good chance they have an entire arsenal of them waiting in their back pocket. The challenge is that you don't always see them all at once. 

In my case, paying attention made all the difference.

Today, I ask more questions. I do more research. And I've learned that walking away from the wrong client can be just as important as landing the right one.
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Looking back, I'm grateful for the experience because it reinforced something I still believe today: when something feels off, don't ignore it.​​

Common client red flags to watch for
Now, most client red flags don't end with an FBI investigation or a Netflix documentary. Usually, they're much less dramatic.

Some of the biggest red flags I've learned to watch for are:

🚩 They immediately try to negotiate your pricing
There's nothing wrong with having a budget, but if someone's first instinct is to tell you why your work should cost less, it can be a sign that they don't value what you do.

🚩 They talk badly about every previous designer, coach, consultant, or service provider they've worked with
Sometimes people have genuinely bad experiences. But when everyone else is supposedly the problem, I start paying attention.

🚩 They ignore boundaries before you've even started working together
Late-night texts, expecting immediate responses, wanting to skip your process, or pushing for exceptions can be clues about what the relationship will look like later.

🚩 Their story doesn't quite add up
You don't always know why something feels off. Sometimes it's inconsistencies. Sometimes it's missing information. Sometimes it's just a feeling that there's more to the story.

And here's the biggest one of all:

🚩 Something just feels off
Sometimes you can't explain it right away. It's not one giant warning sign flashing in front of your face. It's usually a handful of little things that create a feeling you can't quite shake.
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If this experience taught me anything, it's that when something feels off, it's worth paying attention. Ask another question. Do a little more digging. Get curious.

You'll be very glad you trusted your gut because you just never know where ignoring that feeling might lead.
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Sometimes, it leads to working with a client who ends up being the subject of a Netflix documentary. 🍿

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April 2020. My second layoff. And somehow, the one that changed everything.

The first layoff broke something in me. The second one, in the middle of a global pandemic with the whole world shutting down, came with a strange kind of peace.

Maybe because the uncertainty was everywhere, not just in my life. Maybe because I was finally ready to stop running from what I actually wanted.

Six years later, I’m writing this from a business I love, a life I designed, and a community I’m deeply grateful for. This is what it really took to get here.


1. The second layoff felt different because I was different.
​My first layoff planted a seed — for the first time, I seriously considered starting my own business. But fear won, and I took another job instead. It felt like the responsible choice.

Then the second layoff came. And this time, the world had slowed down too, so I surrendered to it. There were no jobs to scramble for, and honestly, that was its own kind of gift. I spent time with Lennon. We built LEGOs, made art, and I taught him how to ride his bike. In that quiet, something opened up. I stopped trying to force the next safe thing and started actually listening to myself.

The seed from that first layoff was still there. It had just been waiting.


2. Grief can be a catalyst.
That summer, we quarantined with my parents in Mexico. Within two months, my dad passed away. He was ten days from turning 70. I was turning 35.

I remember thinking, if this is the middle of my life, how do I want the second half to look?

I had been letting fear make my decisions for years. My dad’s passing was the moment I decided to stop. Not out of recklessness, but out of love. Love for the life I hadn’t let myself live yet.


3. I interviewed for a job and hoped I wouldn’t get it. 
While still in Mexico, I applied for a remote position. Even after everything, I almost fell back into the same pattern. Fear has a way of making the familiar feel safe. On paper, it made sense. Stability. Flexibility. "A safety net."

But during that interview, I had a pit in my stomach. For the first time in my career, I sat across from someone and silently hoped they wouldn't pick me. That feeling was my intuition, and for the first time, I chose to trust it over logic. It was telling me something I was finally ready to hear.

I didn't get the job. And I was relieved.


4. Security is an illusion. I had already lived that twice.
Two layoffs taught me that a job title and a salary are not the same thing as safety. There is no guaranteed path. There is only the path you choose.

Once I accepted that, betting on myself stopped feeling reckless. It started feeling like the most honest decision I could make.

If it could be taken away anyway, I might as well be the one holding it.


5. Going all in meant letting go of other people’s beliefs about what I could do.
The hardest part of building this business wasn't the strategy, the clients, or the systems. It was separating my own worth from the opinions of people who had never tried what I was trying.

I learned that surrounding yourself with people who want to build the same things is crucial. Some of the most important relationships in my journey started with strangers on the internet, people who became business best friends, and eventually, lifelong friends and my biggest cheerleaders. I had to keep choosing that belief, even on the days I doubted myself most.


6. The wish became a reality. Slowly. And that was okay.
In 2021, I became 100% self-employed, and I haven’t looked back.
Not because everything went perfectly. It didn’t.

But because I finally gave myself permission to find out what I was capable of.
Six years later, that quiet wish I made during a pandemic, to build something that was truly mine, is my everyday life.


The truth I didn’t expect
I didn’t realize I was also paving the way for my son.

When I made the decision to go all in, I thought I was doing it for myself. And I was. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was doing something I never planned.

I was showing Lennon what it looks like to bet on yourself.

He is growing up watching his mom build something from nothing. Watching her choose courage over comfort again and again.

And my hope, the quiet, deep one, is that when it’s his turn to stand at a crossroads, he remembers that dreams are worth pursuing. That hard work aimed at something real can actually get you there. That possibility isn’t just a word.

I didn’t set out to be that example. But maybe that’s the most meaningful thing I’ve ever built.

If you’re in a hard chapter right now, a layoff, a loss, a crossroads, I’m not going to tell you it’s all part of a plan.

But I will say this.

Sometimes the hardest chapters shape the best beginnings. I wouldn't trade the layoffs, the grief, or the fear, because every single one of them shaped who I am today. And I am deeply grateful for that.
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For a long time, I thought someone had to choose me first.

A company. A boss. Someone with authority who would look at my work and say: yes, you belong here.

And then I got laid off. Twice.

The first time was after a merger. The second time was during COVID. And somewhere in the middle of that second one, I had a realization that changed everything:
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No one is coming to give you permission. So you have to give it to yourself.

That's the idea I got to explore recently on a panel in Austin, "Power Without Permission: Latinas Leading the New Economy," hosted by The Latina Foundation, alongside moderator Bessy Martinez and fellow panelists Angelica Robles and Brittney Rodriguez.
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It was one of those conversations that stays with you. And I've been thinking about it ever since. 💗
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​We talked about leadership, money, creativity, and what it really means to build something on your own terms. The conversation touched on so much that I wanted to bring it here.

I never imagined I'd be someone people wanted to hear from. For a long time, I didn't think my story was special enough to share on a stage. But after the event, people reached out to thank me for being vulnerable, and that reminded me why sharing matters.

​When you let people see the real journey, they start to see themselves in it. And that's everything.

What power without permission actually looks like
When I was younger, my parents wanted me to choose a safe career. They were educators. Security mattered, the way it matters in a lot of Latino households, where stability is never something you take for granted.

But for the first time in my life, I spoke up for myself. I said I wanted to follow what my heart was telling me: a creative career.

It felt terrifying. They didn't fully understand it. And I wasn't sure I could pull it off either!

But that moment taught me something I've carried ever since: claiming your power often starts before you feel ready. It starts when you decide you voice and dreams matter, even if no one has validated it yet.

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Courage doesn't always come first
Here's what I've learned after years of building this business: Courage doesn't always show up before the decision. Sometimes you make the leap, and courage catches up later.
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When I got laid off the second time, I remember thinking: I can either keep waiting for someone else to decide my future, or I can start building something of my own.
So I did. Terrified, but moving.

That's still how I make most of my big decisions. Not from a place of total confidence, but from seconds of courage that push me just far enough forward to figure the rest out.


On creativity being for all of us
One thing I believe deeply, and talk about with my students all the time, is that creativity is not a personality type or a special gift. It's a way of thinking.

Many Latinas grow up being practical, responsible, and hardworking. Which is a strength. But somewhere along the way, creativity can get quietly pushed aside, like it's a luxury we can't afford.

It's not. Your perspective, your culture, your lived experience, those are creative assets. Powerful ones. The world doesn't need more people copying what's already been done. It needs more authentic voices. Yours included.


The leadership I was taught, and the kind I had to find
Both of my parents were educators. Teaching was always modeled for me growing up.
But I spent a long time thinking I couldn't lead because I was the quiet one. The introvert. The shy girl who wasn't sure she belonged in the room, let alone at the front of it.

What I had to unlearn was the idea that leadership has one personality type. It doesn't.

You can be thoughtful, observant, warm, and still be powerful. Once I stopped trying to match someone else's version of leadership, I found my own way to show up.
For me, that looks like this: if I figured something out, I'm not keeping it to myself.

It's why I created my academy. It's why mentorship matters so much to me. I didn't grow up seeing many people who looked like me teaching brand design or showing how to build a real career from creative work. That gap is something I think about every time I share what I know.



The thing I want to leave you with
Fear is normal. The goal isn't to get rid of it. The goal is to move forward anyway.

And when we take those leaps, even scared, even uncertain, we're not just changing our own lives. We're showing someone else what's possible.

Most of the decisions that changed my life didn't come from confidence. They came from seconds of courage.
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And sometimes, that's all you need to start.
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