Someone recently told me, “You’re working all the time.”

And they weren’t wrong.

I do work a lot. But it got me thinking about this idea of work-life balance and how, after years of hearing about it, I’m not sure I believe in it anymore.

“Work-life balance” was actually one of the values at my corporate job. It was something we heard about all the time and something I thought I was supposed to be striving for. But now, as a single mom and business owner, I’ve realized that balance isn’t really what I’m looking for.

I’m looking for choice.

And I think being a single mom shapes the way I think about work, too. But the truth is, I’ve always been the breadwinner. I’ve always been financially responsible for myself and my family, so work has never just been something I do. It’s how I’ve built security, independence, and the life I want for us.

Now, as a business owner, that responsibility is still mine. My business supports me, my son, and the life we’re building. There isn’t another income I rely on or share that responsibility with, and I think that naturally affects the way I think about how much I work and why I work as hard as I do.

The work isn’t something I’m trying to escape so I can get back to my life. It’s one of the things making that life possible.

​Have you ever looked at your website or logo and thought, “This just doesn’t feel like us anymore?”

Maybe there’s nothing technically wrong with it. Your logo still works. Your colors are fine. Your website is doing its job.

But your business has changed.

You’ve grown, your services have evolved, your prices have gone up, and you’re working with bigger clients. You know what you’re doing now in a way you probably didn’t when you first started your business.

And yet, your brand still looks like the business you were three, five, or even ten years ago.

That disconnect is one of the biggest signs it might be time to rebrand.

A rebrand isn’t about changing your logo because you’re bored with it or jumping on whatever design trend is popular right now. It’s about making sure the way your business looks reflects the business you’ve actually built.

So, how do you know when you’ve officially outgrown your brand?

Here are seven signs I see all the time.


1. Your business has evolved, but your brand hasn’t
This is probably the biggest one.

Most businesses don’t stay exactly the same. You add services. You stop offering others. You get clearer about who you want to work with. Your expertise grows. Maybe you move from working with small clients to larger organizations or increase your prices significantly.

But sometimes the brand gets left behind.

The logo you created when you were just trying to get your business off the ground may have been exactly what you needed then. That doesn’t mean it needs to represent your business forever.

Your brand should grow with your business.


2. You’re a little embarrassed to share your website
Be honest. When someone asks for your website, do you confidently send them the link?

Or do you say something like, “Just ignore the website. I need to update it,” or “The information is right, but it doesn’t really look like us anymore.” Maybe even, “I swear my actual work is better than my website makes it look.”

If you feel like you need to give someone a disclaimer before they experience your brand, pay attention to that feeling.

Your website should help build trust in your business, not require an explanation before someone opens it.

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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This week marked eight years since I received an email I had been expecting for months.
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By then, it wasn't a surprise.

Our company had been acquired, and one by one, departments were being eliminated.

​Every week seemed to bring more uncertainty. We'd hear another team had been let go, another round of layoffs had happened, another familiar face was gone.

Each morning, I'd walk into the office wondering if that day would be my last.

The hardest part wasn't losing my job. It was waiting to lose it.

When the email finally arrived, it confirmed what many of us had been anticipating. My position, along with the majority of my department, was being eliminated.

I remember feeling two emotions at the same time. Heartbroken, and oddly... relieved.

The uncertainty was finally over.

It was my first big-girl job. The job where I felt like I was building a career, not just collecting a paycheck. I had spent nearly ten years there, and the people I worked with had become so much more than coworkers. They became my Knoxville family, and eight years later, I still miss every single one of them.
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Outside of work, life felt just as uncertain.

I had a kindergartner depending on me. I was the breadwinner. At the same time, I was in the middle of my immigration process, waiting for my permanent residency after building a life in a country I had called home since 2003.

It felt like every major piece of my life was hanging by a thread.

Looking back, I don't think I was afraid of losing my job. I was afraid of everything I couldn't control.

For years, I had quietly dreamed about working for myself. It was one of those ideas that would pop into my mind every now and then before I quickly talked myself out of it. I had a good job. A steady paycheck. Stability.

Starting a business felt like something I'd do someday. Not today.

So after the layoff, I did what felt responsible: I updated my résumé, and I started applying for jobs.

Around that same time, my then-husband received an opportunity in Connecticut, so we decided that would be our next chapter. I focused my job search there, interviewed with several companies, and convinced myself that finding another job was the obvious next step.

One interview, in particular, felt like it was going to change everything.

When I didn't get the job, I was devastated.

Looking back now, I smile because that "no" protected a future I couldn't yet see.

Around that same time, I reached out to someone simply because I wanted to make a new connection. That conversation turned into a friendship, which eventually led to an opportunity at a design agency while I continued building my freelance business on the side.

It felt like the perfect in-between.

Then, a year later, everything changed again. COVID hit, and I was laid off for a second time. This time, though, it didn't feel devastating. It felt like life asking me the same question one more time: If not now, when?

Not long after, I lost my dad. His passing changed how I defined success.

Success stopped being about climbing the next step of the career ladder. It became about building a life that gave me choices. A life where I could be present for the people I love.
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A life where I didn't have to ask permission to take care of my family.

So in January 2021, I stopped treating freelancing as my backup plan and started treating it like the business I believed it could become.

That doesn't mean I never questioned the decision. I did. There were moments when going back to the familiarity of a steady paycheck sounded incredibly appealing.

Then came another unexpected chapter. Later that year, my marriage ended, bringing a 20-year relationship with the father of my son to a close.

It wasn't part of the plan either.

But by then, I had learned something I didn't know I was capable of. I had learned that courage isn't the absence of uncertainty. It's choosing to keep moving anyway. After years of waiting for the next unknown, uncertainty no longer felt like something to fear. It had become something I knew I could navigate.

I had stopped waiting for life to become predictable and started believing I could figure things out, no matter what came next. And with every challenge, my confidence grew that I could make this work.

The years that followed brought more change than I could have imagined.

I moved to San Antonio to be closer to my mom. I built a business that has connected me with incredible clients and lifelong friends. I've had opportunities I couldn't have imagined eight years ago.

But if I'm honest, those aren't the things I'm most grateful for.

I'm grateful for the freedom.

The freedom to drive to Mexico and spend weeks helping my mom recover from surgery. The freedom to travel with Lennon and show him the world. The freedom to build a business around my life instead of trying to build my life around someone else's schedule.

The business was never the dream. The life it made possible was.
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Eight years ago, uncertainty consumed me because my future depended on decisions I couldn't control. It turns out waiting wasn't the hardest part after all. Believing I could build something on the other side was.

Today, uncertainty still exists. The difference is that now, it comes from building something that's mine. And I'd choose this kind of uncertainty every single time.

Eight years ago, I thought that email marked the end of my career. Looking back, it was simply the first page of the chapter I'm still writing today.

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I simply described what I wanted: "Create a promotional email for my free masterclass for aspiring brand designers: Design Your Way to Freedom."

​Within seconds, Studio generated multiple email layouts.

Truly, I wasn't expecting them to be this good!


It didn't replace my creativity—it accelerated it. 
This is probably my favorite part.

As designers, we sometimes worry AI will replace our creativity. That wasn't my experience.

Studio gave me an incredible starting point.

I still swapped in my own branding, my own photography, tweaked the messaging, and made it feel like me.

But instead of spending an hour building the structure, I spent that hour refining it.
That's a huge difference.
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