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On loss, permission, and the unexpected gift of starting over.  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: 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. It was one of those conversations that stays with you. And I've been thinking about it ever since. 💗 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. 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. 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. And sometimes, that's all you need to start. I honestly thought I'd take this story to the grave. But then one of my students shared a post about businesses giving off "sketchy white van energy," and I nearly spit out my coffee — because I have a sketchy white van story. And it happened in paradise. On my 40th birthday trip, no less. A few months ago, I took my son Lennon to Oahu to celebrate turning 40. We booked a full-day circle island tour that promised beautiful views, local insight, and snorkeling with sea turtles. The photos were dreamy. The description was magical. It felt like one of those experiences you book thinking, this is going to be such a special memory. We woke up excited. Got ready. Walked outside into the Waikiki sunshine. And then we watched as other tour groups got picked up in colorful, branded buses with cheerful guides and tropical graphics. Everyone looked happy and organized and... safe. Then our ride arrived. A plain white van with a damaged bumper. No branding. No logo. No sign of any tour company whatsoever. Just vibes. Questionable vibes. I immediately texted my sister: "Send thoughts and prayers. We're going on a kidnapper van." Was I being dramatic? Probably. But something about being thousands of miles from home with your kid makes you very aware of the details. And the details were not inspiring confidence.  We climbed in anyway (because we are brave, apparently), found seats near the front, and tried to stay positive. Within minutes, we'd quietly relocated to the back after discovering that the front of the van had a very distinct aroma. Not a tropical one. More of a "forgotten lunch" situation. 🙃 A few other passengers made eye contact with us from across the aisle. It was the kind of look that says I see you, and I, too, have regrets. We became fast friends. The rest of the day followed a similar theme. The driver ran late picking us up — and then late picking us up again from the beach. The windows were so cloudy it was hard to actually see the scenery on what was, again, advertised as a sightseeing tour. And his commentary was muffled to the point where Lennon and I just started making up our own fun facts about the island. Hawaii was still gorgeous, obviously. That part delivered. But the "highlight" of the tour — snorkeling with sea turtles — is where things really went sideways. The brochure had painted this picture of a guided, magical ocean experience. In reality, there was a bag of communal snorkel gear that had clearly lived a very full life, and a general wave toward the ocean that said "good luck out there." I was not putting that equipment on my mouth. Instead, I found a spot on the beach, opened my tiny little travel umbrella for shade, and sat there like a very unbothered woman waiting for this portion of the tour to be over.  We did not see a single sea turtle. Not one. We laughed about it, because what else are you going to do? But as a brand designer, I could not stop turning it over in my head the whole ride back.  First impressions are never "just visual" The van mattered. Not because I expect luxury, but because visual cues are signals. Before a single word is spoken, our brains are already deciding: does this feel trustworthy? Organized? Safe? When something looks unkempt or inconsistent, we notice — even when we can't name exactly what's bothering us. That's not overthinking. That's just how humans work. Branding isn't decoration. It's reassurance. Branding is the whole experience — not just the look The issue wasn't only the van. It was the late pickups, the cloudy windows, the mystery aroma, and the vague gesture toward the ocean where turtles were supposedly waiting. Every single touchpoint either builds trust or chips away at it. You cannot market a magical experience and deliver something that feels disorganized and unclear. People feel that disconnect immediately, even when they can't put it into words. That gap is exactly where trust quietly walks out the door. A promise made = a promise kept Marketing sets an expectation. Your brand reinforces it. The experience is where you prove it. The photos showed vibrant water, clean equipment, and guided support. The reality was me — on a beach — alone — under a tiny umbrella — waiting. And that mismatch is what stayed with me most. Not the smell (okay, a little the smell). The inconsistency. Your brand is a promise. And the only way to keep it is through follow-through. Trust lives in the details Branding isn't just your logo, your color palette, or your website. It's showing up on time. Making people feel guided and taken care of. Delivering what you said you would. It's the difference between "this feels amazing" and "something feels off." And people always remember how something made them feel. Don't be the sketchy white van. If your business is accidentally giving off: "I hope this works…" energy "This looked better in the brochure…" energy "She's sitting on the beach alone with a tiny umbrella…" energy …it might be time to look at the gap between what you're promising and what you're delivering. Because when your visuals, your experience, and your follow-through all line up? That's when people relax. That's when they trust you. That's when they book again — and tell their friends. And when they don't? You end up being someone's blog post. 🚐 7 years in business: Lessons from a laid-off designer who never meant to be an entrepreneur1/23/2026  Photo from 2019, the year that started this journey. Seven years ago, I didn't set out to become an entrepreneur. I was laid off from my corporate job of 10 years, terrified, and Googling "how to freelance" at 2am while my son slept. Today, I run a six-figure brand design business, teach other designers what I've learned, and work from wherever I choose. But this journey? It was anything but linear. In early 2019, I invested $1,000 in a freelancing course while simultaneously applying for jobs because I was afraid to go all-in. I found an agency job and was decided to build the business on the side. When I opened my business bank account, the banker asked what I expected to make that year. I had no idea, so I said $10,000—just enough to make up for the pay cut I'd just agreed to. She looked at me and said, "Girl, you can do better than that." She said that without knowing me. Without seeing my portfolio. Without understanding my experience. This stranger had more belief in me than I had in myself. Here's what I learned over seven years: it wasn't my skills that were holding me back. It was my mindset. I had 10+ years of professional experience with major brands like HGTV and Food Network. I knew my craft. But I didn't believe entrepreneurship was possible because I was a mom (no time), an introvert (networking? terrifying), an immigrant (I never dreamed this big), and a people pleaser (boundaries? what are those?). My revenue journey tells the real story: I went from making $5,000 in my first year to building a steady six-figure business. But the numbers only changed when my mindset did, and when I finally went all in two years later, faced with another layoff and the heartbreaking loss of my father. 7 lessons from 7 years1. Moms can do it too (and don't need to apologize for it) Early on, I attributed other people's success to them "having all the time in the world" because they weren't mothers. This limiting belief made everything harder. The truth? Being a mom made me more efficient, more empathetic with clients, and more determined to create the life I wanted. I just had to stop apologizing for doing both things well. 2. Boundaries are not selfish—they're essential One of the biggest revelations came when I learned about boundaries. Actual boundaries—in business and at home. This concept was so foreign to me as the ultimate people pleaser that it opened up an entirely new world. I'm still a work in progress, but now I block my mornings for myself. No calls before 10am. It feels revolutionary. 3. Networking is just talking to people (who knew?) As an introvert, the word "networking" made me want to hide under a blanket forever. Zoom calls were a stretch. In-person events? Absolute horror. But I pushed through. And you know what? The people I've met along the way have become my favorite part of this journey. These relationships have brought me clients, collaborations, and genuine friendships that sustain me. 4. You don't need more skills—you need more belief I spent years thinking I needed one more course, one more certification, one more skill before I could charge what I'm worth or call myself an expert. The skills were always there. What I needed was permission to believe in myself. To see what others saw in me: that I was worthy, capable, and talented. Now I teach my students that talent is something we build as we go on this journey. You don't need to wait until you're "ready"—you grow into your expertise by doing the work. 5. The seeds you plant today won't bloom tomorrow (and that's okay) Years into my journey, I started receiving emails and LinkedIn messages from seeds I'd planted long ago. A blog post someone read three years prior. A past coworker who'd been quietly watching my journey. A casual conversation that led to a referral years later. Keep showing up. Keep sharing. You never know who's watching or when those seeds will bloom. 6. Your pricing reflects your self-worth I started designing logos for $300. Today, I charge thousands for brand identity packages. The work didn't change dramatically. My skills were always there. What changed was my belief that I deserved to be compensated for years of experience, not just the hours it takes to create a logo—and the confidence I gained by putting myself out there even when it felt scary. In seven years, I've served hundreds of clients and received multiple design awards. But the real achievement? Learning to value my own work. 7. Done is better than perfect Sharing what I've learned was something I wanted to do to honor my dad's legacy of teaching and serving. I applied to teach at a community college but never heard back, so I decided to do it on my own. I launched my first course terrified. I said "umm" between every sentence. I thought I was terrible. Then 12 out of 19 students filled out my survey saying they loved it and wanted more. They didn't care that I wasn't the most polished presenter. They cared about the value I delivered. I would have missed that opportunity, and the chance to honor my dad if I'd waited to be perfect. By the numbers, I wasn't "supposed" to make it this far. Only 63% of businesses make it to their third year, about 50% reach their fifth, and just 13.7% of small businesses ever hit six figures in annual revenue. Now add to that: I'm a Mexican immigrant, a woman, and a single mom. But here I am. No year has ever looked the same, but every single one has unfolded better than I could have imagined before taking this leap. If I could go back and tell 2018 Karla anything, it would be this: The hardest part of business isn't learning the skills—it's working on the mindset of becoming the person capable of running it. Let me be honest: entrepreneurship is not easy. There was the Easter I cried in my car while stuffing plastic eggs because I was exhausted from doing it all alone. There were nights I worked past midnight after spending the day at the doctor with my sick son. And there were countless moments of overthinking everything, doubting myself, and worrying about whether the money would come. But here's what makes it worth it: I didn't have to ask anyone for permission to take care of my son. I could spend six months in Mexico with my mom after my dad passed away. I could move to a new city and start over as a single mom, knowing I could provide for us. This freedom came from building something that works with my life instead of against it. Today, I'm pausing to say thank you. To the 117 clients (across 12 countries) who have trusted me with their brands and refer me to others. To the friends and family who cheer me on—on earth and in heaven. To my dad, whose legacy of teaching and serving I carry with me every day. To the little boy who inspires me every single day, and to my furry coworkers that keep me company in the wee hours of the night. If you're reading this thinking "that could never be me"—that was me. For years. I saw others going for their dreams and making a living being creative and thought they had something special I didn't have. Some magic ingredient. Here's what that magic ingredient actually was: courage. The willingness to believe it was possible, even when it felt impossible. You don't need to have it all figured out. You just need to take the next step. And sometimes, you just need to borrow the belief others have in you until you can believe it yourself. At the end of every year, we naturally pause and reflect. What worked? What felt aligned? What didn’t quite land the way we hoped? We do this with our goals, our habits, our health, our finances… but often, we forget one very important thing: our brand. Your visual brand identity has been working all year long — showing up on your website, social media, proposals, emails, and marketing materials. Whether you were intentional about it or not, it’s been communicating something on your behalf. The start of a new year is the perfect time to ask: Is my brand still saying what I want it to say? Think of it like an annual review, but for your visual brand. Just like a personal year-end reflection, reviewing your brand isn’t about judgment or perfection. It’s about clarity. It’s about understanding what supports your growth and what might be holding it back. Below is a simple, intentional checklist you can use to review your visual brand as you head into the new year. Your New Year brand design review checklist 1. Does your brand still reflect who you are now? Businesses evolve — sometimes faster than we realize. Ask yourself:
 2. Are you attracting the right people? Your brand is constantly filtering — attracting some people and repelling others. Consider:
 3. Is your brand consistent everywhere? Consistency builds trust. Do a quick scan of:
 4. Does your brand feel intentional, or pieced together? Be honest (this is a judgment-free zone). Ask yourself:
 5. Is your brand supporting your goals for the New Year? This is the big one. Think ahead:
If your next-level goals don’t match your current visuals, that gap matters.  A brand review isn’t about scrapping everything or starting from scratch. Sometimes it’s about small refinements. Sometimes it’s about alignment. And sometimes, it’s about realizing your business has outgrown its current look. Awareness is always the first step. Want a second set of eyes on your brand? If you’d like help reviewing how your visual brand is actually working for you, I’m offering 10 free brand design audits as we head into the new year. In this 15-minute audit call, we’ll:
Use code BIGBRANDENERGY when booking. Limited to 10 spots. Your brand has a job to do this year. Let’s make sure it’s doing it well. |