The Magic in the Pause
Finding Rhythm in Stillness
When I first started my career in graphic design after college, I was doing what I’d always done throughout school — pulling late nights, skipping meals, and chasing perfection at all costs.
Fresh out of graduation, I couldn’t land a full-time job anywhere. My skills weren’t yet competing with seasoned designers, and with COVID disrupting the job market, I was one of thousands of new grads waiting for a chance. After months of applying nonstop to freelance gigs, I finally landed one. That opportunity opened the door to a wonderful new network of creatives in New York City.
Given that New York never sleeps, neither did I. I woke up early and went to bed late, staying on call for client feedback, pulling all-nighters to assemble lookbooks for fashion brands. It was exciting — I finally had purpose — but looking back, I wasn’t doing myself any favors.
Years went by. I accumulated more clients, doing my best to make ends meet freelancing full-time at my personally set rate of $25 an hour. I was sacrificing my health for maybe $30,000 a year, with little to show for it. Eventually, I got tired. I needed stability. So, I started applying for full-time roles again. It took months, but the very last application I submitted was the one that landed. That was in late 2022, and I’m still with the company today.
When I was hired, I was thrilled to have the security of in-house work. I missed the flexibility of freelancing, but I loved knowing a paycheck was guaranteed. Still, from a scarcity mindset and a need to prove myself, I kept my freelance clients on top of my 9–5. I’d leave for the office at 8:30, get home around 6, and immediately jump into client work until 10 or 11 p.m. most nights. I was burning the candle at both ends, trying to make up for lost time and lost wages.
Everything seemed fine — until June 4, 2024.
By that time, I was a fiancée, balancing my full-time job, freelance work, and wedding planning — all on my own with just my mom’s help. After one especially long day, I walked to the kitchen and collapsed. I didn’t know it then, but I’d just had a seizure and had woken up to EMTs in my apartment.
I brushed it off at first, pretending I was okay. I wasn’t.
Eventually, I had to step back from freelance work because I couldn’t sustain the hours anymore. I began working remotely because I couldn’t drive. Everything I’d built my identity around — productivity, perfectionism, independence — shifted almost overnight.
Now, my life looks very different, and I’m not ashamed to say I’ve had to slow down. I’m a diagnosed epileptic with about a dozen seizures under my belt, and while it’s been difficult, it’s taught me something invaluable: it’s okay to pause.
It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to take breaks.
And often, that’s when the real magic of design happens.
Constantly churning out work for the sake of output leads only to burnout. But when you stop — when you give yourself space to breathe — new ideas begin to surface. You recalibrate. You see differently.
I’m realizing through this journey that sometimes the magic is in the pause. The stillness makes room for intention. And even though I may be slower now, a little less frantic, I know I’m still a damn good designer.
Epilepsy doesn’t stop me from being good at what I love. If anything, it’s made me better.
