My mom recently handed me a little “How to Stop Freaking Out” booklet she’d picked up at a suicide prevention walk. At first, I’ll admit, I was annoyed. Annoyed because the cover felt dismissive. Annoyed because when she gave it to me, she said, “Maybe you can use this for your business.” I thought, what? I had just finished designing my own grounding cards, and her comment landed as if she still didn’t quite understand what I do.
But eventually, I sat down and opened it. And to my surprise, I connected with it.

One of the pages asked me to imagine my anxiety as a monster. I couldn’t see mine as scary. Instead, I pictured something more like Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc., constantly talking, draining the energy in the room, but not truly harmful. The kind of presence you don’t want to be mean to, because deep down you know it means well and will eventually tire itself out.

It made me laugh a little. Then it made me pause. Because truthfully, my anxiety has been wearing me down lately. I’ve managed to ground a recent hypomanic episode, which I’m proud of, but the anxiety that followed has been overwhelming. And here I was, connecting with this cartoonish exercise in a way I didn’t expect.
Another prompt in the booklet said to Google “[Your Name] Meme” and send your favorite to three people. The irony? Most of mine were about cameras. (Not exactly relatable.) But the thought of actually having three people I could send something to made me feel good. Like, wow, I really do have people I could reach out to.

There was also an exercise about watching an animal closely for a few minutes. That one hit bittersweet. It reminded me of Santiago, my cat who’s been missing since March. His things are still here, like he might come home tomorrow. I’ve realized how complicated it is to grieve something that isn’t “gone,” but still feels lost.

And then there was the Shakespeare page, the idea of reading a script out loud in a British accent. That one instantly made me think of my daughter. She loves accents, makes us laugh with her Hamilton impressions, and I could already picture us turning it into a moment of joy together.

All of this brought me back to something important: my business isn’t just about design, or strategy, or tech. At its core, my business is me. It’s my wellness. It’s my ability to show up for the people who matter most. Clients, yes, but also my family and myself.
Since stepping away from my job to focus on this full time, I’ve noticed that even on the hardest days, the tension at home has lifted. My daughter and I haven’t had spats, just space to be with each other. That matters.
So maybe my mom was right in a roundabout way. Not because this little booklet has anything to do with branding or websites. But because the heart of my business really is about not “freaking out.” It’s about creating clarity, grounding myself, and showing up fully. That’s my business.
Takeaway: Sometimes the smallest, most unexpected tools can remind us of what we’re really building. Not just a brand. Not just a business. But a life where we get to be well and from that place, we get to create, connect, and lead.

Cameran is a brand and web designer exploring the intersection of technology and healing work.
As The Rolling Hills Creative, she draws on her background in healthcare informatics to help mental health professionals and wellness practitioners build Showit websites and brands that feel grounded, intuitive, and designed with care.
Designing at the intersection of technology and healing work. One intentional space at a time.
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