Hi ,

This year tried to break me.

Not dramatically.

Quietly. Persistently. In the spaces where doubt grows best.

2025 was my first year in business and it didn’t begin with confidence or clarity or a colour-coded plan. It began with exposure.

January felt like standing under harsh lights with nowhere to hide — taking myself seriously for the first time without proof it would work, without a cushion if it didn’t. I’ve freelanced for twenty years, but putting myself out there online felt like singing on stage without knowing if anyone would clap… or just stare at their shoes.

My finances felt fragile.

My ego even more so.

I didn’t have a plan I trusted yet, so I made a rule instead.

I wrote it down and came back to it on the hard days — the ones that pressed on my chest:

“This will only fail if I give up.”

The first time someone paid me online, I froze.

Stared at the screen longer than I’d like to admit. Heart thudding. Palms slick. Almost waiting for it to disappear.

Because a part of me never believed this was possible to make money honestly, doing work I actually care about.

What worked surprised me.

My makeovers became my biggest seller — not because they were flashy, but because they delivered clarity. Direction. Real, tangible progress. They gave my clients confidence… and gave me flexibility as a mum building a business around hospital calendars and unpredictable weeks.

Because this year wasn’t built in perfect conditions.

It was built around blood tests, finger pricks, procedures, recovery days, and a clinical trial my daughter has just completed (hoorah!). She was the first under two in the world on it and the first to finish.

A tiny pioneer.

I slept beside her hospital bed after surgery, on a couch that punished my spine, watching her chest rise and fall. Thinking about how much she’d already endured at just three years old.

And then she’d smile, the happiest child on the ward, forgiving every “ouchie,” charming every nurse. And I’d remember why I keep going.

Design is my passion.

She is my life’s purpose and everything I aim for is because I want more for her!

Somewhere in the messy middle, between the wins and the worry, I learned the kind of lessons you only get through friction. Working with different women. Different expectations. Different edges.

Some lessons humbled me.

Some stung.

All of them made me sharper.

At some point, the question changed.

I stopped asking, “Am I good enough to make money online?”

and started asking, “How good can I make this?”

I raised my standards.

I raised my prices.

Not to prove anything — but to deliver better results for my clients and myself.

Even Carousels Club — quiet, high-touch, and slightly terrifying to launch — sold.

Not loudly.

Not overnight.

But enough to tell me I’m building something people want to be part of.

This year taught me more than I expected — about business, boundaries, and what actually moves the needle when life is heavy.

I’m carrying those lessons into 2026.

And if this year left you feeling scattered, defeated, or unsure how to turn your skills into something sustainable — know this:

You don’t need more noise.

You need clarity.

Standards.

And someone who’s walked the exact road you’re standing on.

A new cohort will be starting next year. I’ll share more when the time is right.

For now, I’ll leave you with the belief that carried me through hospital corridors, hard days, and quiet wins:

This will only fail if I give up.

Thank you for being here this year — for reading, watching, supporting, and believing alongside me.

I hope the next few days bring you rest, warmth, and moments that feel like deep breaths.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays.

Lisa

P.S. This is the last email of 2025 and it’s bittersweet. I’ve loved writing to you like a distant pen pal (yes, I’ve had those — yes, I’m showing my age).

In the new year, I’ll be sharing the clearest, most distilled version of what I’ve learned — fewer guesses, higher standards, and work that actually moves the needle when life is full.

See you in the New Year, lovelies 🤍