Post 9: Blogmas 2025: What My Days Actually Look Like

I never know how to answer when people ask what my days look like.

Part of it is that my schedule is not the same every day. Part of it is that my body is not the same every day. And part of it is that running a tiny business while living with chronic pain means I am always balancing what I want to do with what I can actually do.

So this is the honest version. Not a perfect routine. Not a productivity fantasy. Just a realistic look at how my days tend to go.

One thing that matters here is that I do not do well with switching gears. If I try to bounce between creative work and admin in the same day, my brain gets overloaded fast. So most of the time, I split my work into different kinds of days.

A design day

On a design day, I try to protect my focus.

Mornings are usually about checking in with my body before I check in with anything else. My baseline pain level is not zero. It is a constant factor in the background, even on a good day. I take my meds, I do the basic human stuff, and I try to get myself into a place where I can focus.

If I have energy, I design in the morning because it takes the most brain.

Design is the part that looks cute on social media, but it is also the part that takes the most out of me. Drawing is not a quick task for me. It is hours of focus, decision-making, and fine motor work. If my hands are angry or my pain is spiking, I have to adjust.

Sometimes that means I sketch. Sometimes it means I do lighter design tasks like cleaning up files, resizing, or prepping something for later. Sometimes it means I do none of it, and I let that be the answer for the day.

Afternoons and evenings on a design day are usually about recovery.

That can look like a break, a nap, a quiet activity, or just letting my brain come down from being in deep focus. Sometimes I can do a small, low-stakes task later. Sometimes I cannot. Either way, the goal is the same: do the work without wrecking myself.

An admin day

Admin days are the days where I keep the business running.

I still start with the same basics. I check in with my body, I take my meds, and I try to set myself up so I can do a steady block of work.

Admin is not glamorous, but it is the glue that holds everything together. It is the emails, the listings, the packaging decisions, the restock notes, the what do I need to order brain loop, and the constant little tasks that do not look like work until you add them up.

On an admin day, I usually try to batch things. If I am already in the mindset for details and decisions, it is easier to stay there for a while instead of switching back and forth.

Afternoons on an admin day are where I either keep going, or I stop and rest if my pain or fatigue is climbing. That part is not a failure. That part is the reality of living in a body with limits.

A fiber arts evening

Crochet and other fiber arts tend to live in the evening for me, no matter what kind of day it was.

This is the kind of work that can be soothing, especially when I am able to control my environment. I can make it cozy. I can keep the lights the way I like them. I can put on something familiar. I can take breaks without feeling like I am being watched.

It is still work, though. It is repetitive motion. It is using my hands. It is counting and focusing and fixing mistakes.

Some nights it feels grounding. Some nights it feels like too much. When it is too much, I stop.

The part people do not see

A lot of people only see the output.

They see a new sticker. A finished plushie. A restock. A market table photo. A package going out.

They do not see the invisible math happening behind the scenes.

How much pain am I in today?

How much energy do I have?

How many hours can I work before I crash?

What tasks are worth the cost?

What can wait?

That constant calculation is part of my job, and it is also part of living in a body that does not cooperate.

Productivity is not morality

I keep coming back to this, because it is the part I have to re-learn over and over.

When you live in a body with limits, you do not get to measure your day by how much you produced. You measure it by whether you made it through without breaking yourself.

Some days I get a solid design block done and I feel like myself again for a minute. Some days I answer a few emails, take my meds, and spend the rest of the day trying to keep my pain from swallowing everything.

Both of those days are real days. Both of those days count.

And if you are reading this and feeling guilty because your output does not match what you think it should, I want you to hear this clearly: you are not a better person because you can do more, and you are not a worse person because you need rest.

How to support disabled creators (practical ways)

Support does not have to be huge to be real, and it does not have to be expensive to matter.

If you want to support disabled creators, buying is amazing when you can, but there are also other ways to show up that make a difference.

• Share our work with one specific sentence about why you like it
• Leave a review if you have the energy
• Be patient with turnaround times and restocks
• If you see us sitting at a market, assume we are pacing ourselves, not being unfriendly

And if you are someone who loves a creator’s work, the simplest thing you can do is treat their limits like they are normal. Because they are.

What does a good day look like with chronic pain?

A good day does not mean pain-free. It usually means my baseline pain is manageable enough that I can do a few focused work blocks, take breaks before I crash, and still have something left for being a person.

How can I support disabled creators?

The short answer is: with patience and consistency. Share our work, leave reviews, and understand that restocks and turnaround times can be slower because our bodies have limits.

Not alone

If your days look messy, slow, inconsistent, or nothing like the routines people post online, I get it.

You are not lazy.

You are not broken.

And you are not alone.