The Work That Gets Me Hired

Employers often notice my personal work before they hire me. What happens when they expect that same creativity to fit neatly inside a brand?

Photo by John Zamora

In just about every job I’ve had in the past decade, my personal work comes up.

Employers who choose to hire me say the same thing:
“I love what you’re doing on your profile.”

That’s always a green flag.

It tells me they’re watching. It tells me they see the level of thought and creativity I bring. It proves that my personal work has meaning — even if that meaning is simply that I believe I can do this for others.

But then something else happens.

They expect that level of work to fit inside their brand.

I’m not saying I can’t bring my creativity and flavor to a company. I can. But when it has to fit inside a specific box, it’s not the same thing.

In my personal work, the only rules are the ones I make up.
I’m not beholden to push a product, service, or agenda.
I can make something meaningful — or make it about nothing at all.
I can post something as a test. I can experiment.
There are no real repercussions if it performs, flops, or disappears.

That freedom matters more than I realized.

When I went full-time freelance, something shifted.

All of a sudden, my expression became an engine of attention.
My outlet became a marketing funnel.

I was torn between making what I wanted and running a business account.

I couldn’t just take up space on my feed to post nonsense. Time wasn’t loose anymore. I was bound by working hours, editing hours, family hours. The time I once used to freely explore became shackled by the need to find work — and then do that work — to pay the bills.

Creative personal work doesn’t attract clients as quickly as people think. There’s a real business side to freelancing: hunting for clients, pitching, negotiating, delivering.

For some reason, I believed I could do both with less time.

I was wrong.

Instead, I found myself doing client work out of necessity, not love of the game. I still did my best. But about 13 months in, I realized I was leaving a part of myself out of the equation.

The creative person in me — the one who needs full control — never had time to exist anymore.

I was creating for the algorithm.
For potential clients.
For survival.

For everyone but me.

And when I did make something for myself, I felt guilty. Silly. Like I should have been using that time to make something that generated revenue.

That’s the catch-22.

My personal work attracts — but it also takes time.
And time was the one thing I didn’t have.

So I made a decision.

I went back to a traditional job.

Not because I don’t love creating.
Not because I can’t freelance.
But because I want my personal work to feel like mine again.

In this new role, I’m focused on one brand. One mission. One team. There are still constraints — but they’re consistent. I’m not bleeding creativity across multiple industries and multiple outcomes.

Once I lock into a steady rhythm again, I’ll create personal work because I want to. Not because I need it to convert.

But right now?

I’m tired.

I’m burnt out on personal work, and I hate admitting that. The weight of client acquisition in this season of life was heavier than I expected.

At this point, I have no desire to make anything outside of personal work and the work that advances my employer’s mission.

I love what I do.
I love doing the work.

I just don’t love looking for people to pay me for it.