Written by Gabrielle Mandel.
Photo by Lucas Favre
On a quiet night in June my family was enjoying a summer dinner on the porch when my husband got a call from his boss. It was odd. He’s a teacher, and it is very unlikely for him to get a call from anyone at work after mid-May. But as the conversation continued, I saw his expression change. He hung up and let me know that the college he worked for, University of the Arts, was closing in one week. We sat there stunned, the story had just been leaked to the Philadelphia Inquirer, and we watched as his phone started to ding with text and calls from his employees and colleagues.
We had just bought a house, a nerve-wracking experience on its own, one that had drained almost all our savings. Now, the security of my husband’s job was gone, and my career would now need to carry us: two adults, a toddler, two dogs and a mortgage.
My career is colorful, to say the least. I studied fashion in college and moved to New York City after graduation with nothing but an unpaid internship lined up. It was 2009, a time when nobody I knew seemed to have a job, but we were all humming with the energy of NYC, eager to eke out our own artistic existence. I finally found work as a design assistant for a fashion brand, but after two stressful years of working, I quit without a backup plan and started freelancing full-time. I’ve always been ruled by my creativity and my need to make things. Even when I was offered full-time work, I’d often shy away, protective of my creative ideas and the space I needed to let them blossom.
I wasn’t a full-fledged artist nor a true corporate creative; I hovered somewhere in between, caught in a liminal space that sometimes felt like a flaw. At a certain point in my mid-twenties, I just started to make my own brand of clothing. Everyone in my group of friends had a side hustle and we would use nights and weekends to collaborate and connect.
The Rollercoaster
When my husband lost his job, I was juggling two roles: running my small business part-time and working as a freelance home textile. At first, the gravity of the job loss hadn’t entirely sunk in. One of my freelance employers even floated the possibility of a full-time role. I was evasive. I still felt we could keep going the way we had. My energy was also focused on a major opportunity: selling my products on a prominent TV shopping platforms.
The opportunity had landed in my inbox as a cold email in February. By June, I had worked with three of my manufacturers to create the largest production order of my life. I was monitoring the progress of these items as they traveled to my warehouse, buzzing with anticipation for what felt like the culmination of years of hard work. I was poised for my biggest sale ever, one that could allow me to step away from freelancing for a bit, focus on my small business and help my family economics.
The day of the sale, I was a bundle of nerves. I watched the numbers climb on my Shopify store. By lunchtime, I was riding high, running quick mental calculations that any entrepreneur knows all too well. But as the day wore on, the pace slowed. While the sale was incredible—the most income I had ever generated in a single day—it wasn’t enough. By 5 p.m., I knew I hadn’t hit the mark.
After the sale, I felt unmoored. One of my freelance projects was ending, and I circled back to that full-time job offer. Even though I was not sure I wanted to give my small business up the position was very exciting: an autonomous role that gave me a huge amount of creativity. I could see myself in the role and how it was going to help me grow. After 2 rounds of interview the decision was bubbled up to highest in commend who felt that role should be put on hold. This was another shock to the system, after I had done the mental gymnastics to accept this new opportunity it was pulled out for under me.
Walking away from something broken is easy. What’s harder is stepping away from something that’s working—but not in the way you envisioned. Despite the loss of the big TV sale, my business had a great year. My freelance work was thriving, and I was getting to work with some truly inspiring brands. But I couldn’t shake the sense of unease. I felt like I had a split personality—spending part of the week on Zoom calls with design teams and the other part forging ahead alone, running a small business. While this at one time had been exhilarating the pressures of mid-life responsibility were creeping in. I began to ask myself; Can I keep this up, and do I even want to?
A New Year Brings obstacles and opportunities.
With the new year approaching, I wanted to pause and figure out what I really wanted. I imagined myself taking a long walk, sipping chamomile tea, then retreating to my studio to create an elaborate vision board and have my big aha moment. Things did not work out that way.
January 2025 arrived with harsh realities– two of my largest retail partners either cut back or dropping my line completely. My freelance work was simultaneously dipping. I had anticipated 2025 would bring uncertainty, with tariffs and economic pressures threatening both my freelance design work and small business. Reluctantly, I began applying for full-time positions.
Then on January 29, unexpected news arrived. I’d been accepted into a prestigious retail business accelerator – a program offering robust curriculum paired with opportunities to pitch to large retailers and compete for a business grant. Reading the acceptance email, I closed my eyes and smiled. While I recognized this opportunity wouldn’t magically solve all my challenges, it felt like the universe was sending me a message: don’t give up on this dream yet.
The program begins this summer, and I’m currently balancing freelance projects while preparing for what lies ahead. I still feel super scared: my husband not having a job and the uncertainty of my own income weighs on me.
Yet alongside this doubt lives something equally powerful – an undercurrent of passion and inspiration that refuses to be extinguished. This opportunity has helped crystallize my vision for my business. From the collective hardships of recent months, I’ve gained clarity about my path forward.
This challenging year has taught me something fundamental: I am an artist. And an artist is someone who confronts complex problems and crafts creative solutions. Even when I feel frayed and fatigued, I draw strength from my creativity. I don’t know what will come of this program, and in three months I may find myself back at this crossroads, trying to navigate the best path forward. But I trust in myself and my vision, and I know that I will forge a beautiful path forward one way or another.
About the Author:
Gabrielle Mandel is a multi-disciplinary creative and Founder. Along with running her small Business Supra Endura, she does freelance design consulting and mentors small creative businesses. She lives in Philadelphia with her husband, daughter, and 2 rescue dogs. Follow her here.