Building My Business, Unbuilding Myself

Five Years of Running redrosethorns—and the Brutal, Beautiful Lessons It Forced Me to Learn by Kirsty Anne Richards

For International Women’s Day this year, I attended the WOW at 15 event held at the Royal Albert Hall in London. Angela Davis was the headliner, and amongst all her wisdom shared with us that night, one thing resonated deeply with me when she said that you learn from doing. No one can give you a roadmap or a formula (her word) for how to fix the world or create the change we want/need. We just have to do something, and through that action, the answers or solutions reveal themselves.

Photo by Bekky Bekks on Unsplash

Five years ago, not long after the pandemic halted the world to a standstill, I took the jewellery my mother makes and tried to sell it on Etsy. Initially, I intended to make some extra cash. Through this, I felt a pull tugging at me to create something of my own. So, I started making and selling candles on the website I designed. I didn’t want to be a candle-maker. I didn’t want to work in retail. What I really want to do is read and write all day long, and teach about the subjects I love. At the time, my goal was to get my master’s degree (which I did a little later on) and then teach at a community college or university while reading and writing in my spare time. That was the vision. But the harsh reality was, I was living pay cheque to pay cheque in a job I loathed, not knowing how on this green earth I was going to pay for said degree. The lack of funds was what inspired the side-hustle, not the goal of having my own business. All I knew then was that I had to do something, and the clarity of my path would follow, while I crossed my fingers hoping this gig would rake in the funds I needed to make my dream become the reality.

This essay isn’t about my business or how it has grown over the last few years. Not really. Rather, I want to dive into the struggles and the deep lessons learned along the way. You see, redrosethorns didn’t start when I got a business license. It started two years prior with a small whisper saying I needed to create my own path. Build my own career. A voice stemming from a deep frustration of not getting the jobs I thought I wanted. The opportunities I believed I deserved. I had just graduated with my undergraduate degree, and I was struggling to find a full-time job, let alone one related to my qualifications. Internally, I felt with all my soul that I was meant for more, and that my path would lead to something great, something that I could give back to the world and be part of building the society I wanted. I had big eyes for something more! I thought my writing and teaching would deliver this. But once I graduated with my degree, I found myself driving for Uber, and doing whatever freelance, gig work I could find, scraping by each month on chump change.

My self-esteem plummeted.

I could not figure out why my external world did not match the internal vision I held for myself. Why was I struggling so much just to get employed? I could not understand what I was doing wrong. Though still, I trust my inner self, and at that time when that whisper first announced her idea of carving out my own path, the name for a business appeared in my mind (i.e. redrosethorns). When I saw that it was available to use, I bought the website domain. I perceived it as a sign that I had to try to create something centred around the subjects I was interested in, but I didn’t yet know what or how. So, that domain sat dormant for two years, waiting for me to plant the seeds. And that was that. I carried on applying, interviewing, and being rejected from one position to the next while my idea sat in the back of my mind. Next!, was all I heard echoing overhead with each disappointment, with every ‘no, not you, perhaps next time’. Maybe I’m not meant for more, I thought. Maybe my vision is nothing but a dream. Sigh.

After a solid year of job-hunting, I did get a full-time position in the end. The very one I did not want. But I needed to build my self-confidence, and working with others tends to give one an extra boost with each 'well done’ and ‘good job.’ I desperately needed those compliments. Plus, it was a stable income, which I also needed if I was going to save money to further my education. I didn’t have a fancy title, a six-figure salary, or whatever success marker is supposed to deem me of value or importance of some sort. I didn’t feel seen, and especially not heard. I didn’t have the things that proved I was worth more, that gave validation that I had something to contribute, and which showcased the skills I was capable of providing. I think this is partly why I wanted to teach at a university, as the ‘professor’ title would give me the prestige to validate what I wanted to say. I needed someone to recognise my worth, and I thought that getting any job would give me just that. When the pandemic happened, I was furious because I felt stuck. I thought I would never be able to do the work I most desired (whatever that even was), and I couldn’t abandon the hand which fed me. But I have a rebellious spirit, and some spark was lit under all the resentment and disappointment. I decided to just start doing something. Anything or I’ll go mad.

redrosethorns was born. Or really, redrosethorns became an official identity when I registered it as a limited company in 2020.

Those first two years working on redrosethorns were hard beyond my capacity to explain. It’s too dull a story. I felt stupid and out of my depth. Half the time, I had no idea what I was doing and crossed my fingers, hoping for kindness when I stumbled along the way. I was somewhat isolated in my beautiful apartment, devouring as much information as I could about marketing and all the business, such and such. I loved the creative outlet when designing the website (as tedious as it is), the branding, creating posts, and I did enjoy the candle-making, just not the candle-selling, which was key if I wanted to make money. I was also enjoying building this business piece by inch; foundation, then bricks layered to one day resemble a structure of some kind. But I struggled with figuring out what I wanted to do. A candle business didn’t feel aligned, and I didn’t know how to build on my idea of doing something educational and artistic. I knew I wanted to combine my love for the arts with my passion for education, especially around the subjects I deeply cared about. If I were going to build a business, it might as well reflect who I am and what I believe in. This process took a bit of dismantling to figure out what I wanted this space to look like. So I went from candle making to publishing, a feat in evolution. Trial and error on repeat, if you will. Though I discovered a different part of myself in the journey. A self I had not known, a self long lost decades ago. This self was, at the time, only a glimpse of a new person to come. Another whisper, I suppose, a small, dark figure I saw shoved to the back of my mind.

You see, I have always loved the arts. As a teenager, I thought I would have a career in the arts. When I left high school, I studied music. I wasn’t very good and felt insecure about my piano playing. I knew I just needed to practice, but I came from a lower-middle-class background where affording to eat was more important than scales and chords. There was pressure to find a more realistic career. One that guaranteed stability. So after I failed at my studies in music and crossed out musician from career options, I studied interior design because it seemed a more realistic artistic pursuit. I could earn a salary while drawing several options for someone’s dining room decor. Then I moved to America, and all these ideas were shattered at once. The American dream, it seemed, was reserved for Americans, because my diploma from my ‘third world’ country did not transfer over to American soil. So I had to start all over again.

By the time I was studying for my bachelor’s degree, I re-discovered how much I enjoyed writing, and I knew I wanted to be a published author. I remembered having this vision in high school, but had dismissed ‘author’ as an option because, again, this didn’t seem like a realistic pursuit. There are writing jobs, yes, but they don’t offer creative freedom for me to explore my own ideas and rewrite five hundred drafts until I am satisfied. (As I have done with this essay, mind you.) I would still need a full-time position that pays for my basic needs while I pursue my artistic endeavours. It is why I thought teaching would be a great option for my shelter fund. It would give me the freedom to explore my writing in my spare time.

Fast forward to 2020, naturally, I had changed, but that sixteen-year-old was about to make a comeback in adult form. As I scrolled through social media posts, trying to build a candle enterprise (not really, but it sounded like a good line), I naturally gravitated toward writers, artists, small creative businesses and the like. I joined writing communities, and it was through this that I became inspired to create my own publication. Five years later, and here we are, an ongoing online monthly journal, three annual print publications, and two editions of our latest quarterly magazine. Plus, we now host events. (And by we, I mean me. It is a one-woman show here, after all.) I didn’t just build a business, though; I carved out a path, and along the way I found out who I was, rediscovered my joys, what I wanted my life to look like and how I could create a career centred around that. All through the simple act of doing, the answers to how I was going to create my own career were revealed, just as Angela Davis said.

This journey, like the rest of my life, was not linear. Nor was it as easy as the last paragraph makes it out to be. Among all this learning, building, creating and growing, parts of myself were torn, stretched, and shattered. There have been a thousand days when I have broken down in tears. There are a million moments I want to quit. And more often than not, I feel stupid, overwhelmed, unmotivated and ridiculous. I still cannot support myself financially through this business. I still have a day job to fund my bread and butter. Another job I don’t want, and really don’t like. I have worked full-time the entire time I have operated redrosethorns. That is my reality, which is fine and dandy and all that, but it does make me feel insecure, uneasy even, telling people I do something that does not match my inner self, nor the skills and expertise I actually possess. It is not an adequate reflection of who I am, and this disconnect is what frustrates me more than working in a place I don’t enjoy. I feel held back. I do work in a bookshop, however, so it does feel a little more related to the work I do in publishing. Not to mention, I can build my own Beauty and the Beast library with all the free books I get (which is difficult as I don’t have a castle), so there’s that. But, still, this predicament feels off. Like an adult being forced to attend preschool.

For most of my life, I have worked in the hospitality industry (an industry I loathe with all my heart), always with the intention that it is temporary. There was always something else I was working on, whether a degree, a project, or my business. Years ago, I thought that by getting a degree, gaining experience through internships, placements, and volunteer work, all this unpaid labour would lead to moving into a solid career path. It didn’t, and it made me feel like there was something wrong with me, or I was doing something wrong. So I tried harder. I accumulated more qualifications, kept applying for more jobs, and spent hours upon days reading and researching all the things I needed to change about my mindset, my attitude, my resume, cover letter, and habits to get to where I want to be. Still, the needle didn’t shift. This anger and deep frustration culminated to a point where I had nothing more to lose. ‘Fuck it’ became my mantra. When I decided to try again by starting this adventure, I promised myself that I would not stop. I would rather dismantle everything I think about myself than not have my dream manifest into my reality. But days turn into years, and although there has been much growth, I still find myself working all day, then coming home to work more on my publications. The day job doesn’t look like it’s temporary.

It’s exhausting.

Last year, I was really feeling down about this predicament. I had turned 40, looked at my life, and thought, Is this it? Would I have to keep working so hard forever and not grow into the life I have dreamed of for so long? How many more trials and errors do I need to go through before I succeed? Because I am wearing out and don’t want this to be my future. While feeling a little low and unsure if I even wanted to continue with redrosethorns, my manager at my day job offered for me to work at the headquarters. I declined. She asked again, telling me how amazing I am, and she could see that the cafe I was managing was too small for me. She believed that I was capable of more. I agreed with her sentiment and declined her offer again. She offered me the role once more, and I sat down with her and told her I would be more interested in a promotion than a lateral move to manage two cafes at the flagship location. Plus, those cafes were in the worst state I have ever seen, so really, I would be going there to fix them, not just to manage them. And if I did go, I would need a pay rise. We spoke about how this opportunity would benefit my ambitions. (My ambitions were more money and better titles, not working in hospitality.) I was still not convinced, but she insisted I think about it.

A few days later, I drafted an email saying, ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I believe I am worth more.’ I deleted the email before I sent it, thinking that it sounded too arrogant. I knew in my heart that her compliments were feeding my ego, and my soul wanted something else. Even with all the self-doubt, deep down, I knew I wanted this - my business - but was still unsure about my ability to pull it off, and it would probably take five more years before redrosethorns became my full-time job. I had to keep my options open, just in case, I convinced myself. Just in case I can’t succeed. My manager went ahead and hired my replacement and told me I am going to transfer to the flagship store at headquarters. I never did get that pay rise.

Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash

I didn’t get a promotion either. Instead, I got no support, gaslit, undermined, and continuously disrespected. I tried looking for other jobs, only to be met with more rejections. Fucking hell. How do I get myself stuck in these situations all the time? I kept thinking. What am I doing wrong? I was getting tired. Both physically and emotionally, I felt drained, and then resented my day job even more.

I transferred back to the original store per my request. Then I was told that I wasn’t as good at my job as I thought I was. (This is a direct fucking quote.) I was accused of trying to sabotage my successor, someone half my age with a fraction of my experience, who would later be promoted to be my new manager. (I would never stoop so low.) I was told that I clearly couldn’t cope with the workload, and a smaller location was more aligned with my skillset. As they kept telling me who I was and what I did wrong and how awful I am, I realised that nothing they said matched my track record. I have managed bigger teams at bigger and busier companies. I have worked for 25 years, and no one has ever criticised my work performance or ethic. I was also doing relatively well in redrosethorns, a field I knew little of when I first pursued this quest, and it kept growing and expanding. Slowly, but growth is growth. I have done nothing but excel at all that I have pursued. How could I not be good at what I do? I have decades of experience under my belt. Who the fuck are they to tell me otherwise?

For my mental health journey, this was a radical self-realisation. Ten years ago, I would have swallowed up their vicious insults and spiralled into depression, as well as accumulated more anxiety to debase my self-worth. It’s not to say that their perception of me didn’t impact me. I crumbled on the inside. Feeling trapped, surrounded by the sharks ready to shred me to pieces because…who cares. No one, I repeat, no one, who is doing better than you will ever put you down. As their words did not match my reality, it occurred to me, while I was curled up nursing my wounds, that my own self-doubt did not match my reality either. And where I was going ‘wrong’ was in my habit of playing too small. I hesitate too much, waiting for accolades to prove my value. Or my bank account to validate my ability to run a business. I already operate a business, my own and in my day job. It is why I started selling candles instead of working on my writing or my aspirations in being an educator. I needed the money, the end results to show I was worthy of being listened to. And I convinced myself that if I can grow a candle business, then I can grow any business. Silly, really, but thoughts tend to contrive their own idea of reality.

For years, I have been plagued by self-doubt. I have battled panic attacks, where these ridiculous thoughts would overwhelm me so intensely that I was almost convinced I was a failure. Fun fact, I would turn in essays in university, thinking that I had completely bombed the assignment. Cry myself to sleep with voices yelling how pathetic I am. And then I would get an A. Never mind, false alarm. I would be filled with relief that I am not as stupid as I thought. Or really, as dumb as others have tried to make me out to be. What kept me going is the ongoing proof that I am not. Those high grades and positive feedbacks I received from professors and peers became my lifeline in external validation as I couldn’t seem to control the internal attacks. I have played small because I didn’t think I could until I did. The contrast of their meaningless opinions vs the achievements I have accumulated became staggeringly disparate. I was not the issue. My insecurities were, and these incessant thoughts of self-doubt I fall into are clearly not mine. They stem from those who didn’t even try. They derive from those who have their fancy titles and big salaries and stable careers, but they have built nothing.

My background is that I built a business, not once but twice. (Yes, this is the second business I have owned.) I have lived in three countries. I have moved to cities by myself without knowing a soul, and made a life in each place. I have obtained two degrees and a plethora of additional qualifications, and received top marks all the way. I have pulled myself out of the gutter more times than I care to admit, and someone who has not even reached close to the achievements I have under my belt is telling me I am worthless. I sit here now kicking myself for being so foolish, for not recognising this pattern in my behaviour sooner. Where I have fallen for other people’s perceptions of me and labelled it as truth, as more realistic than my own mind, my own experiences. I should have sent that email. I regret searching for backup plans and not putting more of my attention on this business sooner. Instead of waiting for those markers to prove I am good at what I do, I should have trusted that I already am good at whatever I do. My sixteen-year-old self knew this and would be embarrassed at how I shrank myself.

These last five years, well, bar the last several months, I kept my ‘mind open’ thinking that if another more ‘realistic’ or stable opportunity presented itself, I would take it. My business is not yet a solid, economically viable and thriving company. But reality is what we make it, not what already exists, and most certainly not what others think it is for ourselves. Last year, I took a long, hard look at my life, and in the end, instead of focusing on the things I needed to change and how I can be better, I realised that I just need to show up more as myself. Awkward, vulnerable, scared, insecure, all of that. Because it is in this uncomfortable place where we find ourselves. I stopped looking for other jobs. I took inventory on what was working and what wasn’t, and focused more on changing that which would benefit this business’s growth, and move away from incessant thoughts of doubt that were not benefiting me at all. Both personally and professionally.

That sixteen-year-old self wanted the world as her oyster; she craved a career that was rooted within the arts, one that she created, and she yearned to have her voice ring through the ages. She knew she deserved more. She knew herself worthy. The outside world shunned her for this, and it has taken a lifetime to realise that it all had nothing to do with me. I also realised that, regardless of the naysayers, I still have the audacity to pick myself up again, and again, and again, until my vision aligns with my core being. This is my superpower. That’s what scares them. The world is already my oyster; I already have a global reach. I have already created a business in the arts. And my voice makes an impact even when I sound shaky. If it didn’t, no one would try to put me down, to silence my story. I still struggle with this notion. I still doubt myself, and I still hesitate. I probably will forever. I have no idea how I am going to make this the success I see so clearly in my mind, and I have no idea how long it will take. But I know that the more I do, the better I’ll be able to figure it out. Just as I have always done. This business started as an inner guide, became a candle business and transformed into the publishing company it is today. What is resoundingly clear is that all the answers come from taking action. Including within my personal reflections. And I would not have achieved anything, nor learned about the shadow parts of my soul, without daring to take a step.

Photo by Raphael Renter | @raphi_rawr on Unsplash