As a designer, my primary responsibility is to find meaningful connections between ideas that may initially appear unrelated. I focus on translating complex concepts from mental health and psychology into simple, visually appealing posters inspired by Swiss design and minimalism. Much of my work involves distilling complicated information into clear, impactful visuals—always guided by the belief that a picture can speak a thousand words.

In practice, this means conducting research to deeply understand intricate topics, identifying core messages, and experimenting with typography and layout to present ideas in the most accessible way possible. Whether I'm brainstorming, sketching, or refining a final design, my goal is to make even the most complex subjects approachable and engaging for a broader audience.

My biggest challenges fall into two interconnected areas: design philosophy and client communication.

On the design side, I work with minimalism and Swiss-inspired typography—but India's design culture leans heavily toward maximalism. This creates tension: I'm committed to my aesthetic, yet I sometimes question if I'm on the right path given my market. Beyond that, translating abstract mental health concepts into visual metaphors requires deep thinking. I've learned to approach this methodically through word mapping and visual research, which usually yields original work, but it's a time-intensive process. I also struggle with client feedback—I'm prone to making assumptions about what they mean rather than staying curious. Recently, I learned from a podcast by Michael Bungey Stanier to be curious a bit longer, to ask questions and listen like a wildlife photographer observing before capturing. That's shifted how I approach client conversations.

On the business side, being an introver

I choose my tools based on the specific requirements of each project rather than defaulting to one platform. My process is highly contextual.

For static design, I start by assessing what the output needs. If it's a simple arrangement of elements, I use Figma for its organizational clarity. If I need some creation but mainly element arrangement, Canva works well. For raster work, I go to Photoshop, though I'm ready to move to Illustrator if an effect is more easily achieved there. For vector-based designs, Illustrator is my primary tool.

I don't hesitate to use multiple platforms for a single output—I see it as optimization, not indecision. For example, when creating social media carousel posters with mockups, I'll create the poster in Photoshop, export it, apply the mockup, and then move everything into Figma to arrange the carousel format and prepare for publishing. This workflow saves me time and ensures each stage uses the tool that does it best.

For video and animation, I apply

First, believe in the field—don't let others convince you design isn't a legitimate career. It is. But here's what matters more: use your college days intentionally. Learn to speak with confidence, understand cultural and sales nuances so you don't feel alienated when you take design seriously later. This matters especially if you're an introvert entering a field that demands expression. The more you understand how the world works—not just design, but communication, business, people—the better you'll navigate it.

Build your network through design communities. Collaborate with peers. This isn't just about connections; it's about growing together and learning from people doing similar work. I learned the most from working alongside my graphic designer peer at the nonprofit—that proximity to someone equally invested changed my trajectory.

Second, stay visible consistently. People don't remember you because you created one brilliant poster. They remember you because you're the recent mem

My main regret is that I started too slowly—not in terms of a fundamental mistake, but in terms of momentum and mindset.

Early on, I didn't understand the importance of sales and marketing. I thought design was purely about creating visuals and mastering tools. I was naive, but that's understandable when you're starting out. However, I've since realized something crucial from my IT job: the person who gets recognized isn't always the one doing the best work—it's the one who shows their work and speaks about it. When you have a group of equally skilled people, the ones who are vocal about their contributions and can articulate how they solved problems are perceived as better. Others simply won't know your struggles or breakthroughs unless you tell them. I didn't apply this thinking to design early enough, and that cost me time.

I also spent two to three years in my IT job thinking I'd "do design later"—as if I had another lifetime for it. I got comfortable, received praise for work I

I stay inspired through a combination of practice, purpose, and people.

First, I practice the art of noticing. I see design opportunities everywhere—in psychological concepts, in human behavior, in everyday observations. Recently, I started a series on emotions: anger, joy, and others. Each mood connects back to psychology, which feeds directly into my short-term mission of spreading mental health awareness through poster design. I'm even exploring how to expand this into bookmarks for people reading psychology books or therapists seeking visual reminders of key concepts. This practice keeps me creatively sharp and purposefully focused.

Second, my mission fuels everything. I started this mental health design journey when a close friend struggled with relationship issues. I began creating posters to help her understand complex psychological concepts—things like subconscious patterns she couldn't control. That personal connection to impact transformed design from a skill into a calling