Cleats to Calligraphy: My Creative Small Business Journey

Hey besties! I’m Sarah, the owner, artist, and creative disaster behind Gearhart Design Co. These days, I’m known for cheeky stationery, beginner-friendly painting classes, and a cat named Dolly Purrton. But this little business wasn’t born from a picture-perfect plan. It was born from burnout, and grief, and trying to find something that felt like joy again.

What started as a little creative escape has grown into a full-time, full-speed, full-chaos small business fueled by wine, late-night doodles, and a whole lot of stubborn determination. I didn’t go to art school. In fact, one of the questions I get asked the most is, “Do you have an art degree?” And while I wish I could say I spent four years mastering brushstrokes, the truth is, I have a degree in Sport Management. Yep, from cleats to calligraphy.

After graduating from Georgia Southern University in 2013, I landed a full-time job as an equipment manager in the athletic department, and it didn’t take long to realize that ya girl was not built for life behind a desk tending to spreadsheets and bills all day. I felt creatively stuck and honestly, a little dead inside. To keep my sanity (and maybe avoid a full-blown meltdown), I started making weekly trips with friends to the local pottery studio. It was the one place I felt like myself again.

Fast forward two years, and I decided to take a leap. I left my job and started working at that same studio...for minimum wage, no less. Not exactly a glamorous pivot, but it felt right. A few months later, I was running the whole thing, and after years of hustle, just a few days after my 27th birthday, I bought the studio.

That little pottery shop is where my love for sharing art with others really began. It showed me how powerful creativity can be, not just for me, but for the people who walked in unsure, nervous, and left feeling proud of what they made.

Then, at the end of 2019, life hit hard. My mom’s cancer was getting worse, and after ten years of living in Statesboro, I made the difficult decision to sell my studio, sublet my apartment, and move back home to Marietta to be with my family. What followed was a whirlwind. Another career change, a full-on life uproot, and, to top it off, my boyfriend dumped me. It was a lot. I spiraled into a deep depression, feeling completely lost and unsure of what came next. And then...well, you know what came next: COVID.

I managed to stay safe for months, but eventually, COVID caught up with me. I got really sick (sick enough to land in the ER) but the worst part (aside from the actual virus)? Being stuck at home, bored out of my mind, with nothing to distract me from the chaos around me. So I did what any totally normal, mentally stable person would do in the middle of a pandemic and a personal crisis...I started a business.

I cleaned out my sisters garage, found a can of leftover paint, and gave the wall a fresh coat, because if I was going to spiral, at least it would be in a cute space. I found some scrap wood and built myself a workbench. And just like that, I had it: my very own tiny workshop. No fancy tools, no grand plan. Just a girl, a Cricut, and a need to make something good out of all the mess.

I was rockin’ and rollin’, selling online, setting up at art markets on the weekends, and juggling everything while still working a full-time job. For the first time in a long time, things felt exciting. I had momentum. I felt good. And then everything stopped.

In April of 2023, we found out my mom’s brain tumors were bleeding, and she was placed into home hospice. Without hesitation, I packed up the essentials and moved back into my parents’ house, the first time I’d lived there since leaving for college. And my business, this thing I had poured myself into and loved so much, suddenly didn’t matter. None of it did. The orders, the Instagram posts, the market prep...I put it all down. My entire world became about one thing: being there with my mom.

On the morning of June 26th, I woke up early to head to a therapy appointment before work, but instead, I found that my mom had passed peacefully in her sleep. She had fought so hard, battling stage 4 cancer for twelve long, brutal years. She was only 66. And somehow, even after everything, it still didn’t feel like enough time. It never would’ve been.

I let myself ride out the pity party for a few months. If there was ever a time to give myself a little grace, it was then. Grief is weird, heavy, and exhausting. I didn’t force myself to bounce back. I just let myself be. But as October crept closer, something started to shift. My favorite event of the year, the Apple Arts Festival, was right around the corner. It had always been such a joyful, chaotic, apple-scented weekend, and for the first time in a while, I felt a little flicker of excitement. This was always my biggest market, and it was the market that my mom always made sure to nag me to get ready for. So I applied. I got in. And I got back to it, prepping, creating, connecting. Slowly but surely, I started to feel like me again.

After that festival, something clicked. I realized that while grief would always be part of me, so was this business, this thing I had built from heartbreak, healing, and a whole lot of hustle. It deserved more than whatever leftover energy I had after my 9-to-5. So I made a decision: 2024 would be the year I started getting serious about going full-time with Gearhart Design Co.

I dove in headfirst. I started teaching more painting classes at breweries, restaurants, wherever I could collaborate and expand my reach. I expanded my product line with new notepads, stickers, and greeting cards. I invested in more equipment, got more strategic with my markets, and decided I'd start dabbling in wholesale. I even started going to networking events, where I've met so many like-minded women who not only support me, but my business. Every weekend, every late night, every sticker I hand-cut or table I packed, it all added up. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just surviving. I was building something real.

And then, finally, in July of 2025, I did the thing. I quit my full-time job. No backup plan. No safety net. Just me, a whole lot of paint, some snarky stationery, and a dream I’d been building piece by piece for years. I decided it was time to go all in with this little business of mine.

Gearhart Design Co. was no longer just my side hustle or my post-burnout project. It was my everything. It’s been equal parts terrifying and thrilling, but it’s also been the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. Every market, every class, every sticker that makes someone laugh reminds me why I started this in the first place: to create something joyful out of the mess. Something real. Something mine.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for being here for this creative small business journey. Whether you’ve taken a class, bought a sticker, shared a post, or just cheered me on from the sidelines, I wouldn’t be here without you. This business has seen me through some of the hardest seasons of my life, and now it gets to be the thing that lights me up again. I’m so dang proud of how far Gearhart Design Co. has come, and even more excited for what’s next. So stick around. Let’s make some art. Let’s laugh at some unhinged cards. Let’s keep turning hard things into beautiful things together.