From Grudge to Growth: How I Overcame the Art Director Who Launched my Freelance Journey

By Jasmine Parasram.

As I sat on the tram, knowing my stop was coming up, I felt sick to my stomach. Five months into what I thought was my dream job, working in an incredible studio doing design work I loved, I was dreading every single morning. It wasn't the pace of the studio, although the fact I was the one with the biggest workload was clear. Or the fact I was one of the few females in a very male dominated studio. The main reason I woke up every day this week wanting to cry and quit was epitomised in one person. My art director.

If you've read this far and found yourself nodding, you probably know it wasn't just the gut feeling driving me nauseous. My notes app was full of times and dates, documenting my interactions with both him and other management so I knew I wasn't making it up and not bury it under accusations of overreacting. Every conversation, every meeting, my hand twitched in my pocket wanting to hit record just in case something was said to be held against me.

And the worst part? I fought hard to get this job, negotiated my salary and really nailed my interview. Less than six months later and my mental and physical health were suffering and I was broken.

Even sharing my experience with management didn't help, in fact in some cases it made it worse. Words like "company culture" weren't as much of a thing back then, but it was clear while there was a central cause, the toxicity of that workplace wasn't centralised to just one person.

Spoiler alert I didn't make it to six months.

Thanks to an incredible recruiter and a maternity leave cover opportunity at a global brand, I got out. But it wasn't completely unscathed. Eventually, I left the perceived security of employment altogether and took the leap into freelancing – a decision that would prove to be the best of my career.

That was in 2015, almost a decade ago now.

Since walking out that door all those years ago, he hasn't completely disappeared from my life, as much as I would have liked him to.

A backhanded comment on a post, a dm telling me if I ever needed pointers on freelancing to let him know, all these micro-aggressions made it harder to let go and forget it ever happened. Truthfully my time in that studio hasn't even faded into a distant memory like I hoped it would.

Looking back, I definitely held a grudge for a really long time against him. For years, I'd find myself rehearsing imaginary confrontations during long drives. I'd obsessively check his social media, comparing our career trajectories and feeling vindicated when a project of mine received recognition. I'd mention "my horrible art director" as a cautionary tale at industry gatherings, the story growing more dramatic with each retelling.

The grudge became part of my identity, a narrative I carried to explain my career choices: "I'm freelance because studio environments are toxic," I'd tell people, the trauma of that experience colouring every professional decision. When colleagues mentioned his name or the studio, I'd feel my body tense, a visceral reminder of how deeply this resentment had embedded itself in my system.

What I didn't realise then was how much energy this grudge consumed. The mental real estate it occupied could have been used for creativity, for building my business, for genuine connection with others in my industry. Instead, I was pouring it into maintaining an emotional response to someone who likely never gave me a second thought after I left.

The turning point

It wasn't until a few years into my freelancing career that something shifted. My phone rang with an unfamiliar number, and to my surprise, it was him—he had accidentally called me. Instead of hanging up, he asked how freelancing was going. The familiar knot formed in my stomach, that fight-or-flight response kicking in like clockwork.

I managed to say things were going well, and we talked briefly about industry happenings. Then came the comment that revealed everything: "You know, you're really proving people wrong with your success." The backhanded compliment hung in the air, implying that my failure had been the expected outcome all along.

But this time, something was different.

That single phrase illuminated all our past interactions in a new light. The dismissals, the criticisms, the micromanaging—they weren't objective assessments of my work. They were projections of his own insecurities.

And then it hit me: his behaviour wasn't about me. It never had been.

This revelation didn't come as a bolt of lightning but rather as a slow dawn. I realised I'd been carrying this person's actions as a reflection of my worth, my talent, my place in the industry. In reality, his treatment of me spoke volumes about him and nothing about me.

The unexpected lesson

The most surprising thing I've learned through this experience is that holding a grudge is exhausting. It's like carrying around a heavy backpack filled with rocks labelled "resentment," "anger," and "what-ifs." Every time his Facebook profile suggested us as friends or I saw his name, I'd add another rock to that backpack.

Letting go wasn't about forgiveness at least not in the traditional sense. I didn't suddenly decide he deserved absolution. Instead, I recognised that my grudge was taking up valuable space in my mind that could be used for creativity, growth, and genuine connections.

What changed

Since leaving that toxic environment:

I've become fiercely protective of my boundaries. I can spot the warning signs of problematic dynamics in the first client call. Having been burned myself, I now recognize instantly when my students need better boundaries in their client relationships.
I've learned to trust my instincts. That queasy feeling on the tram wasn't an overreaction—it was my body's wisdom trying to protect me.
I've built a support network of other designers who validate rather than dismiss my experiences. Finding community has been healing in ways I never anticipated.
I've stepped into leadership roles where I can actively create the kind of work relationships I wish I'd had. As a Pricing Coach for Freelancers, I help others value themselves properly and build sustainable creative careers on their own terms.
I've reclaimed my passion for design. For months after quitting, I couldn't even open my portfolio without feeling a wave of anxiety. Now, I'm doing the best work of my career as a freelancer and coaching others specifically on pricing their work effectively.

That queasy feeling on the tram wasn't an overreaction—it was my body's wisdom trying to protect me.

The unexpected encounter

The ultimate irony came when he popped up in my DMs after commenting on one of my stories. He offered unsolicited advice on how to succeed as a freelancer, clearly assuming I was struggling. The reality? I was earning my previous yearly studio salary in just three months of freelance work.

Reading his condescending message, I realised I felt... nothing. No anxiety, no anger, no need to prove myself or correct his assumptions. The power he once held over my emotional state had evaporated. Not because he had changed he clearly hadn't but because I had.

Advice for those still in the thick of it

If you're currently working under someone who makes you question your talent, your sanity, or your place in your industry, please know:

Document everything. Trust your perception.
Your health mental and physical is worth more than any job, no matter how prestigious.
The industry is bigger than one toxic workplace or person.
Healing isn't linear, and holding a grudge is a normal part of processing trauma.
The best revenge truly is living well and finding joy in your work again.

Today, nearly a decade later, I can look back on that experience not with resentment but with perspective.

That art director didn't define my career; he was merely a difficult chapter in a much longer, richer story that I continue to write. And oddly enough, I'm grateful. Without that experience, I might never have found my voice, my boundaries, or the resilience that now defines both my personal and professional identity as a freelancer and Pricing Coach for other freelancers.

The art directors who tried to break me didn't just create a freelancer who couldn't be broken. They inadvertently built a coach who now helps others recognise their value and charge accordingly. Turns out, the biggest professional gift he gave me was showing exactly what kind of leader I refused to become.

Are you a client who needs a design superwoman, or a creative who needs a pricing queen? Learn more about how Jaz can help: jasminedesigns.com.au