2025 is the year to work in public

Done will always be better than perfect <3

Jan 31, 2025

Hi! It’s me again with an awkward confession: I don’t like to work in public.

So much so that, even while having the freedom to work from coffee shops or libraries, I’d much rather stay in the comfort of my own room. Sometimes, I blame the drive or the uncertainty of whether I’ll find WiFi, but that’s not the whole truth.

It’s not just about working in public spaces where I can be seen. More than a physical safe space, I prefer the freedom and lack of judgment that comes with working in private—the ability to make mistakes, iterate, and start over without anyone to watch.

We’ve all heard the advice: Don’t share your plans with everyone. Move in silence. This belief is especially popular in the Latino community—you wouldn’t want to risk someone “echándote mal de ojo”—a lesson I learned early on from my mom. Growing up, when someone complimented me on my outfit, my first reaction was always to reply, “Thank you! I got it at Marshall’s, and it was only eight dollars!” or something along those lines. But after being corrected a few times, I understood that I didn’t have to share everything so openly—that maybe I shouldn’t share anything at all.

And that instinct to hold back didn’t stop there. It followed me into other areas of my life, specifically my personal projects and work. I convinced myself that working in private was a preference—some sort of protection. Lately, however, that “preference” feels more like a barrier. A form of stalling. A way to hide while waiting for things to be perfect.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend about how I wanted to be the girl I was before the pandemic again. Going to art school was something I had looked forward to for years, and while I was extremely depressed the entire time I was there (that’s a story for another day), I was sure about one thing: my work. I was a strong decision-maker, trusted my instincts, and I felt myself grow in the process. I’d like to believe I didn’t peak in college (please don’t let that be true), but there was something there—something I lost.

At first, I thought it was the routine. I’ve been very anti-routine since the pandemic, but looking back at that time, the routine made me show up for myself every day and keep going. At one point, I thought it was the healthy competition, how seeing others create pushed me to refine my own work and try harder after a failed attempt.

But the more I sat with the thought, the more I realized that working in public was why I felt so decisive and committed to my goals.

It was not an option to keep things to myself. Every sketch, concept, and iteration had to be taped to the wall for critique. There was no waiting for things to be perfect. My work was constantly being seen, and because of that, I was forced to figure things out—to keep moving and improving.

Sure, someone could steal my idea—they did—but I could always come up with something else. Sure, my execution might not have always been the best, but it was an accomplishment in itself to have tried.

But as soon as I was out of that environment, I stopped inviting critique, conversation, and even curiosity about what I was making. The longer I kept things to myself, the harder it became to share. What once felt like control started to feel like isolation. And the more I protected my work, the more I realized I wasn’t just protecting it—I was protecting myself from embarrassment.

Last year, I wrote down what I considered then to be my most closely kept secret: I am embarrassed—embarrassed to try and fail, to be seen in the process. I’m even embarrassed by basic human things: to love, to play, to fall, to live. That admission sits on the very last pages of my journal because, as I wrote then, “when I reach this page again, I want to have felt embarrassed.”

What a human feeling, I think. So many of us never pursued careers in content creation for fear of being cringe. We celebrate the goals we’ve achieved in public but would never dare to share the ones we fell short on. We write words we never read aloud. We hesitate before texting first. We’ve even invented the “talking stage” to avoid openly admitting that we like someone—that we’d maybe, potentially, want to see where it goes. Because saying “we’re dating” sounds too serious, too exposed.

At all costs, we should always pretend we don’t care.

We deflect compliments. We sit on drafts and unfinished projects for months, waiting for the moment they feel perfect. Being seen is a risk, we think. So, we live in a constant state of avoidance, as if dodging embarrassment will ensure our success. We convince ourselves that if we hold off long enough and hide just a bit longer, the fear will disappear, and we’ll be able to step forward without flaw.

But after years of giving in to that feeling, I’ve realized discomfort is a sign of growth. A marker that we are, at the very least, in motion. A sign that we are trying, stretching, stepping beyond what is safe and certain. It’s clear to me now the real risk isn’t in being seen but in never showing up at all.

Working in public is a commitment—to progress, accountability, and the reality that things don’t have to be perfect to be worth sharing. They may never be perfect at all. But sharing forces you to step into the work, move with it, and let it take shape outside your expectations. It demands that you be present in the process rather than paralyzed by how it’s perceived. Once you’re in it, you’re in it—and only by moving forward will you overcome the feeling that you could have done more or better.

So, I’m choosing to work in public again this year. And I hope you do, too.

What I’ve Been Working On

Cakehaus

Last year, I briefly talked about bringing my mom’s new bakery, Cakehaus, to life. That process taught me so much—from understanding cottage food laws to figuring out how to make our own packaging with a Cricut to save costs. At first, our goal was to open a brick-and-mortar location in Orlando. But since then, our plans have shifted, and now we’re working toward expanding into nationwide shipping in the near future.

When our goal was to open a physical storefront, I didn’t put much effort into our social media (though I should have anyway). We knew we’d meet our customers at markets, and eventually, they’d keep coming back. With time, we’d hopefully build a community to support us in the next step. However, with nationwide shipping being our goal now, we need to have nationwide demand. So, here are a few things I’m doing to help with that in the coming months:

Taking more product photography instead of relying on scattered shots from markets
Starting to build an email list to stay connected with customers beyond social media
Testing how our packaging holds up during travel

It’s still a learning process for everyone—except my mom, who is just happy to be baking—but I’m excited to see where we’ll be in a year. If you’ve ever ordered baked goods online (say from Milk Bar or Browniegod), I’d love to hear what the experience was like! Was it still good? Did it taste fresh? How was it packaged? Let me know!

The Office of Wilda Casado

I never thought I’d say this again, but… I’m rebranding.

Let’s rewind a bit—in 2023, I redesigned my website. I no longer had packaged services like I did from 2020-2023, and I was also preparing to look for a job, so I revamped it to fit those needs. I told myself I’d keep it for at least a year. I ended up keeping it for two years, which is groundbreaking for me, considering I used to change my website every six months on average (iykyk).

Once I got a full-time job, I stopped marketing my services altogether, though I still work on select projects here and there. Here’s a sneak peek of a brand refresh project I just finished last week for The Dizzy Cook:

But for a while now, most of my attention has been on my job, Cakehaus, and this newsletter. More than a studio or freelance practice, my brand has started to feel more like an office—a home for all my ideas, skills, and projects (some would call this a portfolio career). So, I figured it was time for a refresh.

With this in mind, I will also be taking on new email clients!

Honestly, I never thought I’d have a “niche,” but it turns out the Instagram coaches were right—your niche does sort of find you.

I started designing emails in 2021 when I was hired by Foodtography School (R.I.P.), and from there, things kept growing. I worked as a Digital Designer at Bumble and bumble., where my obsession with email truly took off (forever missing the OG #designqueens team). Then, I started designing for brands like Love Wellness (and actually got to meet Lo Bosworth) and Cocofloss. Now, at my current job, email is a huge part of what I do.

I’ve designed emails in Canva, Photoshop, Adobe XD, and now mostly Figma. I know the ins and outs of tools like Klaviyo, ActiveCampaign, Flodesk, ConvertKit, Mailchimp, Mailerlite—you name it. Over time, I’ve refined my process and have come to appreciate how much impact a well-designed email can have on businesses of all sizes. I mean, I do have a newsletter, after all. I probably should’ve seen this coming, considering that as a kid, I used to say, “I can’t wait to be an adult so I can check my email every morning.” (who’s gonna tell her?!)

Anyway, fun stuff is coming. I’m not hopping back on the Instagram hamster wheel, but it will likely come up in the newsletter a few times. So, if you or someone you know needs an email girl, you know where to find me!

What are you working on?

Since I’m making it a point to work in public, I’d love to hear about what you’re working on, too. Whether it’s a big project, a new job, a hobby you’ve picked back up, or something else entirely—consider this your sign to share it.

Leave me a comment below or reply to this email. Let’s chat <3