Sometimes the stories that stick with you are the ones that remind you of your own.
At Après SCAD this summer, Eleanor Twiford moderated an alumni panel where she asked one of the speakers to share a story about getting fired. After losing his job, he'd found himself working at a burrito truck. And while he was working there, he got a call from Nike that would change the trajectory of his career.
I loved that story, but not just because of where he ended up, but because of everything that happened before that phone call. Creative careers rarely follow a straight line, and sometimes the moments that feel like you're going backward turn out to be the ones that send you in an entirely new direction.
After the panel, I went up to talk with him. I told him how much his story resonated with me because I'd been fired once, too. For standing up for something I believed in creatively.
We had a great conversation. He seemed genuinely happy that sharing his experience had meant something to me, and I told him about an old article I'd remembered for years that seemed particularly relevant. He asked me to let him know if I ever found it.
Well, that sent me down quite the rabbit hole.
Somewhere along the way, I started thinking about a bigger question.
What does it really mean to have creative conviction? Then, what happens when standing up for the work actually costs you something?
When Standing Up for the Work Comes at a Cost
Earlier in my career, I was working as a creative director at an agency with an incredibly demanding pace.
I was traveling almost every week, sometimes twice in one week. Working 70- and 80-hour weeks. Designing on airplanes, preparing for presentations, and working late into the night before catching an early flight the next morning was a regular occurrence.
It was exhausting, and honestly, it wasn’t sustainable.
An executive creative director had been brought in above me, and on one of our accounts, he developed an idea he wanted me to execute as a campaign.
There was just one problem.
I didn’t think it was campaignable.
Now, for anyone outside the advertising world, there’s a difference between a clever one-off execution and an actual campaign idea. A campaign needs a concept strong enough to work across multiple pieces, messages, and applications while still holding together as one cohesive idea.
This particular concept might have worked as a single execution, but I couldn’t see how it would sustain an entire campaign. More importantly, I didn’t believe it was strong enough to accomplish what the client needed.
So I said so.
I wasn’t refusing to do the work because I had some brilliant alternative I was determined to push through. I honestly don’t even remember whether I had another direction in mind.
What I remember very clearly is believing the idea wasn’t right for the assignment, explaining why, and being fired shortly afterward.
Was it worth losing my job over?
That's a complicated question.
Because while losing a job is never something I'd encourage anyone to aspire to, I also don't believe creative professionals should be afraid to question work they genuinely think could be better.
We aren't hired simply to execute whatever idea lands on our desks. Our experience, judgment, and ability to recognize what will or won't work are part of what we bring to the table, and sometimes that means having an uncomfortable conversation.
Here’s the part of my story that might surprise you, though.
When I got fired, I felt relieved.
I remember thinking, I don’t know where my next paycheck is coming from, but I am so happy I never have to go back there again.
I didn’t have a huge amount of savings. I had no idea what I was going to do next. That part was certainly scary.
But I also hadn't been to the gym in months. Riding had become difficult because I was working so many weekends. My entire life seemed to revolve around someone else’s deadlines and travel schedule.
I knew something needed to change.
At the time, I couldn't have told you what that change would look like. I just knew I was ready for it.
The Article I Never Forgot
That conversation at Après SCAD brought back something I'd carried with me for years: an article I remembered reading in Communication Arts.
I can’t quote it exactly, and apparently I can’t find it either, but the premise was something along these lines:
If you've spent your career in a creative industry and you've never been fired for standing up for something you believe in, what have you really been willing to stand up for?
It wasn’t suggesting that getting fired should be some sort of creative badge of honor.
The idea was that losing your job because you defended the integrity of the work wasn't necessarily something to be embarrassed about. Sometimes it meant you had a conviction strong enough that you were willing to put something at risk.
For years, I was convinced Tom Monahan had written it.
So after Après SCAD, I decided I was finally going to track it down.
I contacted Tom directly, reached out to Communication Arts, and even contacted Tom’s former agency.
Nothing.
Tom confirmed that he hadn't written the article. Communication Arts searched through its back issues and couldn't find the column I remembered.
At this point, it's become a bit of a creative-industry mystery.
However, something wonderful came out of the search.
Tom loved the premise. In fact, he’s now told me twice, “Write the article!”
He also recommended the documentary Lemonade, about advertising creatives who lost their jobs and had to get creative with their own lives.
He shared a Bill Bernbach quote that stopped me in my tracks: “It isn't a principle unless it costs you.”
That one really stayed with me.
Because it’s easy to say you believe in something when everyone around you agrees. It's easy to defend a creative direction when there's nothing at stake.
But what happens when speaking up could cost you an opportunity, a relationship, or even your job?
That’s when you find out how strongly you believe in it.
Creative Conviction Isn’t the Same as Creative Ego
Now, before anyone takes this as permission to dig in their heels over every creative disagreement, there's another side to this conversation.
Having creative conviction doesn’t mean your idea always wins.
There’s an old saying in advertising about needing to be able to “kill your own babies.” It’s a rather dramatic way of saying you can’t get so attached to your own creative ideas that you lose the ability to recognize when something else is better, and I believe that wholeheartedly.
One of the things I love about creative work is that it isn’t math. There’s rarely one perfect answer to a creative problem.
You can approach the same challenge from several different directions and arrive at solutions that are all valid in their own ways.
That’s part of what makes the work interesting.
Creativity involves a lot of trusting your gut and intuition. Experience helps, too. Over the years, you get better at recognizing when something genuinely isn't working versus when you're simply having a hard time letting go of your own idea.
I try to ask myself a pretty straightforward question:
Am I pushing back because I genuinely believe this will make the work stronger for the client, the audience, and the objective? Or am I pushing back because I just don't want to let go of my idea?
Those are two very different things.
If someone else has a better solution, I'm happy to let mine go. In fact, that's usually a sign that the creative process is working the way it should.
But when my gut is telling me that the work is being compromised, I've learned to pay attention.
I think there’s an important distinction between fighting for your idea and fighting for the best idea.
The first can become about ego. The second keeps the focus where it belongs: on the work and what it's supposed to accomplish.
Looking back at the experience that cost me my job, that's what I was trying to do. I wasn't protecting a concept with my name on it. I was questioning whether the proposed direction could deliver what the client needed.
That distinction still matters to me.
How Creative Conviction Changes with Experience
I’ve been doing this long enough to know that being passionate about your work doesn't mean every disagreement needs to become a battle.
In fact, one of the biggest things experience gives you is a better sense of when something is worth pushing on and when it isn't.
There’s a Stephen Covey principle I’ve always loved: “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.”
I think that applies beautifully to creative work.
Before I push back on a client's feedback or a collaborator's suggestion, I want to understand where they're coming from.
What are they seeing that I might not be seeing? Is there a business consideration I haven't fully understood? Are we trying to solve the same problem but approaching it from different angles?
Then I can explain why I feel the way I do.
Sometimes that conversation confirms my original thinking, sometimes it changes my mind, and sometimes we arrive at a third solution that's stronger than either of the first two.
That's a good creative process.
These days, the relationships I've built through JonesHaus are much more collaborative than the environment I experienced earlier in my career.
I work with small and mid-sized businesses, larger organizations, and talented creative partners who value the experience and perspective I bring to the table.
They trust that I'll speak up when I think something isn't working, and they also know I’m listening.
I haven't had a situation in recent years where I've needed to draw a dramatic line in the sand over a creative decision. I think that says something about the kinds of relationships I've built and how my approach has evolved.
The goal isn’t to win an argument. It’s to get to the strongest solution.
Sometimes that means advocating for a direction you believe in; sometimes it means asking a few more questions, and sometimes it means recognizing that the person across the table has an idea worth pursuing.
Being confident in your point of view and being open to feedback can absolutely coexist.
I’d argue that the best creative work depends on both.
Sometimes the Detour Becomes the Direction
When I think back to getting fired from that agency, I can draw a pretty clear line between that experience and eventually starting JonesHaus.
But I certainly couldn't see it at the time.
I didn't walk out with a business plan, a five-year strategy, or even the intention of starting an agency.
Mostly, I needed a break from working 80-hour weeks.
Then clients started calling, and I started taking on projects. One thing led to another, and JonesHaus grew very organically.
I didn’t even have a website for the first year.
Yes, the person who now designs websites for other businesses went an entire year without one of her own.
Eventually, I figured I should probably do something about that.
Over time, I built a business that looked quite different from the agency environment I'd left behind.
JonesHaus is lean by design. I bring in trusted collaborators when a project calls for additional expertise, and I've been able to create a business that gives me more control over my time, my clients, and the kind of work I take on.
That doesn't mean I never work long hours.
There are still weeks when I'm working 70 or 80 hours. Sometimes I'm at my desk at 6 a.m., and sometimes I'm still working at 8 p.m.
But there’s a difference when those are your hours, your decisions, and something you're building for yourself.
When I had Frankie, that flexibility meant being able to ride during the week instead of trying to squeeze something I loved into whatever time was left over after work.
That mattered to me, and it still does.
Running JonesHaus hasn't always been easy. There have been plenty of challenges along the way. But there have also been rewards I couldn't have imagined when I was sitting there wondering where my next paycheck would come from.
One of the biggest has been the opportunity to work with clients who genuinely appreciate my experience and trust what I bring to their businesses.
I’ve also become more aware of where I can make the greatest difference.
Large companies often have entire departments and significant resources dedicated to marketing, branding, and creative work.
Small and mid-sized businesses can have just as much potential, but they don't always have access to that same level of strategic and creative expertise.
I love being able to bring my experience to those businesses; to help them look at their brands differently, recognize opportunities they might not have considered, and make decisions that support where they want to go.
It's meaningful work, and I get to do it on my own terms.
When I heard that story at Après SCAD about the call from Nike arriving while someone was working at a burrito truck, I couldn't help thinking about how unpredictable creative careers can be.
Neither of us could have known where those difficult moments would eventually lead, and I don't believe every setback happens for a reason or that every closed door automatically leads to a better one.
Sometimes things are just hard.
But occasionally, the detour becomes the direction.
What Are You Willing to Stand Up For?
I still haven't found that original Communication Arts article.
Maybe I remembered the author incorrectly. Maybe the wording was different. Or, maybe it's tucked away in an old issue somewhere, waiting for someone to stumble across it.
Yet, the fact that I've remembered its message for so many years tells me something.
It challenged the way I thought about creative work, professional risk, and what it means to believe in something enough to defend it.
After hearing that story at Après SCAD, talking with another creative about our experiences, and going down the rabbit hole trying to find the article, I ended up with Tom Monahan telling me to write it myself.
So here we are.
I don’t think creative conviction is about being difficult, refusing to compromise, or treating conflict as an accomplishment.
It's about caring enough about the work to ask the harder questions. Trusting your experience while remaining open to other perspectives. Knowing when to speak up, when to listen, and when the work deserves another look.
Sometimes that costs you something.
Standing up for what I believed about the work cost me a job.
Ultimately, though, it gave me something, too.
A different career. A business I built on my own terms. The opportunity to work with people I respect and who respect what I bring to the table, and a perspective on creative work that has stayed with me ever since.
So I’ll leave you with the question that started all of this: What do you believe in enough to stand up for?