UX Gaps

You sit at your desk, reviewing the onboarding flow you just redesigned for the mobile app. Weeks of work went into this: consolidating unnecessary steps, clarifying confusing fields, and rewriting instructions that had caused users to get stuck in the past. The flow is smoother now, and most of the obvious pain points from earlier testing are gone. Your team has been watching metrics closely. The product manager and engineers are eager to see results. Now that the redesign is live, you feel cautiously optimistic. At first glance, the numbers look promising. Click-throughs are high. Users spend slightly more time on tutorial screens. Engagement seems up. It feels like the work paid off. But during the next team meeting, the product manager frowns. “Completion rates haven’t improved,” they say. “People are still dropping off mid-flow.” Your stomach knots. How can users be clicking through at such a high rate if they’re not finishing? You assumed the redesign addressed the major fri...

A designer gets an email from someone he hasn't talked to in years. They worked together once, long ago, before their careers went in different directions. The message is straightforward: "Hey—hope all is well with you. We're in the middle of a product project that's grown larger than we expected. We're looking to contract out 1–2 additional designers to help the team keep things moving. Would you be interested?" The request makes sense. The project expanded. They need more hands. But one word gives him pause: contract. He's been freelancing for years. That model is familiar. Contracting, though, is something he's never had to think too deeply about. He realizes he doesn't actually know how it would change his role or what would be expected of him on a day-to-day basis. That evening, he goes to his regular networking meetup. He ends up talking with designers working across agencies, product teams, freelance roles, and contract positions. When someo...

 A designer has just joined a product team. They know the rules: research first, define the problem, map flows, test solutions. They’ve shipped work before, felt confident in their craft, and trusted the process. Now, they’re handed a project already in motion. The research is solid, but incomplete. As they read through it, it offers direction, not certainty. Some insights clearly point to user needs, while others raise new questions that were never fully answered. It’s usable, but it doesn’t provide the clarity they’re used to starting with. The foundation feels slightly uneven — and they notice it immediately. As they move into the design work, that feeling follows them. Some screens already exist. Some decisions were made before they arrived. Not everything is documented. The team is moving forward anyway. There isn’t a clean slate or a clear starting point — just a series of open threads that need to be picked up. For a designer used to defined sequences of steps, this is u...

This series started with a question. So you want to freelance. What does that actually mean? At first, it seemed simple — take on small projects, build confidence, and figure things out as you go. But over time, the path revealed its complexity. Freelancing isn’t just about doing design work; it’s about managing clients, setting boundaries, pricing your time, and making decisions when there’s no safety net. Along the way, you encountered moments that aren’t talked about as often: The first real project, where responsibility feels heavier than expected The realization that a strong network matters more than visibility alone The frustration of missed opportunities without social proof The discomfort of momentum bringing the wrong opportunity By the end of the series, a pattern had emerged. The hardest parts of freelancing weren’t about design skills. They weren’t even about experience. They were about judgment — making decisions when information is incomplete, expec...

 You’re taking a break. The last project ended unexpectedly, and you’re still carrying the weight of having to step away. It wasn’t about effort or skill; it was the lack of context, the missing information you needed to make competent decisions. Walking away was the right call, but that doesn’t make it any less deflating. So you step back. You scroll through your networks, catch up on updates, and give yourself space to reset. You’re not looking for work. You’re just letting yourself breathe. Then a message pops up. It’s from a former colleague from your previous career. They mention seeing your recent posts about your work in UX, your focus on mobile apps, and your growing interest in ed tech. Their team is working on a mobile app and wanted to see if you’d be open to learning more.  Curious, you reply, send it over. Soon after, they share a short onboarding document. It gives you a sense of what they’re building, who it’s for, and how the team is thinking about the work ...

 Missing out on the EdTech opportunity hit harder than you expected. The work would have been a good fit, and you were ready, but the lack of testimonials stopped things before they could even get started. You realized that waiting for opportunities to quietly land in your inbox wasn’t enough—you needed to be intentional. You reached out to your network, sharing that you were open to freelance work focused on EdTech and mobile projects. You followed up with people you trusted, showed up to meetings with clarity about what you were looking for, and positioned yourself to be seen. A few weeks later, it worked. A stakeholder at a local community college contacted you. They were preparing for the upcoming semester and adding a new industry track. They needed updates to their mobile app, new courses added, and a simple onboarding flow for students. Their internal designer, who usually handled these projects, was on vacation, and the timeline was tight. You didn’t know the stakeholder ...

 It’s been a couple of weeks since you wrapped up that project with the other designer. You’re back to sharing insights in UX communities, and staying active in your monthly meetup—just keeping the momentum going and putting your work out there. Then, out of the blue, a message lands in your inbox. A small ed-tech startup noticed something you commented on and wants to see if you can help with a project. It’s exciting—you weren’t looking for work—but there’s a catch: they want social proof . A testimonial from a previous client. You freeze. You’ve done real freelance projects, but you’ve never asked for testimonials. Everything in your portfolio looks like practice work or personal experiments. Without social proof, you know the client likely won’t move forward. You reach out to one or two of your friends from the UX meetup, hoping someone might be able to help. Only one of them responds: “Hey, thanks for reaching out! You’re a really great person, and we always have such interes...

That realization stayed with you longer than you expected. You had been so excited about working with another designer—someone in your niche whose work you genuinely admired. You imagined an equal partnership, a flow of ideas, a chance to learn from someone more experienced. But the reality wore you down. Instead of the dialogue and shared effort you hoped for, you found yourself taking on the tasks no one else wanted. Your ideas were dismissed before they were even considered. The project itself aligned with your skills, but the experience left you drained, frustrated, and far from what you had envisioned. As you reflect on it now, one question keeps resurfacing: Are you the kind of designer others would choose to work with? The answer isn’t obvious. You realize now that, even though you're new, showing that you take your work seriously and contribute thoughtfully is what makes others want to collaborate with you. During that project, you didn’t assert yourself when things felt un...

 With a clearer understanding of the gaps in your skills, you start taking a closer look at the people you've met in your weekly networking group over the past few months. You’ve built a sense of who you connect with, who’s approachable, and who you could genuinely see yourself working with. You dive a little deeper—checking LinkedIn profiles, browsing portfolios, and trying to get a feel for who might be a good fit for future projects. You reach out to a developer who seems promising. You explain your situation honestly: your strengths, the areas where you could use support, and the types of projects you might bring them into. They’re open but cautious. No promises yet—just the beginning of a possible collaborative relationship. While that’s unfolding, an email pops up in your inbox. A short freelance request from a UX designer in one of your online communities. It’s a small ed-tech project, right in your wheelhouse, and the chance to collaborate is exciting. The first week goes...

Two days after delivering the final handoff for your barter project, the excitement is still buzzing, but so is the overwhelm. Your client is ecstatic about their new website. They promised referrals and a glowing testimonial for your portfolio. You finally take a deep breath and sit with everything that’s just happened. It was a small, low-stakes project, yet it felt full of pressure. Delayed responses, tiny scope changes, and unexpected requests stretched your timeline and tested your communication skills. Looking back, you realize that every quick addition did more than extend the hours. It nudged the entire project schedule for both you and the client. You hadn’t paused to address those changes in the moment. Now that you see it clearly, even the smallest add-on should have been a signal to stop and talk — a simple conversation confirming that any additions, big or small, would shift the timeline and potentially the deliverables. Only after alignment should you have even considered...

It’s been a few months since you started showing up to UX meetups, and things are finally starting to pick up. One day, a friend of a colleague reaches out, connecting you with a small business that needs a website. You open the email, excited. They’re just getting started and can’t quite afford a full-rate project, but the work aligns perfectly with your niche. You see an opportunity for a strategic barter — a partial discount in exchange for a testimonial or referral. You hop on a call to learn more. You ask about their business goals and deadlines and try to get a sense of how involved they want to be. Pulling from your pricing guide, you make sure that even a discounted project still feels fair. You sign the contract, set your plan, and get to work. Then reality hits. Unlike your boot camp days, no mentor is checking your progress or confirming your decisions. Every unexpected client request or small mistake triggers self-doubt. Did you communicate clearly enough? Did you scope t...

The new business cards arrived last week — thick matte paper, clean typography, and your latest title: EdTech App Designer. It feels good. You’ve reworked your portfolio, aligned all your social media, and even updated your email signature. Everything finally fits the story you’ve been building — your brand, your niche, your vision. This week, you’re at your monthly designer meetup, showing off your new cards and talking about your focus in EdTech app design with friends and colleagues. Everyone’s impressed — and for the first time, you feel like your hard work is starting to pay off. But as the conversation continues, reality hits in the form of questions you’re not prepared to answer. “So, what do you charge for a typical project?” “Do you have a contract template you use?” “How do clients usually pay you — upfront or in phases?” You smile, trying to sound confident — but inside, there’s a flicker of panic. Because while you finally look like a business, you realize you don’t quite ...

After weeks of reflection and research, you finally feel confident about where you want to focus your freelance career: EdTech app design. It's a space that excites you, connects with your strengths, and builds naturally from the projects you already have. But once the excitement settles, it hits you. Deciding your niche was only the first step. If you want clients to see you as an EdTech designer, everything you show and say about yourself has to support that story. Refining Your Portfolio You start with your portfolio. The EdTech app you designed during your bootcamp instantly feels like the anchor, a project that fits exactly where you're heading. But as you read through the case study, you notice that it mostly focuses on final designs, not the reasoning behind them. You go back in and refine the story, explaining why you made certain design decisions, how your research informed the direction, and what outcomes your design led to. You want potential clients to understand no...