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While it’s not quite the end of the year yet, the dark days are drawing in, the Christmas decorations are out in stores and I’m getting that familiar urge to reflect on the year gone by. The last few months of the year are the perfect time to check in with any resolutions you made back in January to see how you did (as long as you didn’t give up months ago). This year I set myself one big goal, rather than lots of little ones. I focused in on my impulse to shop as a past time and wanted to move towards a more sustainable relationship with my wallet and my image. So I pledged in a blog post:

“I want to break the cycle. I’m not going to buy any clothes (exceptions will be made for socks) for the whole of 2019.”

Largely, I think I did pretty well. I have to admit I didn’t completely hold true to the absolutely no buying rule. I was gifted a t-shirt and some new hiking boots for my birthday and I picked up a jumper, because I struggle to say no to good knitwear. But otherwise I’m calling it a success. I’ve definitely not shopped in the same way I would have without this resolution looming over me.

As I said in that January blog post “My wardrobe has never overflowed. My spending has always been within my means. My style isn’t exactly vogue-worthy. Yet still, at the end of 2018 I realised I always had that tickle in the back of my mind that made me want to shop.”

I think through this year I’ve felt that tickle fade away. I’m no longer browsing clothes stores when I’m bored. It’s much rarer that I will think to myself ‘I need this thing’.

That said, there are a few things I would like as I come to the end of this year, because I’ve learned what in my wardrobe I truly love and what I don’t. Despite only having the same items in there all year, there are some things I’ve barely worn or worn begrudgingly. So, there are a few things I’ve started to get rid of. I’ve learned I really value comfort if something is slightly itchy, a fabric that makes me sweat or cut in a way that I can’t move around in, no matter how much I like how it looks, I won’t wear it. As much as I like the idea of light colours, I spend my days filled with anxiety that I’ll spill something, so actually getting wear out of those lovely light pieces. These are the edits I’m making.

I’d like to add in a few more long sleeve darker cotton shirts, because I’ve worn my navy shirt almost every week that wasn’t over 30 degrees this year. I’m also looking for some simple summer dresses, because I loved wearing my gingham dress this year, but I can feel its jersey fabric pilling to a level where I fear it will have holes next year. One thing I didn’t include in my original wardrobe audit was my loungewear. I’ve realised just how much I live in sweatpants Friday through Sunday. As comfy as they are, I tend to feel uncomfortable venturing out in them, especially if I have to see someone and then I’m resentful of getting changed. So, if I can find them, I’d like a casual elasticated trouser that I’m comfortable in whether I’m sat in my armchair or at my desk in the office.

Those learnings about what I actually wear came alongside a realisation that the more I wear something the more I love it, for example I’ve found a new love for my black chelsea boots. There are definitely things I might have given up on without this challenge, that are now new favourites. 

I’ve done my best to look after those new favourites sewing up holes and conditioning leather shoes. I’ve taken a lot of pride in those repairs, they’ve made me appreciate what I own as well as what I am capable of far more than just buying something new ever would.

So, moving into next year I want to try to keep my consumption low, but try to have a more measured response to curating a wardrobe that really works for me with items I love so much I’ll repair and wear time and time again.

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A couple of weeks ago a new version of my portfolio made its internet debut without a bang. 

 

I’m so proud of the work that went into that stage left entrance and the little static show it’s putting on. So I wanted to share something of its backstory, because it’s a backstory of reinvention, technical triumph and procrastination.

 

This change came about because more and more people from my “real life” were finding my website and I was embarrassed by it. I wasn’t embarrassed because it was objectively bad, but because it felt like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I’d made an online presentation of myself that didn’t feel connected to the me that people met in real life. 

So, in this new site you won’t find any cards (or anything else) for sale right now. I’d made the decision to make cards 3 years ago when I thought that was what you had to do if you wanted to be an illustrator online. But I was never 100% happy with the cards I’d made and the way I’d tacked them on didn’t feel good. So , in Marie Kondo style, I’ve gotten rid of them because they didn’t spark joy.

 

In fact, I’ve dropped almost all references to just being an illustrator. I’m trying to make the work I do during the day (the more research based stuff) and the work I do on an evening (the more visual stuff) a more cohesive whole. That’s why there are fewer examples of my work up right now. I’m in the process of producing more of the type of thing I’d like to be making not just what I’ve been asked to do in the past.

 

Because the reason for my change was all about content, that’s where I start my design work. I spent time sketching out what I ultimately want to make more of and how I want to support myself making those things. I stuck with pen and paper drafting out how I wanted to talk about what I do. I think taking the time to really think about the story I wanted to tell, away from the web side of things, gave me much more focus and purpose than I’ve ever had when designing past portfolios, where I’ve just dived in.

I stayed on paper to sketch out how I wanted to organise that information across the site and on the pages themselves. I’m no UI designer, but I went though sites I loved and tried to find elements that I thought would structure and highlight my work in the way I wanted. Through that process of searching for inspiration and like a magpie picking up what was shiny for my own nest, I ended up with a clear sense in my mind of how I wanted the site to look, feel and behave.

 

For the last three years, my portfolio has been hosted on Squarespace. Squarespace is an absolutely brilliant tool for quickly making lovely websites, particularly if you have your own store. But I was worried it wouldn’t be flexible enough for me to build something that really felt like it was my own. That sense of ownership was so important to this process for me. I wanted an identity I had crafted rather than fit into. So, I decided to look into other options and ended up going with Semplice. Semplice is a designer’s portfolio builder and came highly recommended by UXers at work. Not one to just rely on a recommendation, I weighed up the pros and cons before I purchased.

I’m really glad I went with Semplice in the end. I feel like I’m in complete control and that what I’ve made is flexible enough to carry me into the future. For anyone else considering Semplice, I will say that it does take longer to build a site than with the out of the box solutions. That was a price worth paying for me. The only regret I have is that the blog element isn’t as customisable as I would have liked, but I’m looking into what I can do with the little coding knowledge I have and raiding github.

 

That said there are bits of the site I absolutely adore. I like the warmer colour palette that feels at once neutral and bright. I’m so glad I took the time to create a font based on my handwriting to use as the titles. I think it speaks to the hand drawn nature of so much of my work in a way that no google font ever could. I love the animations and the way they’re both examples of my illustration and my personality. I even like the photo of me (as taken by the wonderful Sian) on the about. I typically hate having my picture taken, but I think having my real self as part of the internet presentation of myself is such a good way to bridge the divide that had been pulling me apart before this project.

It’s not all been plain sailing though.

 

All in all, I think it took me 6 months or so to get something out of the door and onto the internet. 

 

I had a lovely to do list on my wall all summer. I knew what I wanted to make and I knew how to do it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to just sit down and do it. 

 

I’m not normally a procrastinator, in no small part because I don’t give myself the time. So what was different about this? That’s what I kept asking myself. 

 

I think it came down to two things. First, it was a project for myself, meaning it felt like it was the least important thing on my to do list at any given time. Second, I’d put all of this pressure on it being not just a representation of a tiny bit of myself that I could use when I needed it, but it actually being me.

 

I’m not sure if that makes sense. There’s a lot of discussion about how to be visible is to exist online, and in a way it is. But not to be visible, or not to be shown in my best light, doesn’t mean I, the physical I, cease to exist. In fact, the visible internet I isn’t even all that well seen. 

 

A portfolio is just a way to showcase my work to real people. It’s not me. It’s also not a big deal for anyone else and I have to own that. It’s not a negative. It’s not a comment on my personhood. It’s actually quite empowering to try to view it as a sticky tape and cardboard project in my bedroom rather than a grand presentation.

 

On Instagram I described it as a piece of string project, it could be as long and winding as I made it. But I needed to make the cut. So I did.

 

The version of www.natalieharney.com you see online today isn’t “done” but it’s never going to be “done”. There are more projects I want to share, page elements I want to refine, load issues I want to smooth out. But it’s a start and a start that I’m proud to share.

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I’m built out of pieces of everyone I’ve ever admired and it feels like my research practice is developing in very much the same way. From how I conduct interviews to how I structure write ups to I work with participants, I’m constantly learning from the people around me. Largely, I’d say my research work is still finding its form. I’m trying on hats and seeing how they fit. But there is one thing that seems to have become a solid and distinctive part of how I work already. 

 

I’m a firm believer in the right of participants to reply to research.

 

We discussed the ethics of an ethnographic approach and people based research in my Goldsmiths anthropology course. In those debates about potential tensions between ethics and morals, about taking the time to be aware the potential consequences of your research, about avoiding harm, and about informed consent, I started to draw my own boundaries, in pencil at least.

 

When I consider the ethics of my research, I’m not just looking to do no harm and offer true informed consent, but I want to pursue beneficence, research that does good. For me, that often links into a collaborative approach to research and design that empowers participants to shape the future of the services I’m working on. 

 

In order to do that, I try to take my baseline for how I make decisions in session design on the principles of trauma informed care. These are principles that have always rung true for me, but that also acknowledge that there’s always the potential for harm in research just as there is always the potential that someone is carrying harm around with them.

 

In short, as cribbed from the Wisconsin Department of Health Services, a trauma informed practice values:

 

 

The right to reply fosters a sense of safety because participants are empowered to know they will ultimately have a say in what the research looks like. It gives them a choice in how they are represented. Taking a transparent approach to report writing builds trust and ultimately acknowledges that you’re working together in partnership.

As much as possible, I take a collaborative approach to research and design. I’ve been so fortunate to work with some brilliant advocates for co-design and true human centred practice approaches. Working collaboratively is cultural as well as process driven, and it should, in my opinion, be foundational. The right to reply is just a tiny piece of that foundation.

 

Giving participants the opportunity to respond to research outputs directly, as well as involving them in a wider co-design programme, has helped build a solid research network. I’ve found the small effort of allowing participants to be part of shaping the narrative of our sessions together has given them confidence in the work we’re doing. 

 

Whether interviewing people who have sought asylum about their legal journeys or colleagues about their views on career progression, I never want my voice as report author to overwhelm theirs. I want to be able to elevate their voices then work together to produce some harmony that can be used as an anthem for change. 

 

On a more practical note though, the right to reply just helps you maintain accuracy. It gives experts an extra chance to share their expertise and participants sharing personal stories a moment to feel comfortable with what’s said.

 

One of the things I love about user research is being able to acknowledge, very openly, that you don’t know the answers and actively welcoming help. Whenever you set up time to learn from someone during research, it feels like you’re saying let’s work together to make something a little better, I can’t do it without you. 

 

But there’s careful work involved in making the right to reply work. 

 

First, you have to make clear that responses are optional. Replying shouldn’t feel like homework for a participant, it should be part of a collaborative approach, if a participant wants to collaborate, and not everyone does. I like to explain that I’ll send over my notes as I take someone through any consent forms and part of the next steps at the end. 

 

Second, there’s a little bit of extra thinking that needs to go into how you structure the notes you share. Knowing that your participants are going to read your notes changes how you think about them. For me, it’s made me even more conscious of being accurate and neutral in my reports and observations, then making sure I clearly frame an analysis or thoughts. My write ups are about being a representative voice of the appellant, which is making me slow down on my analysis taking each step as it comes.

 

Third, you have to have a way to incorporate the feedback. It can’t be a hollow action. Personally, I make small updates straight into our shared notes space, e.g. if I’ve misheard someone’s title, and just track the changes. Our research is ongoing, so I have to worry a little less about ensuring a final publishable version. But any new points, especially if I haven’t covered them in a face-to-face run through of the research, I call out as direct addendums.

 

I don’t think it’s a method that works in every situation. I’ve yet to find a way to build a space for response into user testing, for example. I’m not sure that many people would be all that interested in my notes on their missing a button we’d just turned from green to grey. I also don’t know how much value a response from a user would add to those notes. Instead, we try to test multiple iterations or be part of private beta launches, that way they can give more feedback and see the impacts of their insights on services.

 

I’m confident the right to reply will continue to be a feature of my research practice, but I’m also confident that how I use it will change and evolve, because I’m changing and evolving.

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Up until very recently, my relationship with my body had been very difficult. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin and it’s made me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. It’s a shame I’ve carried around, secretly (and thus making it worse) since I was 12.

I’ve tried to dress in a way that covers it up, but that’s never worked. 

That’s part of the reason I’m not buying any clothes this year, to try to break they cycle of thinking that if I’m wearing something in particular then I’ll finally like what’s underneath. I’m learning what I’m really comfortable in, and becoming painfully aware of the things I bought because I liked the idea of who I might be in them. 

Right now, I like to wear my softest jumpers and my most worn boots because they make me feel confident because we’ve been together for so long. I also like to wear smaller things that make me feel special, like my Kaye Blegvad belt that makes the most boring outfit feel a little cooler or the gold hoops I was recently gifted that put some pep in my step and sparkle when they catch the light – thanks Georgina Scott!

But there’s a much bigger change going on under the surface of soft knits and gold hoops.

A big part of the reason I’ve never felt comfortable in my body, aside from the fact that I’ve been told not to be, is that I’ve been discouraged from sport all of my life. Well, that’s not quite true, I loved playing football in our primary school girl’s team, but as soon as I got to secondary school I had PE classes where I was told continually I wasn’t capable and forced into situations where I didn’t feel comfortable let alone confident. 

That’s left me feeling not only that I don’t like what my body looks like but that I can’t do anything either.

I’ve tried to exercise, because I felt I should, on and off as a grown up since then. But it’s never really stuck. 

Recently, I’ve found myself in a groove of going to classes (boxing and lift) and running in a way that feels more sustainable. I’m learning how to feel capable of and comfortable doing exercise. 

In the past, because I was worried that I would be judged, I always worked out alone. But going to group classes and running as part of events like the Park Run has put me amongst a wider range of bodies, bodies that are all strong and capable and able to keep going. Being in a group has pushed me that little bit further than I would have gone alone so that I can see my body can lift a bar, or throw a punch or keep running if I want it to, and that it’s not out of place if I’m moving no matter how I look.

I can’t say that I always start off a class in a good place. Sometimes, I will myself to put my trainers on through guilt or as a punishment or because I think I need to lose weight. I’m certainly not always body positive. Jia Tolentino wrote far more eloquently than I ever will about the pressures that now come along with fitness culture, even if it’s about being strong, in Trick Mirror. There’s an aesthetic pressure to have a body (that you definitely sweated for in some expensive leggings) so you can appear not to have to sweat all of the other stuff AKA you get to be a cool girl who doesn’t care about being cool. But more than that it’s a moral pressure, to work out is to be good, is to be smart, is to be productive in the most terrifying capitalisation of ourselves. There’s something in being aware of the stories we’re being told, and internalising, 

I’m learning to enjoy exercise as a moment to look after myself. I’m learning to feel proud of my progress. Even if I don’t go into a class with a mindset that’s good for me as a whole person, leave feeling good in a way that’s much deeper than just thinking I can be proud that I burned some calories.

The more I’ve done, the more I’ve found myself being thankful that I’m healthy, that I have a body that, even if it’s not fast or strong or beautiful, allows me to do what I want to. I think finally feeling grateful to my body has been a real turning point for me. 

I don’t think the foreseeable future holds a moment where I’m in love with my body. I know I’m meant to embrace body positivity, and it’s chorus that every body should be considered beautiful. But I don’t think that’s a tune I can sing sincerely. I’ve still got another turn stuck in my head, one that I’ve been taught to hum since I was a child. I’m also not sure that it’s a song I like. Do I need to be beautiful, can I not just be here?

While it’s hard, and sometimes a little demoralising, to find yourself running behind 11 years olds in a 5km. It’s also buoying to know there’s hopefully going to be one fewer 26 year old in the future who’s going to go through these growing pains.

So, I’m focusing on feeling grateful to be breathing and walking and eating pasta. I’m wearing what’s most comfortable, physically and mentally. I’m reconciling with myself.

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A friend asked me if I’d ever written about how I balance having a full time job and doing side projects, and I realised I hadn’t since I was a grad swimming in free time.

Since then, I’ve shifted my priorities. I’ve found work I find fulfilling and I’ve realised I don’t think I will ever want to be a full time illustrator. But I’m still committed to drawing and creating work outside of my ‘day job’. So, I thought it was worth spending a little time writing about it. There are lots of people out there selling side hustles as vehicles to eventually being freelance. That’s not where I’m at. Side hustles are a vehicle for me feeling good in my day to day, to learning more and challenging myself. But they are really the side car.

So, I want to kick this piece off by saying I don’t think there’s such a thing as the perfect balance. There’s no ultimate schedule that will work. It’s personal and constantly changing.The cover image for this piece is quite misleading. There aren’t just two sides and you aren’t always in control. The only way I think balance works as a term for this work is to imagine you’re stood on a balance ball. You’re wobbling all over the place, in every direction. You have to engage your whole body to stay standing. But you can’t do that forever, no matter how strong you are, you have to step off or stumble, then get back up and find a place where you can stand again. Sometimes you have to do that while holding onto other things or people. That’s the kind of ‘balance’ I’m talking about, it’s not a perfect equilibrium.

The other caveat I want to give is that I’m not going to share a set schedule of how I work, which is something I’ve done in the past. I’m personally trying to release by vice-like grip on routines and patterns, so it didn’t feel healthy to set one in internet stone. 

Instead, I wanted to approach talking about working a full-time job while maintaining other pursuits as a bit of an exercise where I talk about the personal value of each element as well as the time it takes. I think this is a really useful way to reflect on how you’re trying to stay on the balance ball of life while staying fulfilled. So, if you take anything away from this post, I think doing a similar activity rather than following my set up is what I’d hope it would be.

So, in no particular order (seriously) these are the things I’m spending my time on these days.

 

Job

What is it?

I’m a user researcher (and sometime service designer) at Engine Transformation.

Why do I do it?

I get to learn about new things every day. A big part of my job is taking questions out into the world and getting messy human answers back that I then have to shape (often visually) into insights that my team can use to develop services. Going home knowing you’ve elevated someone else’s voice, solved a problem or (the big one) designed something that will improve someone’s life/experience a tiny bit is brilliant.

This is also how I pay my rent.

What’s involved?

More than I can fit in this space but it includes: designing research, conducting user research and testing, analysing outputs, co-designing solutions, and presenting work.

How much time do I spend on it?

40 hours a week

 

Illustration commissions

What is it?

Working on illustration projects for clients.

Why do I do it?

I like to draw and work with people to express their ideas visually. Illustrating other people is always a challenge that gives you the chance to learn something new.

This isn’t my main source of income, but taking on commissions allows me to support doing fun things, having the tools to illustrate more and invest in my learning.

What’s involved?

It varies from project to project. But there’s always an initial chunk of work understanding what a client wants and shaping their vision for the project. I usually turn in some drafts then through feedback I refine them. There’s also the, slightly less fun, work of negotiating budgets, drawing up contracts and organising invoices.

I try to save my actual illustrating time for a weekend where I can really have the time to get stuck into a piece.

How much time do I spend on it?

2 hours or so of admin and 6+ hours of drawing a week

 

Blog

What is it?

You’re reading it right now!

Why do I do it?

This is the constant question I’m asking myself. I see this blog as an outlet to improve my writing and illustration skills. It’s a place to organise my thoughts. It’s also a place to display my work, particularly when linked to my social media it’s the reason a lot of people reach out to me for illustration work.

What’s involved?

I used to plan, in a very structured way, 3 month chunks of content. Now I have an ideas list that I add to when inspiration strikes, then I work my way through the list and write the content that feels fitting at the time. That has meant that my content schedule is a little more haphazard, but I’m not an influencer, I’m just a person who likes to write and draw. 

I write one or two posts a week and draw a little something to go with each one. I illustrate more than I write, with the extra drawings making their way onto social media. 

There’s a good chunk of time I end up spending each week on blog admin like scheduling posts and social media posts.

How much time do I spend on it?

4 hours a week

 

Newsletter

What is it?

A weekly(ish) personal newsletter.

Why do I do it?

This is probably my favourite personal creative outlet at the minute. It gives me space to reflect on what I’m learning and share things I’m loving.

What’s involved?

I have a whole post about this one! I gather up articles I love, write a short personal essay, make some animated illustrations and put it all together using mailchimp.

How much time do I spend on it?

2 hours, give or take, a week

 

Learning

What is it?

Time spent broadening my horizons, sharpening my mind, or learning about my crafts.

Why do I do it?

I love learning. Taking time to read about things that are outside my general field of work is how I get a lot of my inspiration, and there’s nothing more exciting than making a cool idea connection.

What’s involved?

I’ve read a lot this year. I also try to attend classes (online and physical) when I can.

How much time do I spend on it?

About 6 hours a week on audio books and 4 hours of reading otherwise. If I’m attending a class this might be more

 

Seeing loved ones

What is it?

Spending time with family, friends and my boyfriend.

Why do I do it?

They’re all good eggs and spending time with them makes me happier and better.

What’s involved?

I try to see people every week, which as a natural hermit takes a little bit of scheduling. I also make time to write to or skype friends who are far away, and I always call my mum.

How much time do I spend on it?

Not as much time as I should! 7 hours + a week

 

Wellbeing

What is it?

This category for me is primarily exercise. But I’m also including the other things I do to look after my mental health.

Why do I do it?

I’m going to write a longer piece on my changing relationship with my body, but in short, you only get one body and it’s important to look after it so that you can experience all of the things you otherwise want to. Recently, I’ve been using exercise to feel more grounded in my body and I’ve been getting stronger and seeing progress. As an anxious bear, having a physical outlet is hugely important.

What’s involved?

Right now, I do about two fitness classes a week and two short runs. On the mental health front, I try to have at least one session a week of something to work through my gremlins.

How much time do I spend on it?

4 to 5 hours a week

 

Household bits and pieces

What is it?

All the things you have to do to look after yourself – cooking, cleaning, staying on top of your post. It felt remiss to leave out the domestic labour you have to do in order to stay afloat. When people say you have as much time in a day as Beyoncé they’re forgetting that Beyoncé has a whole team to look after her and her family, not a luxury many of us can afford.

Why do I do it?

They’re basic functional needs. I probably spend more time on this stuff than I necessarily have to, because I love cooking and because having an organised space makes me feel more in control.

What’s involved?

I won’t break everything down, but I clean and meal prep for the week (lunches and dinners) over the weekend.

How much time do I spend on it?

5 hours or so a week.

 

These timings obviously change depending on what’s going on in the week. The eagle eyed among you will have noticed that I’m probably a few hours short, but there’s also time spent watching TV, daydreaming, walking and scrolling (unfortunately) that I’ve not written about.

 

It’s completely possible to do a job you love and still work on other things. But I think you have to be realistic about the amount of time you have in a day and use the small windows you do have wisely.