What If I’m Not Doing It Wrong—Just Doing It Differently?

This wasn’t the business plan.

I didn’t mean to build a business like this.

No roadmap. No niche. No “scalable offer suite.”

Just a half-finished spreadsheet, an urge to make something true, and a brain that prefers vibes over systems. Sometimes I look at the way I work and think:

Surely this is not how the grown-ups do it.

Other days I remember—I am the grown-up. Which is deeply unhinged but here we are.

My strategy? Accidentally honest.

I’ve worked the 9 to 5. I’ve put all my eggs in someone else’s basket. I’ve fired my wife (true story, IYKYK). I thought I’d find a career in a job but it turns out, I just found the edges of myself.

What I found? The soft deadlines. Gut checks. Scribbled notes on a napkin I later use to wipe hummus off a toddler’s face. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing until after I’ve done it—and even then, I question if it counts. Spoiler: it does.

There’s a shame that creeps in when your business doesn’t look like the “right” kind.

When someone asks what you do and you freeze, not because you don’t know, but because it doesn’t fit into a tidy LinkedIn-friendly sentence. Or worse, they don't ask about it at all.

When you’re not burnt out, exactly, but the thought of launching another thing, or restructuring your offers again, makes you want to dissolve into your bedsheets and become part of the landscape.

You’re not failing. You’re just not the default setting.

I didn’t niche down. I lost the map and took a different path.

This didn’t start as a business. It started as a favor—a rebrand for a good friend who had been through the same dark-night-of-the-soul job unraveling I had. We’d survived the same gaslighty mess. She believed in me because she knew my brain. She’d seen how ideas flew out of me unfiltered and nonstop. At the time, I was mostly doing the stay-at-home mom thing. That side project cracked something open. It gave me a place to create again. I eased back into what I knew—admin work, virtual assistant tasks, the kind of default-mode hustle that made me feel productive but not fully myself.

Then I started going after what I actually wanted. That’s when it got messy. Turns out, having a passion for people and a long history of permeable boundaries makes for a wild ride of time management lessons and scope creep curveballs. I don’t know how to give half—especially when I’m invested. Which means my clients get the deliverables, the strategy, the emotional support, the I’m here when you need it most kind of energy. And I’ve learned (the hard way) that giving more than you have will collect its due—usually in the form of missed family time or waking up not loving what you built anymore. A reminder that if I want this to last, I have to protect the parts of me that build it.

So I made a plan. I’m still bushwhacking my way forward, because that’s what I do. I don’t have a tidy picture of what it’s becoming, and maybe I never will. But I do know I’m not trying to be one-size-fits-all. I don’t need everyone to love what I'm creating. I need to value my work, value my people, and stop feeding the patterns that kept me stuck.

Now I’m building ways to scale with intention—ways to support clients that honor how my brain works and create space for how theirs works too. And yes, some of that support involves AI. Not because AI is magic, but because there’s magic when you’re using the tool differently than most people. When it reflects your voice instead of flattening it. When it saves you time without costing you connection.

No creative, neurodivergent entrepreneur can or should be expected to show up at 150% in every part of their marketing strategy. That's where this scrappy queer comes in.

You don’t need to scale. You need to breathe.

This is your gentle reminder that your brain is allowed in the room. Your grief, too.

You don’t need a perfect workflow. You need a nervous system that isn’t fried from pretending you’re someone you’re not. You don’t need to build faster.

You need to build in a way that feels true—even if it’s slow, strange, or shaped like a spiral instead of a staircase.

I don’t know where this leads. But I’m documenting it anyway. For me. For you. For the other chaos gremlins trying to build something tender and real in a world that wants them to streamline it.

You don’t need a niche. Just a nervous system and something to say.

---

About Amanda — the Entraprenotsure™ behind MYQB. I'm a queer, neurodivergent, recovering perfectionist who built a business out of grief, creativity, and way too many browser tabs. I’m not here to give you a one-size-fits-all formula. I’m here to help amplify your voice, your rhythm, and a way of showing up that feels like you.

I started Mind Your Queer Business for the misfits, the feelers, the overthinkers, and the creatively stubborn—especially those building empires in nap time increments. Around here, we build brands and marketing strategies that actually make sense for who you are, not who the internet told you to be.

If you’ve ever felt like entrepreneurship wasn’t built for someone like you, good news: you get to rebuild it.