Hey friend,
Okay, so I have to be honest with you. For the longest time, the phrase “strategic planning” made me want to crawl under my duvet with a bag of chips. It sounded so corporate, so… boring. Like something men in gray suits did in windowless rooms. But then, about two years ago, I hit a wall with my little side hustle turned full-time gig. I was working 60-hour weeks, posting on social media like a maniac, and barely scraping by. I was exhausted and starting to feel like a fraud.
One evening, after my third failed attempt to launch a new digital product, I was sitting on my kitchen floor, surrounded by sticky notes that said things like “maybe try TikTok?” and “pray harder.” My husband came in, stepped over me, and said, “Babe, you’re not a start-up. You’re a ship without a rudder.” And he was right. I needed a plan. Not a stiff, five-year corporate plan, but a real, honest, “this is who I am and where I’m going” plan. So, let’s talk about the stuff that actually saved my sanity—and my bank account.
1. Stop Copying Your Competitors (And Start Watching Them)
I used to think “competitive analysis” meant stalking my favorite influencers and trying to do exactly what they did, but cheaper. Big mistake. I remember spending three months creating a gorgeous, high-end planner that was basically a knock-off of a brand I admired. It flopped. Hard. People saw right through it. It wasn’t *me*.
Then I got smart. I sat down with a cup of tea and made a real list. Not of what they were doing, but of what they *weren’t* doing. I looked at their comments, their reviews, their abandoned product pages. I noticed that my biggest competitor had amazing content but zero personal connection—she never replied to DMs. Another had a cult following but their checkout process was a nightmare. So I did the opposite. I made “reply to every DM in under an hour” my superpower. I simplified my checkout to three clicks. I wasn’t trying to beat them at their game; I was playing a completely different one. That’s when my sales started to climb. Competitive analysis isn’t about copying—it’s about finding the gaps where your unique light can shine.
2. Growth Hacking Isn’t a Magic Button (It’s a Boring Experiment)
I used to think “growth hacking” was some secret code that would make me go viral overnight. Spoiler: it’s not. It’s actually a lot of spreadsheets and ugly tests. But here’s the moment it clicked for me. I was at a friend’s baby shower, and I overheard her mom say, “I just love those little sample packs they give out at the farmer’s market.” And it hit me: growth hacking is just a fancy word for “creative sampling.”
So I started a tiny experiment. I took my best-selling digital template and created a free “starter version” that required an email address to download. I didn’t blast it on social media. I just added a link at the bottom of my most popular blog post. That one little test—which took me 20 minutes—brought in 300 new email subscribers in a week. That’s it. That’s the hack. It’s not a secret algorithm. It’s asking, “What tiny, low-effort thing can I offer that solves a real problem for someone?” Then you do it, measure it, and do it again. Growth hacking is just creative, persistent generosity with a spreadsheet.
3. Your Business Model Is Just Your “How” (And It Can Change)
When I started, my business model was basically “I make things, I sell things, I pray.” But market positioning? That felt like something for big corporations. Then I had a meltdown during a holiday season. I was selling physical products—candles and notebooks—and I was drowning in shipping costs, returns, and inventory. I remember crying in the post office because a package was two ounces over the weight limit. That was my breaking point.
I realized my business model was broken for *me*. I’m a writer and a connector, not a logistics manager. So I pivoted. I stopped selling physical products and moved to digital templates and coaching. My market positioning changed from “the cozy candle girl” to “the no-BS planner for overwhelmed creatives.” It was scary. I lost half my audience. But the half that stayed? They were my people. They didn’t want a candle; they wanted a roadmap. Your business model is just the vehicle. If the wheels are falling off, you can change the car. You don’t have to stick with something that makes you miserable.
The Heart of It All
So here’s what I’ve learned, sitting on that kitchen floor and then slowly, messily, building something that works: strategic planning, competitive analysis, growth hacking, business model, market positioning—these aren’t corporate buzzwords. They’re just tools. They’re the scaffolding you build around your passion so it doesn’t collapse under its own weight.
You don’t need a perfect plan. You need a plan that’s honest about who you are, what you’re good at, and what you’re willing to let go of. You need to watch your competitors not to copy them, but to find your own empty space. You need to experiment like a curious scientist, not a desperate gambler. And you need to give yourself permission to change your entire business model if the one you’re in makes you cry at the post office.
So here’s my heartfelt takeaway, friend: Your business doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. It just has to be yours—strategic, messy, evolving, and deeply, wonderfully human. Go build your ship. I’ll be right here cheering you on. 🤍
