How I Built a Copywriting Business from Scratch—Through Chronic Illness, Major Life Change, and One Quiet “Yes” at a Time
Not every business starts with a five-year plan or a clear niche. Some start in the dark—one small decision at a time.
If you’re navigating illness, burnout, grief, or just the blur of starting over, my story’s for you.
Survival was the only goal.
I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a vision board or a five-year goal. I had pain. And a decision — survive… or don’t. It might sound a tad dramatic, but that was my reality.
After years in survival mode, I found myself looking at the hill I aged “over” with a body worn from chronic illness, a fried nervous system, and no clear path forward.
The truth? I didn’t have options. I had necessity.
🌙 I needed to be home.
🌙 I needed work I could do lying down if I had to.
🌙 I needed something that didn’t cost me more than I had left to give.
That’s when I found copywriting. It wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t easy. But it was work I could do well. As a former literature and writing teacher, I had to unlearn a lot. Teaching students how to prepare for high-brow academic writing doesn’t translate well to websites or product descriptions— marketing and novels require different muscles.
But I found a surprising overlap: storytelling sells. Whether it’s a novel or a toy, a good story moves people. That realization gave me a sliver of possibility, a place to start. Over time, that sliver turned into structure, skill, and a business.
Before I ever called myself a copywriter…
…I was a homeschooling mom living with an undiagnosed chronic illness and constant pressure to hold everything together. My days were full— kids, homeschooling, and chronic, debilitating head pain that made everything harder. Migraines stole attention from my kids, nerve pain stole sleep, and a quiet sense that I was always one step away from losing control stole my peace.
What should have been a life-changing surgery left me physically wrecked, but clarity arrived somewhere in the haze of healing: I had to rebuild my life on my terms. I was forced to step away from a no longer sustainable version of life, carrying only what I could: my self-trust, my survival instincts, and my kids' future in my heart.
The turning point (even if I didn’t know at the time)
I’d never had a job outside the four walls of home, save the summer and college jobs I had in my 20s. I was just a woman trying to find something— anything— I could do that wouldn’t crush me physically or emotionally.
I found a copywriting course online; honestly, I don’t remember the first time I watched the free master class.
I was deep in grief, overwhelmed, and unsure if I could learn anything new at all. I re-watched the video over and over, thinking, “Do people pay money for writing?” After much research, I decided I should find a course online, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to afford the class, much less learn a skill online. I realize now how wrong I was.
I remember when a friend called out of the blue and asked if I considered writing. She was an old friend who owned a publishing company and heard about my circumstances. I told her about the course, not expecting her words, “Laura, this is your next step.” But then the money arrived in my PayPal from her company. I bought the course immediately. She even paid me to write 100 little inspiring sayings for a coloring book to inspire me further to believe in myself. I am so grateful she took a risk.
What follows can only be explained as a series of universe-connecting occasions. A networking acquaintance from my high school invited me to a book club led by a former literature teacher. This may sound like a nightmare to some, but this truly was my favorite teacher, and I would have been crazy not to have a chance to reconnect with the teacher who saw my potential 20 years before I did.
Between this book club connect, a second-to-none copywriting course, and my partner’s steady encouragement, I started to believe there might be a path forward in this work.
Then, my second client asked for a blog post, and I accidentally wrote her an e-book. She could’ve rolled her eyes, but instead, she graciously paid me for both projects and told me I had something special.
Every assignment, every bit of trust, became a brick in a new foundation.
Maybe I’ve always been a writer? How teachers made a difference.
In the late ’80s, I was a student at a small, all-girls school in Memphis. In 5th grade, my teacher, Mrs. Gregory, had us journal daily during class time. We kept special blank books on a shelf, and every day at the end of Language Arts, we’d pull them out, write for 15 minutes, and then quietly put them away. She read every single entry.
At the time, I wavered between feeling slightly embarrassed and wanting her to read my ten-year-old perspective more than anything. I wanted her to see me. One day, she scribbled in the margin of one of my entries: “Don’t ever stop.” For some reason, I believed her and didn’t stop writing. I’ve moved many journal volumes from Tennessee to Georgia to Texas in the last thirty+ years.
Writing has been my most consistent companion. It’s how I’ve processed, grieved, planned, created, and rebuilt. It’s been free therapy, financial fuel, and the most aligned work I’ve ever known.
Building a life that matches my values
I didn’t feel like a “real copywriter” until a company reached out—a 3C sculptor from Nickelodeon with his brand— and it hit me: I wasn’t just surviving, I was building something. That realization marked a shift from scrambling for any work to being intentional about my chosen work.
I started saying no to projects that drained me and yes to clients whose missions aligned with my values. I developed systems that honored my energy limits— batching similar tasks, setting boundaries around revision rounds, and creating workflows that let me deliver quality work without burning out.
My client roster grew slowly, but organically. Word-of-mouth referrals became my primary source of new business because I focused on doing exceptional work for fewer clients rather than stretching myself thin across dozens of projects. I specialize in storytelling for small businesses— helping entrepreneurs find their authentic voice without the marketing fluff that makes everyone sound the same.
The work itself evolved, too. What started as basic website copy and blogs expanded into brand messaging, email sequences, and sales pages that converted because they connected. I learned to listen for what clients weren't saying— the fears behind their hesitation, the dreams they were afraid to voice— and translate those insights into copy that resonated with their ideal customers.
As my business stabilized, so did my life. At first, I lived in an RV for two years— it was simple and full of learning. Eventually, we found a few acres to start fresh outside Houston. With kid-raising behind me, I spend my spare time, tending to our chickens, pigs, geese, and a slower pace of life.
I work best in the quiet— I always have.
Mornings usually start with breakfast and animal chores, and then I write for a few focused hours before heading back out for more homestead care. It's not a glamorous routine, but it's mine. It works.
The slower rhythm has helped my health improve (still a work in progress), and more importantly, it's helped me claim a work life that honors my body and brain. This pace allows me to be fully present for my kids when they visit or need me, even as they've grown into their own lives. I'm not chasing success—I'm creating something sustainable.
Sure, there have been hard seasons— clients who crossed boundaries, moments I second-guessed everything. But now, five years in, those cycles are shorter. My people-pleasing reflex is quieter. My voice is stronger.
This version of me— the one who writes from peace, not panic— feels like home.
I don't show up online to be inspirational. I show up because I know how dark it can get— and how powerful it is to keep going anyway.
If you're waiting to feel "ready," let me ask you this:
What if ready is a lie?
What if the actual move is trusting yourself enough to begin? You don't need perfect clarity or a polished plan. You need to begin and keep going. Inch by inch, row by row.
That first quiet "yes" wasn't just the start of a business. It was the start of using my words to build something that lasts. That's what copywriting is at its core: making meaning. Shaping connection, choosing clarity over noise.
And now that’s what I do for others. I help small business owners find the shape of their message, the soul of their offer, the structure beneath the story—so they can build something real, too.
No gimmicks. No fake urgency. Just words that work because they're rooted in truth.
If you're looking for a copywriter who knows how to write from the ground up, I'm here.
Don't wait like I did.
And here's something I learned the hard way: don't do what I did. I’ve spent five years building a business while my website sat practically empty. There was no blog, no regular content, and just the beginning of search engine optimization to help ideal clients find me naturally. Yikes.
I was so focused on surviving and serving existing clients that I put off what could have made my business more sustainable. Don't wait five years to give your website the content it needs to work for you. Get your foundation built now—the blog posts, the SEO-friendly pages, the content that tells your story and draws your people in while you sleep. Because when you're ready to scale, or life throws you another curveball, you'll want systems that keep working even when you can't.
