The Hidden Cost of Creativity: How Interior Designers Are Burning Out in a Booming Industry
Welcome to The Independent Practice Blog. This first post sets the stage for what this space will be:
A place for interior designers to reframe entrepreneurship as a tool for wellbeing, to face hard truths about our profession, and to explore practical strategies for surviving—and thriving—in a professional field that is supposed to be wonderful, yet it is on the verge of collapse. While interior design is booming as an industry, the people at its heart, we, the designers, are burning out like forests in the summer.
Have you seen the numbers?
North America’s interior design profession is rapidly expanding. IBISWorld values the U.S. interior design industry at over $23 billion in 2025, with Canada adding another $2.5 billion. Growth projections are positive, driven by real estate development, office retrofits, and consumer demand for healthier, more sustainable spaces. And hidden behind glossy photos and sleek portfolios, you will find a staggering reality: designer burnout is spreading across the profession.
Surveys by design associations show that over 70% of designers report chronic stress. Long hours, endless client demands, and razor-thin margins are common. Architects and interior designers rank consistently among the most overworked creative professionals, with mental health concerns spiking especially post-pandemic. One APA Work and Wellbeing report revealed that design professionals face significantly higher levels of exhaustion than the general working population.
The Hidden Cost of Creativity
Most designers excel and love the problem-solving part of our daily tasks—turning chaos into order, dreams into plans, finding the right materials, and putting them together in ways that bring smiles and enthusiasm to clients. We thrive on the visible effect our work has on those who use the spaces we create. But that very problem-solving, the part that gives us joy, is also what drains us the fastest. Every change order, every midnight revision, every site emergency eats into the energy reserves of a professional who already balances art with construction science, business management with emotional labor.
Take Toronto, where designers are juggling office refurbishments under impossible timelines, or New York, where luxury clients expect endless customization. The glamour is real—but so is the grind. And unlike other professions, the line between personal identity and professional output blurs almost completely. Designers don’t just sell services—they sell themselves, their vision, their reputation. When that vision gets pushed past its limit, productivity falters, and mental health follows close behind.
Entrepreneurship as a Survival Strategy
So what now? Well… Here’s the paradox: the very thing that exhausts us—entrepreneurship—may also be the lifeline. Research in psychology shows that autonomy and control are central to wellbeing (Deci & Ryan, 2000). For designers, entrepreneurship isn’t just about running a business—it’s about reclaiming agency over time, projects, and boundaries.
After 25 years in practice, I’ve seen how reframing entrepreneurship as a wellbeing tool can save careers. Delegating tasks that drain you, aligning work with your optimal energy rhythms, and creating systems that protect your creative core are key. Without an entrepreneurial mindset, design professionals remain trapped in the service treadmill. With it, you can shift from survival to a sustainable practice—and from burnout to longevity.
From my personal archive of unfortunate/fortunate events
Early in my practice, I took on a family project that should have been straightforward: a renovation with a clear scope and budget. Instead, it turned into a marathon of absurd expectations. They assumed that because I was “the designer,” I would also act as project manager, general contractor, and sometimes even therapist. I was expected to call the architect, chase the engineers, and coordinate between consultants—without question, without pay, and without sleep.
For a bit, believe it or not, I tried to meet those demands. I think at one point, given how well he explained why he thinks this should happen, I even questioned if maybe he was right. But by the third week of late-night calls and “urgent” texts, I realized I was on the brink of walking away. Shortly after, I did. Other problems that taught me that once flags go up, more will follow.
That one shift saved my practice. It also showed me that clients aren’t malicious—but they’re often misinformed. That lesson became one of the cornerstones of how I run my business today—and it’s why this blog will also serve as a resource for designers who need to do the same.
Over the years, I learned that good service and entrepreneurship do not mean taking everything on—they mean creating boundaries and systems that protect both my work and my wellbeing. These days, I write contracts that clearly define responsibilities and educate clients on the various roles within the team they employ. Architects, interior designers, engineers, contractors—they all have complementary roles, not interchangeable ones.
Time and the Designer’s Body Clock
Chronobiology research from Harvard suggests performance can fluctuate by up to 30% depending on the time of day. Yet the profession glorifies the all-nighter. The roots of this culture can be traced to design school, where overnight critiques became both a badge of honor and a bonding ritual. Fun in the moment, yes—but destructive when carried into professional life.
Take me, for instance, again: a while back, after working through a migraine and collapsing into a nap, I woke up at 10:30 pm and designed a whole room, drafted materials, and picked everything in under an hour. That wasn’t luck. I was tapping into a second ‘optimum time’ window. Designers who learn to map tasks to their natural cycles—creative work at peak times, admin in lower cycles—protect both output and health. And it’s a skill this blog will return to now and then, rooted in the Selftropy™ Wellbeing Theory and Method, with tools to help you find your own rhythm.
Practical Takeaway: How to generate and use your Second Optimum Time
Instead of pushing through exhaustion, pause and reset. Track your own productivity for a week—note when you feel sharpest, when you crash, and when unexpected bursts of focus arrive. Those second waves are real. Protect them for creative work and use low-energy times for routine tasks. This simple act of aligning work with body rhythm isn’t indulgence—it’s an evidence-backed survival skill. Over time, it can expand both your creative capacity and your healthspan.
What This Blog Category Offers
This wellbeing category on The Independent Practice Blog will delve into strategies for protecting designers from burnout, featuring scientific insights, practical tools, and personal stories. Expect sharp takes, grounded case vignettes, and strategies ready to use the same day you read them. You have options that work today. Start with your own body clock, your own business choices, and your own boundaries. The Independent Practice is here to give you tools and stories that keep you creating without burning out. That’s the real hidden cost of creativity—and it’s one we can manage together.
If you’re interested in learning more, here is a short list of further readings:
Mot A. From clockwork to coherence: a Selftropic time shift. The Selftropy Journal. 2025.
Harvard Medical School, Division of Sleep Medicine, and National Institutes of Health. Circadian Rhythms and Sleep Research. 2024.
Deci, Edward L., and Richard M. Ryan. Self-Determination Theory: Psychological Needs and the Facilitation of Intrinsic Motivation, Social Development, and Wellbeing. American Psychologist, vol. 55, no. 1, 2000, pp. 68–78.
IBISWorld. Interior Designers in the U.S. – Market Size 2005–2029. 2025.
IBISWorld. Interior Designers in Canada – Market Research Report. 2025. Revenue is estimated at CA$2.1 billion in 2023, with projected moderate growth through to 2030
American Psychological Association. APA Work and Wellbeing Survey. 2023.