I almost gave the money back

How I charged more than ever for a project I’d never done before

I can bet that almost EVERY creative person has dealt with imposter syndrome at some point. And not just at the beginning of their career.

But also in the middle of it. When things are actually going well. Or when they are on top of their game.

It still sneaks up on you.

It happened to me this month.
I’ve been a graphic designer for almost 15 years, and a full-time illustrator since the pandemic. And yet, I was this close to telling a client they didn’t need to pay me. I had already sent the invoice, and I was thinking about reversing it. Just giving the money back.

Portrait of the artist, questioning her life choices.

Why?
Because I thought the work I delivered wasn’t good enough.
Because I didn’t feel like I deserved to be paid.

The project was a mural. My first ever. I’d taken an online course on mural painting last year, and when the opportunity came, I said “yes” before I really knew what I was saying yes to. I didn’t know how big the wall was, what type of illustration they wanted, or how I’d actually execute it.

But I said yes anyway.

And instead of undercharging like most people do when they’re doing something new, I did the opposite. I charged a premium rate. I always do that when something is outside of my comfort zone.

Not because I’m overconfident, but because I know I’ll overdeliver. I pour extra thought, care, and customization into every step. From the way I write the proposal to the way I shape the concept. Especially when the project is new and unfamiliar.

And to be honest, charging more also stimulates me to do better work. It lights a fire under me, not out of fear, but out of commitment. It helps me show up fully.

Don’t wait to charge more after you’ve leveled up your work. Charge more so you can level up your work.

That mindset has shaped the way I approach every stretch project and it hasn’t failed me yet.

This wasn’t just “paint something nice on a wall” — it was meant to be a piece that sparked conversation. Something that would transform a boring, sterile wall into something meaningful for the team. Something that made people stop, smile, or connect.

So I spent a lot of time in the concept phase. Probably the most time.
It’s always the scariest part. The blank canvas.
And because I don’t really have one specific illustration style, the possibilities felt endless and overwhelming. The direction could’ve gone in a million ways.

To make up for my lack of mural experience, I brought in another artist to assist. Well, really, I was assisting them. I’m used to the precision of digital work: smooth lines, perfect color fills. Mural work is… messier. It has texture. Imperfections. Life.

And that’s what made it hard.
When I looked at the final result, all I could see were the flaws.

Digital illustration vs Real-Life mural

The uneven lines, the bits that didn’t quite match what I had in my head. I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t believe I had charged that much for work that, to me, felt unfinished or just… not good enough.

Everyone I asked said it looked amazing, funny, intriguing, full of personality.
But I didn’t believe them.
I was convinced the client would see through it and realize I had no idea what I was doing.

And so I thought about writing them an email":
”Don’t worry about the invoice. Consider this a gift.”

Even though I had already spent time and money on spray paints, brushes, a borrowed projector and VR goggles, not to mention paying the other artist for their time.

Looking back, I realize that voice in my head wasn’t telling the truth.
It was fear. It was imposter syndrome.
That sneaky voice that shows up whenever we do something new, or big, or meaningful. The one that says we’re not enough, no matter how much experience we have.

It didn’t matter that I worked hard or gave it my all.
It didn’t matter that the client was happy.
I still felt like a fraud.

And that’s the part I wanted to share. Not the mural, not the end result, but this moment. Because I know I’m not the only one.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re faking it, or like you should refund a project just because you’re new to it, or because it doesn’t feel “perfect”, I hope you remember this:

You’re not alone.
You’re not a fraud.
You’re just human.
And you’re probably doing better than you think :)

— Adriana

P.S. Can you spot the mistake in the real-life version vs the digital version?