Giving Yourself Permission to Pivot
One of the hardest things I’ve done over the past year had nothing to do with learning a new skill or launching a new business. It was giving myself permission to pivot. That sounds simple enough, but when you’ve spent years becoming known for one thing, changing direction can feel surprisingly uncomfortable. It’s not just about learning something new. It’s about untangling part of your identity from the work you’ve spent years building.
For a long time, I was known for pyrography. I built courses, wrote tutorials, and created Pyrography Academy. Wood burning wasn’t simply something I enjoyed doing. It became the foundation of my business and, in many ways, part of how people knew me. When someone thought of Petra Monaco, there was a good chance they thought of wood burning.
Because of that, the idea of shifting into something new felt almost like I was walking away from everything I’d worked so hard to build. I worried that people would think I’d lost interest or that I’d somehow failed. I wondered if all those years had been leading me in the wrong direction. Looking back now, I realize those thoughts had very little to do with pyrography itself. They were really about giving myself permission to evolve.
The funny thing is, I haven’t stopped loving pyrography. I still think there’s something magical about taking a simple piece of wood and slowly bringing an illustration to life one burn stroke at a time. There’s a rhythm to it that I don’t think I’ll ever stop appreciating, and I have every intention of picking up my wood burner again. The difference is that I no longer expect pyrography to carry my entire creative business.
Somewhere along the way, digital illustration and surface pattern design quietly found their way into my heart. It wasn’t an overnight decision. It started with curiosity, then became a hobby, and before I realized it, I was reaching for my iPad more often than my wood burner. Every time I finished a new pattern, I found myself immediately imagining all the places it could live. A sketch could become several motifs. Those motifs could become a seamless pattern. That pattern could become fabric, wallpaper, wrapping paper, greeting cards, calendars, tea towels, notebooks, and products I hadn’t even considered yet.
As someone who has never really been interested in creating just one thing, that possibility lit me up in a way I wasn’t expecting. I realized I wasn’t simply creating artwork anymore. I was building collections. One idea could grow into an entire family of products, each connected to the next. It felt expansive instead of limiting, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to come up with a brand new idea every week. I was exploring one idea more deeply.
Of course, there’s also the business side of this conversation, and I think artists sometimes avoid talking about it because we’re afraid it somehow cheapens the work. For me, it has been quite the opposite. I’ve realized it’s perfectly okay to choose a creative path that not only brings me joy but also gives me more opportunities to earn a living. Those two things don’t have to be in conflict.
With pyrography, every finished piece takes time. It’s handmade by nature, and that’s part of its beauty. But it also means there are only so many hours in a day. With digital artwork, one illustration can continue working long after I’ve finished drawing it. It can be licensed, adapted into collections, sold on multiple products, and reach people in ways a single original piece never could. That’s not better or worse. It’s simply a different business model, and one that aligns far more closely with the life I’m trying to build.
I saw a glimpse of that just a few weeks ago when I launched my Organ Donation Awareness Collection. It was a project that was deeply personal to me, and I honestly had no expectations beyond simply putting it into the world. Within the first month, three pieces sold. Three sales may not sound like much in the grand scheme of things, but to me they represented something much bigger. They reminded me that this new direction isn’t just creatively fulfilling. It’s resonating with other people, too.
One realization keeps coming back to me as I look at this season of my life. I didn’t waste all those years building a pyrography business. Not even close. Pyrography taught me how to teach, how to tell stories through my artwork, how to run a business, and how to keep creating even when I doubted myself. None of those lessons disappeared just because I picked up a different creative tool. If anything, they’re the reason this next chapter feels possible.
Maybe that’s what a pivot really is. It’s not abandoning everything you’ve built. It’s carrying everything you’ve learned into a new season. The path looks different, but you’re still the same person walking it, only with a little more experience and, hopefully, a little more confidence.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that we don’t have to stay where we started simply because we’ve invested years getting there. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit we’ve changed. Sometimes the most responsible business decision is also the one that makes us excited to sit down and create again. And sometimes the path that looks easier isn’t taking the easy way out at all. It’s finally finding the path that fits.
Looking back now, I don’t see pyrography and surface pattern design as two separate careers. I see them as two parts of the same journey. Pyrography gave me the foundation. It gave me confidence, experience, and a creative voice that still shows up in every illustration I draw today. I wouldn’t be here without it, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. But I’m also incredibly grateful that I finally gave myself permission to see where this new trail might lead. I have a feeling I’m just getting started.
