A Chronic Entrepreneur: Jay Crisp Crow
It’s no wonder Jay Crisp Crow works in words – when you land on her website, it’s a sassy, engaging and above all, real, story that takes you on a journey – a little like her life. Jay is a professional writer, copywriting teacher, speaker and self-identified #fullsickbusinesschick. She helps women find the right words to build their business and brand. She’s also built her own successful business while managing chronic fatigue syndrome, raising three kids and dealing with life’s demands. She shares her story with us – the good, the bad and the real – the importance of finding others with lived experience and how she’s living her life philosophy – to turn up and go all in.
What’s your Chronic?
I have a chronic illness and immune disease brought on by glandular fever as a teenager.
Where/when were you diagnosed?
At 18, after I’d been crawling around my life (literally) for two years, post viral infection.
What does being an entrepreneur mean to you?
I’m not yet convinced I am an entrepreneur. Not in the pure sense of the term. A business owner; yep. A creative in business; possibly closer. A paid writer; yahoo! Finally. And a mother. (And copywriting queen, a wife, a musical theatre nut, a caesar salad connoisseur, an invisible illness warrior, and a shiz-hot tap dancer.)
But being my own boss? That means freedom. Freedom not only to work in my ugg boots, prioritise my health and my children (except assemblies; I thought I was missing out – turns out they are SO boring. I always find myself booked up on assembly day), but also freedom to stretch my abilities, challenge my own boundaries, turn into the woman that illness and fear once made small.
What came first, the chronic or the entrepreneurism?
My pattern was: successful, beautiful, overachiever – chronically ill – parent – business owner.
How did this path come to you?
To be totally honest, I’d come to hate my part-time job. I should have felt grateful for it – and I did – but at 37 I had been ill for over 20 years and I’d just started wanting more. Coupled with a really rough patch at work – where my boss had been unwell for months and I’d been expected to step into the gap – I’d stopped feeling so fearful the illness would obliterate the life I’d built by hanging on with my fingertips. I knew how to manage it. I was the expert of my own health. And I wanted to be paid to write.
I was tired of writing amazing things that a Principal passed off as his own. I’d hit the ceiling for an hourly wage without another degree. I never wanted to write another policy but the marketing and communications aspect of my job made me light up. I sat with a fellow business-owning friend and told her I was going find another job. She told me I was crazy – encouraged me to ‘take everything I do as an employee and start a business with it.’
I knew zero about business. I couldn’t count. I didn’t have much of a plan and I was earning more than my husband. Plus, I couldn’t hustle like other entrepreneurs because I couldn’t afford to write myself off health-wise. Stakes were high.
The moment I started, the business snowballed. I came up with a 5-year plan to ensure the business could replace my income. Within 18-months I was knocking back clients, even though I’d dropped down to one day a week at work. It was time to take the plunge and create a life where writing would pay, and I’d have total flexibility and responsibility for my success.
Did you go through any sort of 12-stages of grief with the diagnosis or take it in its stride? How did the process manifest itself? Did you immediately reassess your life?
I lost everything when I became ill. I got glandular fever, danced through it, and suddenly one day couldn’t get out of bed. I was a professional dancer and a cheerleader for the state team. I had been dancing since I was two and I had excellent academic results, a boyfriend I adored, and more friends than I could talk to in a day. My life had been carefully constructed from the time I was a small child and I was on a trajectory to success. There was no space for a misstep. Becoming chronically ill was a meteor smashing into my existence. I didn’t even know who I was without all those things.
I lost my job on the squad, my friends, my boyfriend, and my academic and social standing – all to an illness most people in my world; my support system – believed didn’t exist. I lost trust in those I trusted. I lost chunks of my family. I lost an idea of what the future could possibly hold. I ate nothing, yet put on 40 kilos. I caught recurring pneumonia. My muscles screamed and my bones ached. I couldn’t think properly. I couldn’t lift my arms over my head to brush my hair, let alone attend dance class.
There was one day I stood on the curb in Inglewood next to the train station and waited for a truck to come past. I couldn’t imagine another day of life as this huge hole of Not-Jay. The only thing stopping me was I was really too tired to stand and wait. I went home to bed.
The beauty of all-consuming illness is that it’s all-consuming. My life for the first year was sleep, cry, crawl to the shower, crawl back to bed and repeat. I attended endless doctors’ appointments and tried everything available. There wasn’t a lot of mind space for self-reflection and I learned to power through and not get bogged down in my own head. I simply had to survive.
Interestingly, one in every five or so specialists would offer me anti-depressants. I knew I wasn’t sick because I was sad, I was only sad because I was sick.
Did you seek out or join organisations representing your chronic for support or did you find comfort and answers elsewhere? What would you recommend in hindsight?
After a year of being sick then a year of trying to find a specialist in Perth, my mother called a doctor who came recommended. He had a 2-year waitlist. I don’t know what my mother said to him, but within a month I had my first appointment with him. He was my saviour for over 10 years until he retired from practice to concentrate on research.
He treated me as a total individual. Even when I did things like enrol at WAAPA to study Musical Theatre; “don’t study” he’d said, and years later had my first child; “don’t get pregnant” he’d said – he just sighed and came up with a new game plan. Much of my ability to research, implement, try something new, be open to ideas, and pivot when needed to came from being his patient. He probably saved me.
I think because CFS was then so ‘new’ in Australia and he treated me like a singular case, he never suggested I join a group. It wasn’t until Facebook took off 15 years later that I joined my first support organisation online.
To be honest, those first months of interaction were pretty depressing. People identifying as their illnesses, desperation in their posts, feeling like I was part of an ever-growing mass of people who society disbelieves, rolls their eyes at, wishes would disappear. It made my mindset worse, so I left and focussed on growing a business.
Recently, I’ve found various online forums and individuals who I can share lived experiences with. So much of my life has been spent doing what my daughter calls “passing”. My illness is invisible so unless you know what you’re looking for – the sweating, shaking hands, repeated trips to the toilet to vomit, sometimes flinching at being touched on my skin – I look “perfectly fine”. This new community makes me feel so utterly grateful I could cry. I have cried. I didn’t realise how much I needed them.
And it’s given me permission to talk about it. Also encouragement – from people like Carly Findlay Morrow – who personally took the time to assure me I wasn’t doing the disability awareness movement a disservice by trying to talk about my lived experience publicly without training or practise, who listened to my radio interviews and read my stuff. Who encouraged me to keep at it – because inclusivity without judgement and diversity in the message is so important. My ‘crew’ now includes Kristi Lees – nutritionist with eating disorder / CFS lived experience, Abby James – owner of The TIREDGIRL Society, Lynette Delane – systems genius with Hashimoto’s.
I’m still friends with regular folk, which is probably the reason I hear “but you don’t look sick” thirty thousand times a week or “I’m sure I have that thing you have, I feel so tired lately”. I was driving to an event with a dear friend this year and she just blurted out, “so are you disabled or are you chronically ill?” She then spoke about not believing people should be called disabled unless they’re in wheelchairs and having issues with people like me collecting money from the government. I was utterly blown away. I hadn’t felt so stripped or ashamed or disgusting since I first got sick. If I could have melted into the car seat and disappeared, I would have. It was a harsh reminder that the life I’ve created for myself, with all the success and joy, has a flip side. Fear took a front seat for months after that conversation, though I know that friend loves me like crazy. It’s a complex juggle and part of the reason I’ve kept it mainly a ‘secret’ up until recently.
It’s not that I expect everyone to be educated and up-to-date and accepting, and I don’t rely on those friends with chronic illnesses to give me advice or help. It’s just nice to chat to someone who gets it. To be believed. After all, why the hell would I make something this shit house and life changing up?
How have you changed, if at all, in your relationships, decisions and values?
This has been my way of life for half of my life. Who knows who I’d be if I hadn’t become sick? Things used to come easily to me – I caught on quickly, I cruised through most things. Now, I work for them.
I’m dedicated, determined, disciplined. I have grit. I know how important people reaching their goals is, and I help them get there.
What is your life philosophy and has this changed?
My philosophy now is ‘turn up’. I would have missed my whole life if I listened to every doctor and never tried anything. I’m going to probably feel dreadful regardless of whether I participate or not, so I choose all in.
What do you wish you’d known before?
That I was infinitely capable and stronger than I knew.
Are you on any treatments? Why/why not?
Oh, the fun things I’ve tried. Injections, graded exercise, every alternative remedy known to man, painkillers, antibiotics, electric shock, ice baths, massive doses of Vitamin C, psychology, psychiatry, every weird and wonderful (and sensible) diet around.
Treatment now is being super selective about what I spend my energy on, finding joy in small things, celebrating life.
What advice do you have for others starting out on this journey?
Get expert help!
I started with no capital and $0 in the bank. So I was a DIY operator to begin with. Now, when I travel about speaking to other women on how to build a sustainable, manageable business that fits with raising three children, being the main bacon-home-bringer, and giving the middle finger to a chronic illness, I’m often asked what’s the one piece of advice I’d give ‘start-up-me’ if I could go back in time.
While there are more than a handful of things I could have done differently (besides not labelling myself the entirely pretentious title of ‘Communication Designer’ because I was too chicken to call myself a proper Copywriter), this pearl wins hands down.
Invest.
I’m good at Canva but no, I should not make my own magazine advertisement.
I can count (just), but I should not ignore expert advice about my financial accounts.
I know my rights as an Australian businesswoman but I shouldn’t put together my own legal contracts.
And, even though I can spot a spelling error in a sea of copy with deft precision, I definitely shouldn’t proofread my own stuff.
So even though I may be able to do all of the things, I shouldn’t!
If I focus on the copy, the coaching, the clients, and the customer service, the experts can tend to the rest.
You know the funny thing? This model actually turns out to be cost-effective
What is a ‘bad day’ for you?
Cricket is on the tele, the roof is leaking, and someone’s used the last tea bag.
Also, vomiting, pain on skin contact, aching joints, screaming headaches, nausea, and total, extreme exhaustion. The kind that makes you feel like you have the worst flu you could imagine and are trying to walk through tar, while your eyeballs have fire ants eating them and your bones are being hollowed out by acid. On a bad day, my hair hurts.
What do you do on a ‘bad day’?
Thank whatever’s out there that I’m alive to live it.
Best bits of being a Chronic Entrepreneur?
Being the living epitome of “if I can do it, you can too.” Being underestimated constantly (good luck with that). Being totally unsympathetic but utterly empathetic. Having gratitude for getting to live this life, to succeed in spite of – or perhaps, because of – this illness.
Ultimate dinner party guests?
Ash Ambirge, Clementine Ford, Tess Holliday, Stasha Washburn, Lilly Singh, Lauren White, Angela Gallo, Lacey Filipich, Clo Bullen, Katie Winnen, my daughter, Ella.
What advice would you give your younger self?
You are more capable than you think.
Don’t kiss that boy.
What’s next?
I know how gutsy you have to be to play ball with the big girls in the online world. There’s so much noise. And you want everyone to like you. Playing safe (and writing stuff that’s middle-of-the-road) makes no one feel special. You don’t help your readers self-weed, and you don’t make your ideal clients sob with joy that they’ve finally found you.
The women I write for or teach to write are so good at their ‘thing’. They just want to build businesses and be paid while they work in their genius. But their copy lets them down. Because it’s a little bit scary to be yourself online.
My vision is women writing copy that’s a thousand percent them. Proud, eloquent, truthful, and crisp. I want women to write copy that’s remembered, makes people think, question, and ultimately – makes those businesswomen the kind of money so they never have to go back to being employed, unless they want to.
The success of Crisp Copy helps fund the social enterprise I launched with my daughter, Ella. I use the copywriting skills I’ve honed to work with women who otherwise wouldn’t tell their stories– everyday, extraordinary women who aren’t confident to speak on a stage or write a blog – I take their dot points and first drafts and, along with our amazing collaborative of copywriters and editors – we bring that story to life. It’s called How Dare She? and our collective futures feature a lot more of it.
How can people find you? (on social media)
Let us know what you think below and share your story with us on Instagram tagging @achronicentrepreneur and using the hashtag #achronicentrepreneur.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of A Chronic Entrepreneur or anyone affiliated with it.
