I spent five years building a bunny brand to avoid becoming an artist.

Why I'm closing the business I worked so hard to build — the good, the bad, and cleaning up the ugly after taking a huge risk.

Five years ago, I started a niche furniture company for house rabbits.

Today I’m walking away from it.

Hi, I’m Jeni—a designer and creative strategist with a background in architecture. These are my bunnies, Betty and Elvis.

During the pandemic, I took a leap of faith and poured my heart and soul into a lifestyle brand to elevate house rabbits called BINK Rabbit Goods (BINK for short).

It’s thoughtfully named after a special jump for joy only bunny lovers would recognize, and what we aimed to do: bring more joy to bunnies and the people who loved them.

Something I truly believed in.

Jeni the human, Elvis the lop, and Betty the black uppy-eared girl, plus our flagship product—the Credenza by BINK. Photo by Steven A. Miller

I’m writing this to find closure on this momentous chapter of my life—reflecting to understand it for myself, and sharing in hopes that you can learn from my experience in some small way.

So why did I quit the bunny biz I worked so hard to build?

I think it’s because deep down, I’m an overfunctioning creative who was too afraid to pursue art. I swear it makes sense, hear me out…

Let’s dig into the good, the bad, and cleaning up the ugly.

But first, the beginning…

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FROM BURNOUT TO BUILDING A BUNNY BRAND

6-year-old Jeni: “I want to be an artist!”

Everyone else: “You can’t be an artist, you’ll surely starve and die! Art is just a hobby. You’ll end up hating your passion if it becomes your job. You’re also good at math, so be an architect.”

The Credenza by BINK—a modern litter box cover, a home-base, and a console table all in one. Exclusively for free-roam house rabbits. Photos by Stephen A. Miller.

I always wanted to be an artist. I never really dreamed of being an architect or even a business owner. Yet somehow, I was so committed to avoiding being an artist that I put myself through six years of architecture school and earned a Master’s degree from one of the top architecture schools in the nation.

Confusingly enough, I loved school.

We spent our time crafting creative concepts and making beautiful representations of what we imagined the built environment could look like—quite literally art pieces. Think of exquisite mixed-media drawings and architectural models, aka sculptures of tiny buildings.

It honestly felt like what I imagined art school would be like. And it allowed me to stay in denial about the real world a little longer.

After graduating, I landed my dream job at a highly creative and globally recognized boutique firm based in my hometown Portland, Oregon.

For nearly a decade, I had the unique opportunity to focus on what felt like the “art part of architecture.” I specialized in concept design, narrative design, and presentation storytelling, helping clients emotionally connect to bold creative ideas.

Me and my creative muses. Photo by Maynard Villaflores.

I’m incredibly lucky to have had that opportunity. I learned SO much. I met incredible people and made some of my favorite memories.

And yet… Something still felt off.

There was a quiet discontentment that kept getting louder and louder.

I was burning out.

I'd lie on the couch, unable to move, repeating the same loop in my head:
I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.

I lost a scary amount of weight. I cried constantly.

And underneath it all, I was suffocating in shame.

Because I had most people's dream job. I was supposed to be happy.

What was wrong with me?

Then the pandemic hit. I turned 30. The burnout kept getting worse until it became a health issue, and I ultimately decided to quit.

It was one of the hardest decisions of my life.

I had invested so much. My education. My career. My community. My security.

But during that time, one thing was a consistent source of joy: a creative outlet that combined two things I loved—bunnies + design.

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Early sketches turned into 3D models and prototypes. I spent over two years developing the world’s first litter box cover furniture for free-roam house rabbits. Rabbit-savvy vet approved. Rabbit-safe and accident-proof.

THE GOOD

I did extensive research before starting, and my findings pointed to an opening, an untapped opportunity in the market (the pet rabbit industry was over $170m in 2019 and growing).

I thought maybe my true purpose was to use my unique set of skills to solve problems for bunny people, have fun making beautiful things, and make a living doing it.

My logic was simple: other people have started successful businesses, why not me?

In 2021, I took a huge risk and started two businesses with zero business experience.

Business #1: a freelance design practice to pay the bills

Business #2: my passion project—BINK Rabbit Goods.

I poured most of my energy and savings into BINK, and even took out a loan against our home.

I bet on myself and went all-in.

Because that’s how you become successful, right?
It was scary, but also incredibly fun.

I invented my dream piece of problem-solving furniture—something that made life with Betty and Elvis genuinely easier, integrated, and more elevated. I figured I couldn’t be the only rabbit lady who wanted something like this and launched a Kickstarter that raised over $30k. We nearly tripled our goal!

That was my proof of concept that I was onto something.

Making and delivering our very first pieces to bunny homes across the continent. Each piece was meticulously handcrafted to be bunny-safe and accident-proof—built with love to last a lifetime.

At its peak, the brand grew to over 14k followers on Instagram.

BINK was even published in Dwell, Vogue, Design Milk, Domino, and Apartment Therapy.

I made an appearance on a comedy show called the Endless Honeymoon Podcast, bantering about love, bunnies, and BINK. Honestly, one of the more surreal moments of the whole experience. I even ended up on the local news a few times.

One time, I also led a cohort of bunny lovers dedicated to elevating their lives with their house rabbits—a bunny care + interior design course, if you will. We met over zoom for 6 weeks, and I taught them everything I knew about the ‘Magical Art of Living with Bunnies Harmoniously.’ It was truly a special experience, connecting with like-minded rabbit people in such a personal way.

All in all, six figures worth of bespoke bunny furniture pieces made it into rabbit households across the US and one in Canada. Can you imagine that??

With all this momentum, it really felt like I could make this work.

I learned about creating a brand with heart.
I learned that good marketing is really just meaningful connection.
I learned how to stand behind and confidently communicate value.

I also got to see just how capable and resilient I could be.

After the Kickstarter, I was elated. I remember thinking: bunnies to the moon! It can only go up from here. I had no idea how many walls were waiting for me.

After launching our Kickstarter, we celebrated with carrot cake at a bar called the Pink Rabbit. Photos by Daniel Peraza Garzon.

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THE BAD

Then reality set in.

And things got way less fun.

The logistics of manufacturing and shipping complex furniture products were **completely** outside my zone of genius.

The cost to produce our furniture was high.
The cost to ship it was also high.
So the prices had to be even higher.

I refused to deliver anything less than perfect.

I felt immense pressure to deliver on incredibly high expectations.
I felt even more pressure to succeed quickly and not let my family down.

My husband believed in me. He agreed to go all in with me. He trusted me.

At some point, he burned out at work too. We agreed it was time for him to leave his job. He'd supported me through my burnout, and now it was my turn to support him.

He spent that time recovering and living off his savings, while I stepped up and took on more work, staying committed to pushing BINK forward.

Neither of us were bringing in a stable income.
We watched our bank accounts dwindle.
It was terrifying.

But giving up and getting a “real job” was out of the question. I already invested too much to stop. (Plus, honestly not a single shred of me wanted to.)

Detail shot of the storage cubby of BINK’s furniture. Photo by Steven A. Miller.

So for five years, I kept pushing.
Pivoting.
Trying.
Meeting with people who’ve done this before.
Seeking advice from people way more successful than me.

But slowly, something that once felt joyful became unbearable.

The work itself wasn’t the only problem. I also started feeling like I was pretending to be a version of myself that no longer felt real.

Posts felt performative.
Pivoting felt desperate.
Manufacturing logistics felt overwhelming.

Along the way, I neglected my health and disconnected from friends and family, telling myself I’d focus on those things once I became successful.

The honeymoon phase ended, and burnout returned again and again.

A pattern I couldn’t ignore.

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Mini dustpan and brush set for sweeping up hay dust and "coco puffs." Conveniently fits perfectly in the cubby of our furniture. Photo by Maynard Villaflores.

CLEANING UP THE UGLY

Eventually, I came around to asking myself:
Why am I still doing this?

My husband finally rejoined the workforce, and things stabilized after a year of scraping by. He could see just how out of balance I had become and kept encouraging me to take a break.

I kept resisting until I finally lost my drive completely. More shame ensued.

And then, in the middle of all this, I lost her.

Betty died in my arms.

She was my creative muse, the heart and inspiration behind BINK. I knew I loved her, but I didn’t feel the full weight of it until she was gone. The grief was sweet and deep in a way that only comes from something that really mattered.

There’s an irony I’ve had to sit with: I built a brand about the joy of living with bunnies, and somewhere along the way, I stopped experiencing it. I was so focused on building the business that I disconnected from the very thing that inspired it—from Betty and Elvis, from my husband, from myself.

My sweet Betty was my creative muse, product tester, top model, and head of quality control at BINK. Photo by Steven A. Miller.

It wasn’t one moment. It was agonizingly slow, like a bandaid I kept refusing to rip off. I’ll just take a break, I told myself. I’ll come back. For months I couldn’t get my body to cooperate, couldn’t find the drive, even when I had great ideas and people ready to help. The shame of that was immense.

Last year, I finally stepped away from BINK to sit with that question.

After a lot of reflection, I realized my intentions weren’t as clean as I thought.

I also had to accept financial help from my husband. Which it’s funny looking back, that was the thing I cried over most.

I had an ego death: dying to the part of me that over-identified with being a “strong, independent, successful woman.”

Because if I’m not that… who am I?

I didn’t feel like I deserved this lifeline.

But through that experience, I learned something humbling: there is strength in accepting help and allowing someone to fully hold you. And I’m so so lucky and deeply grateful for his support, emotionally and otherwise.

That space eventually gave me the gift of an epiphany.

I realized that I’ve always wanted to be an artist.
In fact, I always have been.

Sure, you might call me a multi-hyphenate, but underneath it all, I’m an artist first.

Evolution of BINK's logo. A bold, simple, and modern mark that can be read as bunny ears, or as a B turned on its side. Early sketches and creative direction by me. Final logo design by Lea Loo.

Even when I worked as an architect, designer, creative strategist, or founder of a bunny brand, the throughline was always my artistry—a simple desire to make beautiful things and make people feel something.

I just didn’t recognize it until now.

And that dissonance caused me to feel incredibly lost.

I kept trying on different pairs of shoes, contorting myself to make them fit.

Each time I tried, I burned out again and again.

I felt trapped doing things that weren’t mine to do—forcing myself through work I deeply disliked, even though I was good at it and parts of it lit me up.

It was incredibly confusing, and I felt so much shame around “not being strong enough to keep pushing.”

But the problem wasn’t that I couldn’t push forward.
It was that I kept abandoning myself until I broke.

So I’m ready to try on a new pair of shoes and step into being an artist.

This clarity may sound subtle, but naming it more accurately has had a profound effect on how I understand myself and what I do.

I finally feel set free and hope these new shoes fit—I’ll keep trying until they do.

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Fun fact: Bunnies can be litter box trained like a cat and live as long as a dog (10-14 years with proper care). They’re not easy pets! So please do your research before adopting. Photograph by Steven A. Miller.

SO WHAT’S NEXT?

I’m currently wrapping up the final steps of closing down BINK. I’m still working as a freelance designer / creative strategist while I shape this next chapter, leaning more intentionally into the artistic side of my work.

I want to finally commit to creating real, genuine art pieces—not tied to a utility or a function—and finally put together a portfolio for my art-forward design business (I haven’t put together my portfolio for 15+ years 😵‍💫).

Moving forward, I want to be motivated by cleaner intentions:

• Authenticity at all costs—being as honest and helpful as I possibly can with myself and others.

• Striving to make choices led with love, compassion, and true generosity—not fear, scarcity/lack, or the need to prove myself.

• Creating from a place of curiosity, joy, and giving—without expectations.

I choose to trust that this’ll lead to somewhere good, even if I don’t know exactly where or how yet. At the very least, I know I’ll be proud of how I chose to carry myself.

I’m incredibly proud of what I built.

And strangely enough, I’m grateful that it didn’t work out the way I wanted.

Because if it had, I'd have just kept pushing in the same direction, amplifying the unhealthy patterns that were making me miserable.

'Bunny & Me' matching stoneware set—inspired by quiet mornings sipping coffee while feeding my bunnies breakfast every day. In collaboration with Stone and Sage Ceramics. Photographs by Maynard Villaflores.

I’m deeply grateful to every customer, supporter, and collaborator who loved and believed in BINK.

I have absolutely no regrets.

I share all of this because I hope you can learn something from my experience. Seeing the full picture matters—the ugliest parts we hide underneath the shiny wins. Plus, we usually only see the fluffy cute success stories, not the messy ones.

This experience forever shaped who I am as a person—more confident, more resilient, and more capable than I ever thought possible.

If you’ve been contemplating taking a risk, I also hope this story helps you make an informed decision, that taking risks is well… risky.

But also incredibly worth it.

This is my one wild and precious life, and I’m proud that I was brave enough to try something bold, learn, and move forward. I get to keep that forever.

And with deep conviction, I know it’s time for the next chapter.

After a decade of living together, Elvis finally doesn’t hold a grudge after I pick him up. He’s the bestest boy. Photo by Maynard Villaflores.

Elvis is still with us. And in slowing down this past year, we’ve deepened our connection. Honestly, he’s thriving at 11 years old, finally giving me sweet bunny kisses, a high honor for rabbit parents. I’m a little disappointed by how much he loves being an only child, but really glad he’s okay. He’s become one of my greatest sources of comfort, quietly journaling together over coffee every morning and snuggling while watching anime most nights.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I hope you’ll root for me.

I plan to share more lessons learned and inspiration around my creative process.

And I hope you stick around and subscribe to find out how it all goes.

P.S. If you know a working artist making a living creating art, I’d love to connect. I’m hoping to have more conversations with artists and get inspired by what’s possible. Please DM me here or @genuine.art.by.jeni on IG if you know anyone :)

P.P.S. While I’m stepping away, I would love to see BINK continue in the right hands. If you're interested in acquiring BINK Rabbit Goods, email hello@binkrabbitgoods.com with the subject line ‘I BELIEVE IN BINK’ in all caps if you’re interested. Serious inquiries only.