No Sales, No Problem?

Starting an Etsy shop had been on my mind for a long time. You know how sometimes an idea sits quietly in the back of your brain for months, or even years, until one day it just insists on becoming real? That was me with my shop. I finally took the leap, created my listings, and hit “publish,” expecting some kind of magical confetti to rain down. Surely the universe would reward this brave act of handmade ambition with at least one order by morning, right?

Spoiler: it did not.

Instead, I got an email from Etsy congratulating me for opening my store… and then radio silence. No sales. No excited buyers. Just me, sitting at my desk, refreshing my stats page and pretending not to care that the only “view” was probably from me checking if my thumbnail looked okay.

In my mind, launching an Etsy shop was going to be this empowering, exciting, creatively fulfilling experience. And to be fair, some of it has been. I get to do something I genuinely love (crochet) and share it with the world. But there’s also a very real, very humbling side to starting a small handmade business that no one really talks about enough: the long, awkward beginning. The part where you’re putting in the effort and the love and the hours, and... nothing’s happening.

No one prepares you for how much silence feels like failure. I found myself wondering, Why isn’t this working? Am I not good enough?

Cue the imposter syndrome.

When the sales didn’t roll in right away, I started second-guessing everything. Was my work actually any good? Were my prices too high? Too low? Were my items even something people wanted?

The thing about imposter syndrome is that it sneaks in during the quiet moments. When there’s no outside validation, your brain fills the silence with worst-case scenarios. I started comparing myself to other shops, ones with hundreds of five-star reviews, beautiful branding, and a sense of polish I couldn’t even fake if I tried. Their shops looked like cozy, curated boutiques. Mine? More like a digital garage sale with questionable lighting.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize: everyone starts somewhere. Every one of those polished shops had a “first listing.” They had a first customer, a first bad photo, a first month with zero sales. I’m just in my first chapter, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be learning. It’s okay to not have it all figured out yet.

Let’s talk about product photography for a minute. I knew it would be important. I just didn’t know how much I’d struggle with it.

I’ve always been more comfortable with words and crafting than with anything vaguely visual. My brain is wired for texture and story, not composition and lighting. So when it came time to take photos of my items, I was quickly humbled. Turns out, it’s not as simple as “point and click.”

I tried everything, natural light, white backgrounds, wood surfaces, fabric backdrops. I took photos on the floor, on my desk, even once while balancing an item on a plant. At one point, I had three books propping up a piece of cardboard to bounce light off a window. It looked less like a product shoot and more like a failed science experiment.

And still, the photos looked… meh.

I knew my crochet pieces were cute in real life. But in the pictures? Flat. Dim. Awkward. As if they were quietly begging for professional help. I realized just how much skill goes into good product photography and how far outside my comfort zone I’d wandered.

Still, I kept going. I watched tutorials. I rearranged my tiny living space for better lighting. I started paying attention to what didn’t work, and slowly (very slowly) I began taking photos that weren’t completely terrible. Are they perfect? No. Are they getting better? Absolutely.

In the age of social media, we’re constantly shown stories of people who “blew up overnight.” The person who opened a sticker shop and made $3,000 in their first weekend. The knitter who posted one viral TikTok and now sells out every time they restock. It’s easy to look at those stories and feel like you’re doing something wrong if you’re not seeing instant success.

But the truth is, for every one of those stories, there are thousands of people like me. People slowly building their shops one listing at a time. People learning SEO, trying different pricing strategies, updating their photos, and hoping someone notices. People pouring love into their craft without knowing whether it will “pay off.”

Success on Etsy, or in any creative field, is rarely linear. It’s more like a patchwork blanket: full of progress and unraveling, wins and “what was I thinking?” moments. And honestly? That’s part of the charm.

In the absence of sales, I had to redefine what success looked like for me.

Success became uploading a new listing, even when I doubted myself.

It became learning to use my camera better.

It became writing product descriptions that sounded like me instead of trying to mimic someone else.

It became taking a deep breath and pressing publish, even when I felt like no one was watching.

Each tiny step is a win. Each moment I choose to keep going, even when it's hard, even when it’s quiet, that’s a win too.

There’s also something incredibly satisfying about making something with your own two hands and sending it out into the world, even if it takes a while to find the right home. That kind of slow, handmade joy? It’s worth holding onto.

At the end of the day, I started my shop because I love to crochet. I love the feel of yarn between my fingers, the rhythm of stitches forming something from nothing, the quiet satisfaction of finishing a piece. That joy doesn’t disappear just because no one’s bought it yet.

Sometimes I have to remind myself: I'm not just doing this to sell. I'm doing it because creating is a part of who I am.

I’ve had days where I felt completely discouraged. Days where I questioned whether this was worth the effort. But I’ve also had days where I held something I made and felt a quiet, grounding kind of pride. I built this. I made this. And that’s worth something, even without a PayPal notification to back it up.

The shop as it stands today? It’s just the beginning. I have so many ideas for things I want to make, designs I want to try, and categories I’d like to add. But I’m giving myself the grace to expand slowly.

Right now, I’m focusing on learning the ropes, building a solid foundation, and most importantly, keeping it fun. Because the second it stops being enjoyable is the second I’ll start resenting it. And that’s not why I started this in the first place.

I’m also reminding myself that it’s okay to ask for help. To take a course, or read a book, or reach out to someone who’s a little further down the road. There’s no shame in being new. There’s no shame in learning out loud.

If you’ve started your own shop (or any creative project) and it feels like no one’s paying attention, I see you. If you’re refreshing your stats page and wondering what you’re doing wrong, I get it. If you’re fighting off that feeling of “not good enough” every time you post a new listing, I’ve been there.

But please know this: your worth is not measured by your sales. Your creativity is not validated by strangers clicking “buy.” The world needs more handmade, heartfelt things and it needs more people like you who are brave enough to put their work out there.

Keep creating. Keep learning. Keep showing up. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.

And if all else fails? Take a break, drink some tea, and come back to it later. Your people will find you. Your shop will grow. And one day, you’ll look back at these early days and realize how far you’ve come, not just in sales, but in confidence, skill, and self-trust.

Starting this Etsy shop hasn’t been a fairy tale. It’s been messy, quiet, humbling, and honestly kind of hilarious at times. But it’s mine. And it’s growing.

Even without the sales (yet), I’ve gained something valuable: belief in my ability to try. And as it turns out, that might be the most important part of all.

So here’s to the slow starts. The blurry photos. The quiet listings. The hope we stitch into every single thing we make.

No sales? No problem. I’m just getting started.