Patients
An effortless, non-judgmental way to capture pain in the moment — and later see patterns in their own life, in plain language.
Product design case study · Manage My Pain by ManagingLife, Inc.
Manage My Pain is a clinically validated digital-health platform that helps people with chronic pain measure, monitor, and communicate what they live with every day. As the product designer and UX engineer on the product since 2021, my job was to turn a medically dense, emotionally heavy problem into an experience that feels calm, trustworthy, and usable — across phone, tablet, and web.
Why this work mattered
Chronic pain is long-standing pain that persists beyond normal healing. It affects roughly one in ten people and carries enormous human and economic cost. But the central design challenge is not data entry — it is that pain is invisible, subjective, and emotionally loaded. A patient's memory of a flare-up fades; a clinician needs a structured, comparable picture; a payer needs evidence a treatment is working. One experience has to serve all three without betraying any of them.
An effortless, non-judgmental way to capture pain in the moment — and later see patterns in their own life, in plain language.
A clinically relevant, time-bounded report that turns scattered entries into a decision-grade picture of what changed and why.
Evidence that a treatment or program is reducing the human and financial cost of chronic pain at a population level.
My role, scope & what I owned
On the surface area I led, I owned the design end-to-end and shaped a meaningful share of the product direction — not just the UX layer on top of someone else's roadmap. On adjacent areas outside my surface, I partnered with product and engineering rather than deciding alone.
I worked directly with ManagingLife's compliance and engineering teams on the regulated parts. Because the company is Toronto-based (PHIPA/PIPEDA) and serves US and EU users (HIPAA/GDPR), privacy was a constraint I designed against in the room — not a legal review handed off at the end.
Several decisions on this product started as undefined problems — separating capture from review, and one data model with two reading modes — that I led from ambiguity to shipped surface: framing the problem, building conviction through research, and defending the tradeoff to people who had a stake in the answer. That is the part of the work I'm hired for.
The constraints I designed within
Constraints shaped every decision here. I list them up front because they explain why a "better-looking" version of any screen was often the wrong answer.
This is long-term condition management. Success is sustained, honest use over months and years — not a one-time signup. Every prompt had to respect someone who is tired and in pain.
Users span many ages, languages, and literacy levels, often in sensitive physical and emotional states. Clarity and dignity beat polish.
Pain entries are personal health information. Design had to make capture feel safe and make sharing deliberate, never accidental.
Reports carry real medical weight. I could not optimize for ease at the cost of the validated measures clinicians rely on.
The product lives on Android, iOS, iPad, and web with existing architecture and constraints. Solutions had to be buildable across all of them.
The same data must read as gentle and personal for a patient and as precise and comparable for a clinician. That tension drove most of the information architecture.
Where my judgment showed up
Drawing the screens is the easy part. The work below is the part that can't be templated: deciding what to build, what to leave out, and how to resolve competing needs under constraints.
The tension: a fast, low-effort entry helps a tired patient record accurately, but a clinician needs depth and structure. I split the experience in two — a friction-light capture flow optimized for someone in pain, and a separate, reflective review surface where patterns become visible. This respected both the human reality (entry must be effortless) and the clinical reality (the report must be rich).
Tradeoff accepted: less data captured per tap at entry, in exchange for more entries captured at all.
With surfaces on Android, iOS, iPad, and web, the easy path was to design each platform separately. I instead invested in a unified design system so the product felt like one coherent thing and so design work compounded instead of repeating. As a UX engineer, I built components that mapped to implementation, which meant engineers spent less time translating and more time shipping.
More upfront systems work for consistency and speed that paid out over years.
The same longitudinal pain data had to read as gentle and personal for a patient and as precise and comparable for a clinician. Rather than build two products, I built one data model with two presentations: a warm, pattern-led view for the person living with pain, and a dense, time-bounded, clinically structured report for the care team. The patient never has to learn clinical language; the clinician never has to interpret raw logs.
How I built conviction
I ran interviews and field observation with patients and clinicians, and shaped provisional personas from what I saw. But I deliberately resisted the "research gallery." Every artifact below earned its place because it changed a decision above — most often by revealing that what a patient could articulate and what a clinician needed were not the same thing.
I observed how patients actually recorded pain between visits and how they tried to describe it to doctors in the room. That gap — between a lived, fading experience and the clinical question "how has it been?" — is the entire reason this product exists, and it set the bar for every capture and reporting decision.
AI in the process
As AI tools matured during this engagement, I folded them into my process rather than treating them as a threat. They made me faster on the parts that should be fast, which left more time for the parts that shouldn't.
Grouping and theming raw interview and observation notes into patterns far faster than manual tagging, so insight reached the team sooner.
Drafting component documentation, spec copy, and handoff notes — giving engineers clearer references and freeing me for harder design problems.
Generating layout and interaction variations to pressure-test an idea before committing to a build, especially for cross-platform parity.
Mechanical resizing, token cleanup, and versioning work that once consumed evenings — compressed without lowering the quality bar.
AI in the process
The honest half of this story: AI generated possibilities, but it could not own the outcome.
Design that knew the code
Because I work close to implementation, my designs were shaped by what is buildable across four platforms — not just what looks right in a mockup. I built components to map to implementation, wrote user stories and requirements for the front end, and kept clickable prototypes as the shared source of truth so interaction questions were resolved before a ticket was opened.
What changed
What I'd carry forward
Designing for someone in pain rewired my defaults. I now assume the user is low on patience and energy, and I treat low effort as a feature, not a compromise.
The biggest insight was structural: people can capture fast or reflect deeply, rarely both at once. Splitting the two surfaces changed how I approach any longitudinal-data product.
Investing in the design system early was the highest-leverage decision. The cost felt heavy then; the compounding return is what made everything else possible.
If I restarted, I'd instrument the design's effect more deliberately from day one — not to claim credit, but to learn faster what actually moved engagement.
Folding AI in sped up the mechanical work and exposed, by contrast, where human judgment is irreplaceable. That clarity now shapes how I scope any project.
How often the 'better' design was the less polished one. In healthcare, restraint and clarity consistently outperformed novelty.
On the surface area I led, I owned the design end-to-end and shaped a meaningful share of the product direction — not just the UX layer on top of someone else's roadmap. On adjacent areas outside my surface, I partnered with product and engineering rather than deciding alone.
See this in the case study ↑I worked directly with ManagingLife's compliance and engineering teams on the regulated parts. Because the company is Toronto-based (PHIPA/PIPEDA) and serves US and EU users (HIPAA/GDPR), privacy was a constraint I designed against in the room — not a legal review handed off at the end.
See this in the case study ↑Yes. I designed and owned consent and data-sharing flows, role-based access and clinician permissions, PHI handling across capture, display, and export, data export and deletion workflows, and the audit-readability of the clinical report. I co-designed the implementation details with engineering and compliance.
See this in the case study ↑Both. On the surface I led, I proposed what to build and influenced the roadmap, not only how it should look. I won't claim I set the roadmap in isolation — that was a shared product call — but I was a voice in it, not just an executor of it.
See this in the case study ↑Yes. Several decisions on this product started as undefined problems — separating capture from review, and one data model with two reading modes — that I led from ambiguity to shipped surface: framing the problem, building conviction through research, and defending the tradeoff. That is the work I'm hired for.
See this in the case study ↑Next
I'm open to product design and UX engineering roles, and selected long-term consulting — especially in digital health and complex SaaS.