It’s easy to say “I almost quit” like it was one big dramatic day, the kind where the sky cracks open and something inside you screams,
“That’s it, I’m done.”
But the truth? It wasn’t just one day. It was more like a slow drip.
A thousand small, quiet moments that built up over time.
Moments that didn’t look like a breakdown from the outside. They looked like sitting in my car just a little too long before going inside. Like hovering over my keyboard with a full heart and an empty screen.
Like wondering, genuinely, if maybe the universe skipped over my name when it handed out maps.
And no, I didn’t have a backup plan. If I’m being honest, I barely had a main plan. What I did have was this steady little heartbeat… this pull inside my chest that kept whispering, “There’s something here. Keep going.” Even when no one else could see what I was building.
But God, I was tired.
Not the tired that goes away with a nap on a quiet Sunday. I was exhausted in my bones. I was tired of showing up with warmth for people who only knew how to take. Tired of trying to explain this thing, I felt called to create, over and over, to people who didn’t really want to understand. Tired of being in rooms where the loudest voice got the applause, while mine—soft but true—barely got noticed.
And maybe… that’s what cracked me open.
Because somewhere between typing and holding the world together, between answering messages with a smile and quietly wondering if anyone really sees me,
I stopped pretending I wasn’t tired.
I stopped trying to explain my heart in rooms that only valued logic. I stopped offering pieces of my soul like samples at a store, just to prove I was worth being chosen.
And in that moment—halfway through a breath, probably in the middle of something mundane like wiping down the counter or closing yet another browser tab, something in me clicked.
I’m not here to be impressive. I’m here to be true and to speak what most people tiptoe around. To name what others only feel in flashes. To write in a way that makes your chest tighten because your soul suddenly remembers something it forgot.
My knowing came through like a whisper I’d been dodging for years. A whisper that said:
“You don’t have to shrink anymore to fit in their story.”
So I chose ME. Writing it like it was a spell — one that could unravel all the lies we tell ourselves. And maybe that’s what this whole thing is really about. Just remembering who the hell you are and refusing to disappear again.
A Quiet Shift.
I let go of the timeline. The rushing, the pushing, it was killing my clarity. So I paused and listened.
I remembered why I started.
Not for likes or leads, but for the real ones, the souls quietly waiting for someone who gets it.
So, I permitted myself to rest. And guess what?
Turns out, creativity returns when you stop chasing and start breathing. I stopped trying to look successful and chose to feel aligned instead. That shift changed everything.
Now I work from presence, not pressure. And the right clients? They find me — not because I sell hard, but because the work feels right.
If that’s what you’re looking for, welcome in.
Final Thought
If you're standing in that place where quitting feels easier than continuing—just pause. Take a breath. Let it land.
You are not behind. You are not broken. You haven’t actually failed. You’re simply standing in the middle—the messy, foggy part of the story where most people quietly bow out.
But not you because you’re still here, still listening and still trying. And that matters more than you know. If no one else has said it lately—I see you.
And if you’re ready for someone to walk beside you through this next stretch, I’m here. You don’t have to carry it alone.
Let’s find your clarity together.