- PPF Points
- 2,100
The Day I Almost Tossed It All — And How I Crawled Back
Alright, let’s just call it: running a business is not all sunrise grind sessions and endless caffeine-fueled victory laps. Yeah, those Instagram gurus will have you thinking it’s all vision boards and #blessed morning routines, but honestly? Some days, it’s just shouting into the void and hoping someone echoes back. Actually, some days are worse than that. There’s always that one awful day that slaps you in the face and makes you wonder, “Man, what am I even doing here?”
For me... that day just straight-up sucker-punched me. No warning, just BAM—everything I'd built felt ready to implode. Spoiler: didn’t actually implode, but it got real close.
Weird thing, though? That day ended up flipping the whole game for me. It totally reshaped how I see my business, my life, the whole shebang. So, if you're stuck in that “wth am I doing” mode right now or have ever flirted with quitting, hey—maybe this will hit home.
The Burnout Pressure Cooker
Here’s how my slo-mo meltdown started: I’d been hustling like a caffeinated squirrel for months. Up before sunrise, eyes glued to the laptop ‘til midnight. Content creation on speedrun, slogging through endless DMs, launching stuff, building funnels, shuffling pixels on my website, tossing pitches at anyone with a pulse, taking in feedback like it’s the gospel.
On the outside? It looked like I was crushing it. Heck, if you asked me a year before, I’d have called myself “living the dream.”
Inside? Toast. Like crispy, burnt-toast toast. I compared myself to every other business guru rolling across my feed—jeez, why does everyone else look like they’re on a rocket, meanwhile I’m doing laps on a rusty stationary bike?
Even the little wins—the new followers, a random sale—those sugar highs faded fast. I kept pressing the gas, but the car was going nowhere.
Then, stuff crumbled. Not dramatically. Just... collapsed, kinda quietly.
The Breakdown (a.k.a. My Emotional Faceplant)
Should’ve been another normal day. Had a workshop scheduled—poured a whole week’s worth of sweat into prepping, blasted promos everywhere.
Showtime hits. Three people show. Three. Yeah, I counted.
Ten minutes in? Two bounce. I’m left with one poor soul, probably eating cereal in their pajamas, and I’m still trying to bring the hype like there’s a crowd. I finish the whole dang thing, flash my best “I totally am not dying inside” smile, log off, and as soon as the screen goes black—just lose it. Full-on ugly cry into my hands.
Humiliated. Pissed. Just dead tired.
“Why am I even doing this crap?”
“If no one shows up, what’s the point?”
“Maybe I just suck at this.”
Those thoughts kept swinging. Stuff I buried deep just poured out. That night, really, first time in ages, I opened a job board. Full-time gigs. Big girl benefits. Cozy, predictable paychecks? God, it was tempting.
Middle of the night, just thinking: "Maybe I’m not cut out for this."
Quiet, Then... a Plot Twist
Came this close to shutting it all down. And I mean, for real—delete the website, ghost the socials, become one of those cryptic “whatever happened to…” stories.
Next morning, though—still can’t tell if it was fate, luck, or my scatterbrain’s accidental wisdom—I saw this sticky note on my desk. My own handwriting, all jagged and faded from weeks before:
“You didn’t come this far just to come this far.”
I swear, it hit harder than my morning espresso.
That dumb little note kicked me in the gut—reminded me why I even got myself into this mess. It was never just about making cash or “being my own boss.” It was because I wanted to build something real, something mine.
I remembered all the late nights teaching myself random skills, the DMs from strangers telling me my stuff helped, those shaky first steps where it all felt so huge. Like, hang on—progress doesn’t always mean you’re cashing big checks or going viral.
Point is, quitting was right there on the table. But I didn’t. I rested. I recalibrated. I figured maybe I could rise, just one more time.
Okay, So What Helped Me Crawl Out?
No epic comeback. No viral “I’m back” post. It was slow. But it worked. Here’s what I did:
1. Got Back to My Real “Why”
Sat down and scribbled out, straight-up, the actual reasons I started.
It wasn’t just “make money from the couch!” or “freedom 4eva.” Nah—I wanted to see if I could do something ballsy. Wanted to break free from all the scared thinking my family drilled into me. Wanted to make something cool that helped folks and, you know, didn’t suck.
That “why” got buried under all the algorithm chasing and sales chasing. Digging it back up actually got me fired up again. A little, anyway.
2. Dug Up Old Milestones
I rifled through old notebooks and screenshots. There was my first sad little PayPal notification. Some customer wrote a thank-you. A selfie of me hunched over a laptop in some sticky little coffee shop. Simple stuff, but heck, I’d forgotten about it.
Reminded me: wasn’t stuck, just worn out. There was progress, just not fireworks-level progress.
3. Came Clean to Someone Who Gets It
Pinged a business buddy. Basically trauma-dumped everything—my embarrassment, insecurity, whole quitting fantasy.
They didn’t “fix” it, and thank god for that. Just listened, then said, “Everyone hits this wall. Difference is, some keep walking.”
That line’s glued to my brain, no lie.
4. Letting Go of the Freakin’ Scoreboard
My biggest mental trip-up: I put my entire self-worth on my latest numbers. Bad launch? I’m a loser. Post flops? So do I. Subscriber bails? I must suck.
But business doesn’t care about your feelings, it’s just feedback, always.
So I started judging my days by, like: “Hey, did I actually show up and try today?” Not “Did I go viral?” or “Did my mom finally understand what I do?” Just: Did I show up, try, keep it real?
That was enough, most days.
And yeah, maybe you’re sitting where I was—head in your hands, ready to dropkick your dreams. Been there. Honestly, still visit sometimes. But give yourself a second. You’re not as lost as you think. Promise.
Alright, let’s just call it: running a business is not all sunrise grind sessions and endless caffeine-fueled victory laps. Yeah, those Instagram gurus will have you thinking it’s all vision boards and #blessed morning routines, but honestly? Some days, it’s just shouting into the void and hoping someone echoes back. Actually, some days are worse than that. There’s always that one awful day that slaps you in the face and makes you wonder, “Man, what am I even doing here?”
For me... that day just straight-up sucker-punched me. No warning, just BAM—everything I'd built felt ready to implode. Spoiler: didn’t actually implode, but it got real close.
Weird thing, though? That day ended up flipping the whole game for me. It totally reshaped how I see my business, my life, the whole shebang. So, if you're stuck in that “wth am I doing” mode right now or have ever flirted with quitting, hey—maybe this will hit home.
The Burnout Pressure Cooker
Here’s how my slo-mo meltdown started: I’d been hustling like a caffeinated squirrel for months. Up before sunrise, eyes glued to the laptop ‘til midnight. Content creation on speedrun, slogging through endless DMs, launching stuff, building funnels, shuffling pixels on my website, tossing pitches at anyone with a pulse, taking in feedback like it’s the gospel.
On the outside? It looked like I was crushing it. Heck, if you asked me a year before, I’d have called myself “living the dream.”
Inside? Toast. Like crispy, burnt-toast toast. I compared myself to every other business guru rolling across my feed—jeez, why does everyone else look like they’re on a rocket, meanwhile I’m doing laps on a rusty stationary bike?
Even the little wins—the new followers, a random sale—those sugar highs faded fast. I kept pressing the gas, but the car was going nowhere.
Then, stuff crumbled. Not dramatically. Just... collapsed, kinda quietly.
The Breakdown (a.k.a. My Emotional Faceplant)
Should’ve been another normal day. Had a workshop scheduled—poured a whole week’s worth of sweat into prepping, blasted promos everywhere.
Showtime hits. Three people show. Three. Yeah, I counted.
Ten minutes in? Two bounce. I’m left with one poor soul, probably eating cereal in their pajamas, and I’m still trying to bring the hype like there’s a crowd. I finish the whole dang thing, flash my best “I totally am not dying inside” smile, log off, and as soon as the screen goes black—just lose it. Full-on ugly cry into my hands.
Humiliated. Pissed. Just dead tired.
“Why am I even doing this crap?”
“If no one shows up, what’s the point?”
“Maybe I just suck at this.”
Those thoughts kept swinging. Stuff I buried deep just poured out. That night, really, first time in ages, I opened a job board. Full-time gigs. Big girl benefits. Cozy, predictable paychecks? God, it was tempting.
Middle of the night, just thinking: "Maybe I’m not cut out for this."
Quiet, Then... a Plot Twist
Came this close to shutting it all down. And I mean, for real—delete the website, ghost the socials, become one of those cryptic “whatever happened to…” stories.
Next morning, though—still can’t tell if it was fate, luck, or my scatterbrain’s accidental wisdom—I saw this sticky note on my desk. My own handwriting, all jagged and faded from weeks before:
“You didn’t come this far just to come this far.”
I swear, it hit harder than my morning espresso.
That dumb little note kicked me in the gut—reminded me why I even got myself into this mess. It was never just about making cash or “being my own boss.” It was because I wanted to build something real, something mine.
I remembered all the late nights teaching myself random skills, the DMs from strangers telling me my stuff helped, those shaky first steps where it all felt so huge. Like, hang on—progress doesn’t always mean you’re cashing big checks or going viral.
Point is, quitting was right there on the table. But I didn’t. I rested. I recalibrated. I figured maybe I could rise, just one more time.
Okay, So What Helped Me Crawl Out?
No epic comeback. No viral “I’m back” post. It was slow. But it worked. Here’s what I did:
1. Got Back to My Real “Why”
Sat down and scribbled out, straight-up, the actual reasons I started.
It wasn’t just “make money from the couch!” or “freedom 4eva.” Nah—I wanted to see if I could do something ballsy. Wanted to break free from all the scared thinking my family drilled into me. Wanted to make something cool that helped folks and, you know, didn’t suck.
That “why” got buried under all the algorithm chasing and sales chasing. Digging it back up actually got me fired up again. A little, anyway.
2. Dug Up Old Milestones
I rifled through old notebooks and screenshots. There was my first sad little PayPal notification. Some customer wrote a thank-you. A selfie of me hunched over a laptop in some sticky little coffee shop. Simple stuff, but heck, I’d forgotten about it.
Reminded me: wasn’t stuck, just worn out. There was progress, just not fireworks-level progress.
3. Came Clean to Someone Who Gets It
Pinged a business buddy. Basically trauma-dumped everything—my embarrassment, insecurity, whole quitting fantasy.
They didn’t “fix” it, and thank god for that. Just listened, then said, “Everyone hits this wall. Difference is, some keep walking.”
That line’s glued to my brain, no lie.
4. Letting Go of the Freakin’ Scoreboard
My biggest mental trip-up: I put my entire self-worth on my latest numbers. Bad launch? I’m a loser. Post flops? So do I. Subscriber bails? I must suck.
But business doesn’t care about your feelings, it’s just feedback, always.
So I started judging my days by, like: “Hey, did I actually show up and try today?” Not “Did I go viral?” or “Did my mom finally understand what I do?” Just: Did I show up, try, keep it real?
That was enough, most days.
And yeah, maybe you’re sitting where I was—head in your hands, ready to dropkick your dreams. Been there. Honestly, still visit sometimes. But give yourself a second. You’re not as lost as you think. Promise.
