Oh Sh*t

A week after I graduated from college, I got to work.

My friends had packed their bags for Atlanta or trips abroad. I followed their European adventures on Facebook. I passed on the corporate paycheck and a sports marketing job in New York City, and stayed in Athens, Georgia, to pursue a writing platform I’d started during my senior year.

I moved in with a friend from my entrepreneurship class, the same person who had challenged me to build a website in the first place. We split $1,000 a month in rent, put a 90-inch whiteboard on the wall, and set up our desks.

Two friends, a whiteboard, and absolutely no idea what we were doing.

He was figuring out his business. I was figuring out mine. Neither of us knew how this would work. He eventually pivoted and built an eight-figure business. Years later, we’re finally getting jet fuel under ours.

But that summer looked very different.

Another friend, who ran a moving company, let me work out of his office. Most days, I drove over to get out of the house.

I remember one day, staring at my computer, unable to do anything. My chest was tight. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was questioning the entire decision.

What had I just done?

I got up and walked around the block. Came back. Stared at the screen some more. Froze a bit more. Then drove home.

That was the summer of 2015, and what I remember as my first panic attack.

I was in way over my head.
And that wasn't a singular moment, it was like a good summer song on repeat.

Now, I’ve Been Getting That Call

Over the two months, I’ve had several calls with clients that have brought me right back to that office.

They’ve made the jump and left an established career. Decided to build a business around their expertise and do work that feels more like their own.

Then comes the moment when the excitement has to coexist with the reality of making it work.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“What the $*&^ am I doing with my life?”

“This isn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be.”

One concern keeps coming up: they could sell someone else’s product so easily. Selling themselves feels completely different.

I understand why. When the offering carries your name, your ideas, and your experience, it can be hard to separate someone’s buying decision from your own sense of worth.

And the public version of this path leaves a lot out.

People see the speaking engagement, the announcement, the thoughtful LinkedIn post, IG Reel with 47k views. They don’t see the months between opportunities, the uncertainty around the next client, or the afternoon when someone who has led entire teams can’t figure out what to do next for themselves.

A $10,000 speaking engagement is exciting. If it happens once every six months, there’s still a business to build around it.

Starting Again Can Shake You

When I get those calls, I feel for the person on the other end.

They’ve already done something hard. They’ve stepped away from a path where they knew how to succeed because there was something else they wanted to give their life to.

Sometimes I forget how much courage that takes. This is almost all I’ve known. For someone who spent a decade or more becoming a successful executive or building an operating business, starting again can shake their identity.

They’re used to having a team, a reputation, and an organization behind them. Now their expertise is still there, but much of that support is gone.

And suddenly, they’re responsible for explaining what they do, finding the people who need it, selling it, and delivering it.

That’s a lot to learn while also wondering whether you made the right decision.

That’s the part I want people to understand: feeling uncertain doesn’t erase the experience you bring. Being new at building a business around your expertise doesn’t make you new at the work you’ve spent years learning to do.

Fear alone can’t tell you whether you made the right decision. But when you’re listening to customers, refining what you offer, having the uncomfortable sales conversations, and showing up consistently, the difficulty can be part of learning how to make this path work.

You can be moving forward before it feels that way.

Why I Care About What Comes Next

Those conversations remind me why I care so much about what we’re building.

I was never especially interested in “personal brands.” I was interested in helping people pursue work that felt deeply connected to who they were, and give that work a real chance to support them.

We started where my strengths were: brand, content, and community. Over time, we will build more of the support people need around the business itself.

Because I remember what it felt like to sit in that office with a head full of possibilities and no idea what to do next.

I want the people taking that jump today to have someone they can call, a team beside them, and a clearer way to turn what they know into a business that supports them.