Sometimes Growth Looks Like Breaking Up With Your Own Brand

I didn’t mean to become a brand.

But somewhere along the way—between the podcast episodes, the merch drops, the carefully timed captions and launches—I did.

It started innocently enough. A desire to serve. To create impact. To share my voice in a way that helped people reclaim themselves in a world that teaches us to abandon ourselves daily. And I did that. I still do that. But something changed.

Somewhere between building “the thing” and becoming “the thing,” I started to lose the parts of me that were never meant to be marketed.

Like the part of me that needs space and stillness. The part of me that gets overstimulated and exhausted by constant output. The part that needs to cry and grieve and lay on the floor for a while. The woman who is still walking through sobriety. Who is healing. Who is mothering. Who is asking big questions about this world and where it’s heading. The version of me that doesn’t want to perform empowerment, but actually live in alignment with what empowerment requires: boundaries, rest, courage, and self-trust.

I hired the coach. I created the signature framework. I built the funnel and launched the program. I followed the rules. I played the game. And honestly? It taught me a lot. I don’t regret any of it.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like I was slowly being packaged into something shinier, cleaner, more palatable than who I actually am.

And who I actually am is someone who feels deeply. Who is concerned—truly concerned—about the state of our world, our systems, and the way we’re being conditioned to keep going like nothing’s wrong. I am someone in recovery from alcohol, capitalism, perfectionism, and the performance of success. I am someone who cares more about my community than my content strategy. Someone who wants to build something that can’t be monetized: meaning.

But the more I leaned into “the brand,” the less I felt like me.

And that’s where this shift began.

This isn't a blog post about throwing it all away. I’m not burning it down. I’m just done pretending I need to shrink, contort, or constantly “produce” in order to be relevant or valuable. I’m not here to be consistent—I’m here to be true. And that means I’m going to be quiet sometimes. I’m going to move slowly. I’m going to take time away from the mic. I’m going to say no to what doesn’t fit anymore, even if it’s “on brand.”

Because I’m not a brand. I’m a human being. A woman. A mother. A creator. A vessel.

And I want to live like that matters more than the algorithm.

So if you’ve ever looked around at the life, the work, the platform you built—and felt the quiet grief of not fully seeing yourself in it anymore—this is your reminder: You get to come home to yourself. You get to return.

You don’t have to be a brand. You’re not a product. You are a body. A breath. A spirit in motion. You are a soul with a role to play in this collective awakening. And you don’t have to figure it all out before you start listening.

Like so many others, I’m getting deeply curious—more intentional than ever, about what my role is in this moment of unraveling and rebirth. The atrocities happening in the U.S. and across the globe aren’t just “news”—they’re soul-shaking reminders that we cannot keep living in systems built on harm, performance, and disconnection. Something sacred is calling us forward. And I’m listening.

I’m still here. Still becoming. Still asking the hard questions. But this time, I’m doing it from a place that honors my body, my spirit, and my responsibility.

And I hope, wherever you are, you feel brave enough to do the same. Because we need more real ones. Awake ones. Not just showing up, but showing up whole.