What Happens When the Thing You Love Starts to Hurt You

This isn’t an announcement. It’s not a goodbye.
It’s just where I’m at right now, somewhere between exhaustion and clarity.

Last year, I made a decision that felt big. I went all in on running my own coaching business full-time. No studio jobs. No part-time safety net. Just me, my work, and the people who showed up to train with me.

And at first, it felt right. I was doing what I loved. Teaching from anywhere. Building something on my own terms. I felt proud of that.

But as time went on, the cracks began to show.

Running an online business, especially solo, is a constant juggle.
Teaching, prepping, programming, promoting, recording, updating, replying, rescheduling, creating, fixing, marketing, selling… and doing it all while trying to hold onto some sense of purpose and energy.

You’ve probably seen me teach and thought everything looked fine.
Because I’ve gotten very good at hiding it.
At holding it together.
At showing up no matter what.

But behind the scenes?
There were (and still are) days when I had to drag myself onto Zoom.
When I sat in silence for an hour before class thinking, I don’t want to do this today.
And then I did it anyway, because I care. Because I’m consistent. Because I give a shit.

But caring doesn’t mean it’s sustainable.
And showing up doesn’t mean you’re okay.

I’ve tried every strategy I could think of. New prices, new schedules, class packs, recorded libraries, seasonal programs. I’ve shifted structures, added value, offered more support, and answered DMs at 11pm to keep people engaged and supported.
But financially, I’ve barely been scraping by.
Emotionally, it’s been rough.
Physically, I’ve been running on empty.

And truthfully, it’s made me feel pretty hopeless.
Holding on to the belief that everything is going to be okay has become the hardest part.
I’ve lost joy in simple things, even making dinner feels like too much.
I’ve lost motivation to train, to explore, to move.
The one thing I used to love deeply, handstands, feels like a chore now.
And most days, I just can’t be arsed.

I ask myself: even if there’s a little bit of fuel left in the tank, how much longer can I push? How much more of myself do I give before something breaks?

And I don’t have the answer.

What I do know is this: some things need to be let go of, temporarily or for good, if I want to stay healthy. If I want to protect the core of who I am.
If that means letting go of certain parts of teaching for now, or even my own practice, that’s okay.
Because one thing I refuse to do is let what I love become something toxic.

I’m not someone who avoids discomfort. I’ve never been afraid of hard work.
I’ve chosen the uphill route more times than I can count, and I’d probably choose it again.
But I’ve also learned the hard way that working yourself into the ground isn’t strength.
And building something that depletes you isn’t success.

So I’m shifting. I’m simplifying. I’m keeping what matters, letting go of what doesn’t, and moving toward something more sustainable. Slowly, intentionally, and with more boundaries.

This isn’t an end.
It’s a transition. A reckoning. A necessary pause before I rebuild, if and when I feel ready.

To everyone who’s trained with me, thank you.
You’ve given me a reason to keep going on days when I wasn’t sure I could.
You’ve been part of something real, even if you didn’t know it.

And before I go, one more thing I’ve learned that I want to leave here:
Do not let what you do, or how you feel, define the person you truly are.
There is a very fine line between your identity and your role, and if you’re not careful, it can swallow you whole.

I’ll keep teaching. I’ll keep showing up. But I’ll be doing it on different terms now. Terms that allow me to be a coach, a person, and not a machine.

And if you’ve ever felt any of this too, please know you’re not alone.
A lot of us are going through it behind the scenes.
We’re just not always saying it out loud.

– Giuseppe