It’s been over a year since I stepped away from the corporate world and tried to survive on my own.

Wow… what a year.

It’s hard to do things on your own—especially when so many voices, both external and internal, tell you that you shouldn’t… or can’t. I think that’s a theme most of us know well. We’re taught to be realistic, to stay safe, to not get “too big for our britches.”

But I’ve always been a dreamer.
Curious. Creative. The kind of person who tends to think just a little too far outside the box—often enough that people look at me like a puzzled dog watching a card trick.

And for a long time, I tried to fit that into systems that weren’t built for it.

Working in large systems, I often found myself frustrated—not because people were bad, but because the system itself made it hard to function well. Communication broke down. Decisions didn’t always make sense. And those of us who felt deeply… tried to hold everything together, even when it meant breaking ourselves in the process.

I remember being told I’d receive a bonus at the same time my team was going to lose part of theirs. Two separate decisions that just happened to collide in the worst way. I even offered to give up my bonus so the team wouldn’t lose theirs.

It didn’t matter.

That was one of many moments where I realized something important:

You can either work within a system the best you can… or you can leave it.

I chose to leave.

Not impulsively—but because I genuinely thought the stress was killing me. My body was breaking down. My mind was constantly on edge. I was trying to lead a struggling team, cover shifts myself, manually fix payroll issues, attend endless meetings, and somehow hold everything together while it was all quietly unraveling.

And then—life added another twist.

Cancer.

So there I was… leaving one of the highest-paying roles I’d ever had, starting a private practice that “shouldn’t” be profitable for years, navigating health insurance on my own, facing a major medical diagnosis…

And wondering how in the world I was going to survive.

So what happened?

I got treatment.
It was expensive.
It was scary.
And it was real.

But we had support. Friends. Family. People who showed up in ways I’ll never forget.

And slowly… piece by piece… something began to build.

Today, I’m a full-time therapist.
A full-time magician.
A business owner.

In one year, that work has supported a family of four—on a single income.

I’ve written two books.
I’ve been invited to teach and perform across the country.
I’ve built something that, on paper, “shouldn’t” have worked this quickly.

And yet…

If I’m being honest?

I don’t walk around feeling like a success.

I still feel the doubt.
The anxiety.
The old voices that say, “Don’t get too big for yourself.”
“This won’t last.”
“You’re going to be found out.”

Those don’t just disappear.

But here’s what’s changing:

I’m starting to trust the data more than the doubt.

The numbers say it’s working.
The clients say it’s helping.
The audiences say it’s meaningful.

And maybe… just maybe… that matters more than the fear.

What I’m learning is this:

Things don’t have to feel certain to be real.
Growth doesn’t always feel like confidence—sometimes it feels like discomfort.
And building something meaningful takes time, even when it’s already working.

This past year didn’t remove the fear.

But it taught me I can move forward anyway.