LESSONS FROM A BUSINESS THAT DIDN’T FIT

Starting a business seemed like the natural next step. I wanted freedom, autonomy, and the satisfaction of building something that was mine. The logic felt solid. I was willing to work hard, and I believed in the idea. At first, I felt energized, like I was doing what people talk about when they say they want to take control of their lives. But that feeling didn’t last. The more the business grew, the less I recognized myself in it. I started to notice how often I felt stressed, disconnected, or oddly flat. It wasn’t burnout. It wasn’t laziness. It just didn’t fit.

It took me a while to admit that to myself. Because on paper, it was working. I was doing something “good.” I had clients. I had structure. I had something to point to when people asked what I did. But beneath the surface, I felt like I was slowly building a system that I didn’t want to be part of, a machine that demanded more of me than I wanted to give, and gave back very little in return. Looking back, there are a few lessons that stuck with me:

1. Being good at something doesn’t mean you should build your life around it.
I was competent. I had the skills. But it drained me. That distinction, between what you can do and what you should do, is subtle and easy to miss when your self-worth is tied to performance.

2. Freedom isn’t just about control, it’s about fit.
I thought that being my own boss would make me feel free. But freedom isn’t just about calling the shots. It’s about having work that aligns with your energy, your values, and your actual capacity. Being in charge of something that doesn’t suit you still feels like being stuck.

3. Pressure feels different when it’s self-imposed, but it’s still pressure.
I thought I was escaping external expectations, but I ended up recreating them myself. The inner pressure to succeed, to justify my choices, to be impressive, it didn’t disappear. It just changed tone.

4. Letting go isn’t failure. It’s feedback.
Ending the business felt anticlimactic, but also clean. I didn’t crash and burn. I just reached a point where continuing would’ve meant ignoring myself. It wasn’t a dramatic exit, it was a quiet decision to stop climbing a ladder I no longer believed in.

I still think about that time with respect. I learned a lot, not just about business, but about myself. About what I need to feel motivated, what kind of work sustains me, and where my limits are. These are things I probably wouldn’t have learned in a more comfortable context. I’m still figuring out what “work that fits” actually looks like. I don’t have a perfect answer. But I know what it doesn’t look like, and sometimes that’s enough to start with.