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There are moments in business, and in life, that don’t have a clean narrative. No triumphant pivot. Just a slow, quiet unraveling, and then the long, private work of putting yourself back together.

Leaving my first business, a community based hot yoga studio, was one of those moments for me.

I want to tell you about it honestly (as honestly as one can in a public forum) because I think a lot of you are carrying a version of this story too. Maybe you’re in a career that doesn’t feel fulfilling, or a business that no longer feels like yours. Maybe you left something and you’re still not sure you made the right call. Maybe you’re on the edge of a leap and you’re terrified that if it doesn’t work out, it will mean something permanent about who you are.

I promise you it doesn’t.

What we built
I started the process of opening the studio in 2015. At the time, I had never done anything close to this scale. I grew up in a lower income family, I had no formal business education, and outside of working for a few early stage startups and my training as a yoga teacher, I had no real roadmap for what I was about to attempt. What I did have was a clear vision and a willingness to figure it out.

For over a year before we opened, I was deep in it: finding business partners, applying to the franchise, searching for funding, finding the right location, and project managing the design and construction of the space. On January 1st, 2017, we opened our doors.

And it was genuinely beautiful.

We built it to be a real community space, not just a place to sweat through a hot yoga class, but somewhere people could feel like they belonged. We grounded the studio in pillars of inclusivity, social justice and environmental responsibility, values that were woven into how we operated. We raised money for organizations that held these same values. We hosted events and community gatherings. We had an art gallery wall where we rotated the work of local artists.

I’ve been driving myself crazy lately going back and forth about purchasing a rental condo. It’s the kind of investment that has potential for good monetary returns. It’s nice to own something tangible that you can see and touch. It makes you feel accomplished.

But every time I look at listings, I feel anxious. I have been trying to push through it, trying to convince myself it’s just the jitters of trying something new, but if I’m truly honest with myself, I don’t want it.

I know I’d feel good about owning a rental property, who wouldn’t? I’d feel like I did something right. My father would approve. The father whose love and approval I was still fighting for even after years of therapy, trauma work, and minimal contact.

The first decision I make about finances and work is still usually linked to some kind of parental and societal conditioning. Then, after some time, I start noticing what’s under the surface through my body’s sensations. Buying a property should feel exciting, not whatever it is I’m feeling.

It reminds me of the time I hit six figures with my tutoring company, MyGradeBooster, and started searching for what was next. Other high-achieving tutoring company owners were franchising or aiming to expand locations. I assumed that should also be my goal, even though it didn’t make me excited at all. It actually felt like a drag. My body refused to participate, as if to say, “you and your grasping mind go wherever you like, we’re staying put.”

What’s going on?

I’ve found the way into my deeper self is usually through a question. The mysterious and uncomfortable why’s. The why’s that are so big sometimes that I’m not sure if anything will come out of even asking them. But I ask anyway.

Why are you feeling so agitated about doing something you’d set as your goal for so many years? You’ve wanted this. You’re here now. It’s achievable. Why are you hesitating?

Why creativity is our greatest power in an AI-driven world

There is growing unease about AI and how it impacts our jobs. While some choose denial as a coping mechanism, many are awakening to the rapid changes reshaping our work landscape. Whether we admit it or not, there is more fear and uncertainty than there is hope and optimism.

And I get it.

Fear makes sense right now. But fear is also the fastest way to shut down the very thing we need most: our creativity. And if there’s one thing we’ll need to move through this next era with any sense of direction, it’s our ability to create.

I’ve Been Here Before
I felt this level of uncertainty firsthand in 2008 when I entered the biotech industry in West Coast Canada. The sector was already volatile—low success rates, constant restructuring—but at that time, the industry was also shrinking. Companies were either shutting down or relocating eastward or overseas entirely.

I was a fresh university graduate, and I had perfectly aligned my academic path to suit the biotech sector. I’d done everything “right.” But life doesn’t always reward right. And I couldn’t just pick up and leave. My mom was on a waitlist to undergo a bone marrow transplant, and I was committed to staying close through her recovery. Relocation was off the table.

That feeling of not having control of my livelihood—the heaviness in my chest, the tensed up neck, the inability to speak up for fear of being let go—is something I’ll never forget.

And now, all these years later, it feels eerily familiar.

In 2024 alone, over 130,000 tech jobs disappeared. Layoffs swept through as companies leaned harder into AI and automation. Engineers. Writers. Designers. Analysts. People with resumes full of accomplishments were suddenly disposable.