I didn't start with a strategy.
I started with a warehouse.

In the summer of 2016, I took a warehouse job. It was supposed to last ten days. Ten days turned into two years.

That job had nothing to do with my degree or the life I dreamed of. But it taught me something no university ever did: that I could adapt, handle hard things, and figure it out. Over time, though, that strength turned into stagnation. I wasn't growing. I felt stuck in a version of life that didn't feel like mine.

In January 2018, it all became too much. I got sick, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I remember standing in that warehouse, realizing: I don't want to live like this anymore.

It took me 10 more months to finally say it out loud. I was scared. No plan. No savings. Just a feeling in my gut that if I didn't choose myself now, I might never do it.

So I leaped. And after months of searching, I found Instagram, a space where I could finally express all parts of who I am. In February 2019, I created my first account. It sat at 1,000 followers for six months. Six months of posting into silence. There were nights I cried, wondering if I'd made a mistake leaving the “safe” path.

I didn't have a mentor. I didn't know anyone doing what I was trying to do. But I kept showing up, because even when no one believed in me, creating made me feel alive again.

So I built one. Not from a course, from thousands of posts, years of trial and error, and every failure in between. I figured out that the problem was never what to post. The problem was not knowing who I was as a creator, what I stood for, and how to show up consistently without burning out.

Once I cracked that, everything changed. Not overnight. But steadily, sustainably, and on my terms.