Returning to work after a one-year sabbatical was nothing like what I expected.

I had envisioned an epic comeback: recharged, inspired, and ready to take on the world.

Instead, the reality was way messier than I expected, far more personal, and filled with so many unexpected challenges.

Over the past year, I observed a pattern online that triggered me:

People burnout. They pivot. They monetize the story. They teach others how to run a simple, “anti-scale” business.

And they do it all within what feels like months.

As I watched creators coaches seemingly bounce back and present their new offers with clarity and confidence, I couldn’t help but wonder:

Have they truly healed, or are they just rushing to launch an offer?

Am I projecting my frustration because I feel I’m moving so slowly compared to them?

Or could my judgments hold some truth?

Is my story more common than I think, and are people just not being honest about how hard it is to recover from burnout?

They appeared to have it all figured out.

Meanwhile, I still felt stuck.

Despite taking a year off, I still wrestled with the identity I thought I’d rebuilt.

Which is why I’m writing this.

Not for validation but to contribute a perspective.

I am sharing what this past year has really been like for me in the hopes that it might normalize the slower, non-linear pace of healing for others.

Because if you feel stuck, frustrated, or like you’re taking too long, I want you to know:

Your timeline is valid, too.

The Reality of True Recovery

Just because you remove something from your life doesn’t mean you’ve built the skills to overcome them.

In other words, taking a break from work doesn’t mean you’ve learned to work better.

My sabbatical tricked me into thinking I was fully recovered, but in reality, I was just physically rested.

But physical recovery is only half the battle.

The real test came when I returned to work.

It’s one thing to step away from the stressors of your previous life.

It’s another to face them head-on with the new habits, boundaries, and ways of thinking you think you have.

Yes, my values shifted, and my body healed.

But when I was faced with similar temptations and situations as before, I realized the work wasn’t done.

Would I fall back into old patterns of overcommitting or saying “yes” out of fear?

Would I keep running away from challenges, avoiding decisions that felt too heavy?

Or would I find the courage to confront these temptations and choose differently?

For me, I experienced all three:

I fell back into familiar patterns, said yes when I should’ve said no, and doubted myself more times than I’ve shared publically.

I also ran from problems, convincing myself I needed more time, more clarity, or more healing.

Yet, in the moments where I chose differently, I caught glimpses of what growth could look like.

But this is the reality of true recovery: it’s not linear.

You will spiral, but with every spiral, know that you’ll be spiraling higher.

The Pressure to Monetize

At the end of my “Why I Quit” video, I naively declared that I would help creators “feel good, do less, have fun, and earn enough.”

At the time, it sounded empowering, but in hindsight, it was premature.

I hadn’t even built that reality for myself yet.Years of conditioning taught me that every piece of content needed a call to action and that call to action had to lead somewhere: to an offer, a funnel, or a framework.

Even though I came back intending to be a “free agent,” having that freedom was terrifying.

I needed something to cling to, even if it was the familiar frameworks I had worked so hard to leave behind.

The discomfort of not knowing who I was or how to monetize just felt unbearable, especially for someone who used to have all the answers and all the frameworks.

Opportunities also poured in when I came back.

Over $200,000 worth of sponsorship deals landed on my plate, ranging from $5,000 to over $20,000 per video.

With the temptation of all this money, I said yes to all of them…

Despite my intention not to overwork like I did before,

Yet, I convinced myself it was different this time:But it’s a different niche!

But it’s a different revenue stream!

I can just make money making videos and don’t need to work with clients or sell courses!

But deep down, I knew the truth.I had chosen to fall back into old patterns, and it wasn’t long before the weight of these commitments and labels felt suffocating.

And so, I made the difficult decision to cancel every sponsorship.

I understand that this was a privileged decision, but it was a privilege that I had, and I used it.(See Video: “Last week, I canceled $200,000 worth of sponsorships. Here’s why.”)

I posted another video admitting the messy truth: my “I Quit” video was a lie, and I actually had no idea what I was doing.(See video: “Pivoting is hard, and this is how I really feel.”)

At the time, these decisions felt like failures.

But looking back, they were necessary steps to break free from the cycle of fear and external validation.

But even after taking these bold steps, the struggle wasn’t over.

The Struggle of Cognitive Dissonance

What people rarely talk about is the cognitive dissonance you feel when you return from a sabbatical.

Even as I made conscious choices to prioritize authenticity, I still found myself longing for the success I had before:

* Wow, I made so much money.

* I had a team.

* My videos had so many views.

* I spoke on stages and had so much drive.

At the same time, I also really admired post-sabbatical Vanessa:

* I feel so much more authentic.

* I’m so proud of myself for saying no!

* I work on my own schedule, and I love it!

* So happy there’s not as much pressure as before :)

In quiet moments, the guilt would also creep in:

* “You’re not doing enough.”

* “You used to be able to do this—why can’t you now?”

* “Your videos are flopping. You should post more. Why can’t you be consistent?”

* “Other creators are teaching simple businesses after burning out. Why don’t you?”

It was exhausting, like a mental tug-of-war between two versions of myself: The ambitious, high-achieving pre-sabbatical Vanessa and the reflective, self-aware post-sabbatical Vanessa.

But here’s what I came to realize:Cognitive dissonance isn’t a failure. It’s a natural part of the transformation.

When you’re evolving, your old self and your new self will clash.

You’re leaving behind what’s familiar and stepping into something unknown.

It’s uncomfortable, but it’s also necessary.

Over time, I stopped seeing my past and present selves as opposing forces.

Instead, I began to view them as chapters in the same story.

Each had its own lessons, strengths, and struggles, and both were vital in shaping who I am today.

Letting go of this internal battle wasn’t easy.

In fact, I think it was the hardest part this past year.

It required consistent journaling, examining family trauma, long conversations with trusted friends and mentors, and a lot of self-compassion.

Here’s something I want you to remember, something that helped me tremendously during this phase:

When you’re stepping into something new, your nervous system will try to protect you.

Don’t be surprised if you give up on a task halfway, or can’t physically bring yourself to do it.

The worst you can do is give up entirely.

Instead, allow your nervous system to build tolerance by taking it one day at a time.

Remind yourself to embrace this hard part of growth, and give yourself the grace to feel it all—the pride, the guilt, the nostalgia, the fear—and trust that it will lead to somewhere good.

Thinking Like an Investor

Another thing people don’t often talk about is money, and I understand why.

Looking back, I wish I had kept quieter about my earnings because talking about it so openly made it feel like my entire identity was tied to the numbers I was hitting.

So, when you burn your business down and those numbers drop dramatically...

Oh man, do you feel it.

Without the substantial monthly income I was used to, I felt broke—despite my net worth.

I stopped hiring a cleaner, downgraded my software, started to DIY everything, and even considered stopping mentorship to save money.

I remember a mentor of mine, Joe, saying to me:“I have a client who makes a fraction of what you do, invests twice as much in their growth, and never questions whether they have enough. Yet you, the multi-millionaire, still won’t hire a cleaner.”

This forced me to confront a harsh truth:

My scarcity mindset wasn’t about the actual numbers in my bank account.

It was about how I perceived money, success, and security.

Joe helped me recognize that I was thinking like an employee, conditioned to equate value with a monthly paycheck.

This short-term mindset was a key cause of my burnout. It constantly pushed me to chase immediate rewards rather than achieve long-term goals or fulfillment.

This mindset isn’t unique to me.

It’s the same one that explains why some founders still feel broke, even after exiting their businesses for millions of dollars.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

It doesn’t matter if you have $100,000, $1,000,000, or $10,000,000.

If you’re always measuring your worth by what’s coming in, you’ll never feel like you have enough.

To break this cycle, I made a conscious effort to think like an investor:

* Shift to the Big Picture: I stopped focusing on immediate cash flow or immediate results and started asking myself, What seeds am I planting today that will yield exponential returns 5 years from now? This bigger-picture thinking has helped me decide whether to say yes or no to opportunities.

It has also reduced the pressure to post on social media just to prove to people that I’m making progress.

* Reevaluate the Value of Time: Even though I felt broke, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t starting over. I had built a successful and profitable business before, but I was treating myself like a struggling, penny-pinching solopreneur.By clinging to a scarcity mindset, I was undervaluing myself and the years of skills, experiences, and resources I had built over the years.I started to reinvest in things that added value, like hiring a cleaner again (lol), eventually rehiring my video editor (more on that later), and stopped asking how much something cost. Instead, I began asking myself how much time it would give back to me.

* Think Outside the Paycheck: Income doesn’t have to come solely from the business. Personal example: I rarely check my investments. It’s like it doesn’t exist. This habit has been great for long-term portfolio growth, but it’s been terrible for being financially aware of the bigger picture. For me, I only thought about monthly paycheck. Over time, I learned that wealth isn’t just about what’s actively earned. It’s also about what’s passively growing in the background, and sometimes, you need to calculate everything to remind yourself that you are indeed safe.

* Redefine “Enough”: I asked myself, What do I truly need to feel safe, inspired, and happy? The answer was less than I thought, and this clarity allowed me to let go of unnecessary pressures and distractions. It helped me set clearer boundaries, like saying no to opportunities that didn’t align with my values and freed me from the constant need to prove myself. I realized that “enough” isn’t a number. It’s a state of mind where your priorities and values guide your decisions, not fear or comparison.

* Trust the Unexpected Returns: Initially, I thought investing in a mentor was too expensive, especially since much of our work wasn’t directly tied to business. There was no immediate ROI—no offer creation, no clear path to monetization. Old Vanessa would have called it “a bunch of woo-woo s**t.”

But then, this mentor introduced me to someone interested in purchasing shares from a startup I had invested in years ago. That single deal paid for the mentorship many times over. It reminded me that abundance often shows up in unexpected ways, and even when the ROI isn’t immediately tangible, the ripples can be profound, similar to how internal growth eventually materializes into external success.

This journey wasn’t just about shifting my mindset.

It was about redefining my sense of security and abundance.

It’s a process I’m still working on, but one thing is clear:

When you think like an investor, you stop chasing immediate results and start building a lasting foundation.

Building Emotional Intimacy

Emotional intimacy wasn’t something I realized I lacked until my mentor, Joe, pointed it out.

It became clear that this gap in my emotional capacity was not only personal but deeply intertwined with my work.

It’s why I avoided working 1:1 with clients or starting anything too intimate. The thought of holding space for someone felt draining, and as my platform grew, as trolls grew, and as above-average-demanding clients grew, so did my avoidance. This is why selling courses, speaking on stages, and broadcasting through YouTube or newsletters allowed me to maintain distance, stay in control, and not get hurt.

But this control came at a cost. My fear of showing up as I was—imperfect, vulnerable, and someone who doesn’t actually have all the answers—led to overpreparing for every interaction, which only amplified my exhaustion and contributed to burnout.

I couldn’t do client calls without prepping a 30-page slide deck.

I couldn’t do podcast interviews without spending weeks preparing.

I couldn’t launch anything without feeling like I had to give everything to everyone.

Joe helped me confront the roots of these struggles: my family dynamics.

Our sessions often circled back to my mom, dad, and brother.

We unpacked the weight of my parent’s divorce, the unspoken pressures I felt to provide, and the expectations I carried without questioning where they even came from.

One particular moment stands out:

My mom once asked me to take my brother out for coffee because he was going through something.

My brother and I have always had a fun, lighthearted relationship.

Serious, emotional conversations were foreign to us. The idea of calling him—let alone going on a 1:1 coffee date—felt awkward, so I texted him instead.

That hesitation hit me hard:

If I couldn’t hold space for my own brother, how could I do so for others? And if I couldn’t navigate vulnerability with loved ones, how could I create meaningful relationships in my work?

Joe reminded me that our parents are our first examples of how relationships work. If those patterns remain unexamined, they silently influence everything—from how we connect with others to how we view ourselves.

My relationship with my dad became a testing ground for this work.

In a gesture unimaginable to my 17-year-old self, I *very awkwardly* asked my brother to collaborate with me and fill out a book called A Whole Book Of The Things I Love About My Dad:

We gave it to him for Father’s Day, and he told us it was the best gift he’d received in 30 years.

This simple $20 gift shifted the dynamics in my family, and for the first time, I allowed my dad to experience the best version of me.

Since then, I’ve noticed my dad becoming more open, and even my brother has started to show more vulnerability.

This was the beginning of learning how to hold space.

Not just for others, but also for myself.

By traditional metrics, this past year might not look like my most productive. But for me, it holds one of the greatest achievements of my life:

Forgiving my Dad.

This work was harder than any project or launch, yet infinitely more fulfilling.

Honoring the Artist

One of the unexpected challenges I faced was a deep fear of systems and scaling.

I associated having a team and structured systems with losing control, an irony that isn’t lost on me.

This fear stemmed from my experience with The Bossgram Academy.

What started as a beta program in 2019 unexpectedly became my entire business model for four years, even though I had long outgrown it.

The thought of repeating that cycle again left me terrified that any commitment would define me in ways I didn’t want.

At that point, I felt stripped of my creative integrity.

I needed to reconnect with myself as an artist, and this became even more clear after reading The Creative Act by Rick Rubin and working through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.

These two books reminded me of the importance of honoring creativity for its own sake, free from external pressures or expectations.

I turned down all my brand deals to create a blank canvas for myself.

I even let go of my beloved video editor—a decision that wasn’t easy.

The truth was, I constantly felt guilty for over-promising and under-delivering, leaving her waiting for new videos I didn’t always have the energy or the clarity to produce.

The pressure to create just to ensure she had work to do was draining, and I knew it wasn’t fair to either of us.

So, after years of working together, I referred her to other creators.

For the first time in years, I felt free.

Free to post whatever I wanted, edit my videos, and create at my own pace. No one was waiting for me, and I loved it.

This period of creative exploration helped me heal my relationship with creating.

I rediscovered my love for writing, filming, editing, and sharing, and it filled a void that had been missing for years.

Slowly, my confidence grew and filming no longer felt as daunting.

In fact, I started looking forward to it again.

By November, I felt ready to make my first public commitment: a six-part YouTube series.

For someone who often talks about not wanting to fit into a niche, a structured series about YouTube might seem counterintuitive.

The reality is that my most popular videos have always been about YouTube and Instagram.

And when I looked back on those viral videos—which are often people’s first impression of me—I couldn’t help but cringe.

The tactics, the presentation… none of it reflected the person I am today or the values I hold now.

So, this series wasn’t about pleasing others, optimizing for performance, or selling a course.

It was a personal project to share my knowledge generously, give away everything that could’ve been in a paid course, and finally rid myself of the “ick” I felt about my past content.

Honoring the artist means creating for the sake of the craft, not for external validation.

Through this process, I learned that when you prioritize creative integrity, you rediscover not only your work but yourself.

Rebuilding, with Systems.

As I worked through creating my six-part YouTube series, I noticed a significant shift.

Every video I posted helped me in two key ways:

* It gave me a sense of accountability, and

* It reminded me of the value I could bring when I showed up consistently.

This clarity served as a wake-up call.

I realized I had so much to share, yet I lacked the capacity to fully execute my vision.

What had once been my dream—to work solo, on my terms, without answering to anyone—started to feel like a limitation rather than freedom.

Nurturing my artist side reignited my passion and drive, but it came in bursts.

My moments of greatness would be followed by silence, as I had no systems in place to sustain that momentum.

The truth became clear:

Passion alone wasn’t enough.

Without structure and support, even the most inspired work would fall short of its potential.

This realization also extended beyond my personal brand to Superboba, the milk tea company I co-founded with my fiancé, Leon.

It felt like I was doing everything yet accomplishing nothing at the same time.

Neither my personal brand nor Superboba was reaching the potential I knew they were capable of.

And so, for the first time, my fear of hiring naturally disappeared.

I wasn’t hiring because of external pressure, like being in a mastermind where everyone told me I needed a team to be successful.

I was hiring from a place of passion.

I had a vision to execute, lessons to share, an awesome milk tea I love drinking every morning, and a drive to be consistent—and I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t do it alone.

Slowly but surely, I started to trust again.

I rehired my video editor, brought on another editor for Superboba, and I’ve started to rebuild systems to support the things I care about most.

While it took nearly a year to do this, I realized I needed to experience each phase—including the freedom of no systems—to finally arrive at a place where I’m no longer driven by the push of external forces but by the natural pull of inspiration and purpose.

Looking Ahead to 2025

When I saw a friend repost the above quote on her stories, it hit me hard.

In fact, the photo you see above is my vision board for 2025.

For the last two years—one spent on sabbatical, the other navigating my return to work—I lived what the TikTok girlies would say, a soft life.

And I loved every second of it… until I didn’t.

This isn’t to say I miss the hustle.

That hustle, the one that consumed my life, was toxic.

But I do miss the thrill of working toward something meaningful.I miss the spark that comes from creating something I’m deeply proud of.

For me, it took two years to feel that jump-out-of-bed spark again.For others, it might take less—or more.

If you’ve made it this far, I hope glimpses of my story remind you that rediscovering motivation after burnout isn’t a linear process.

It’s not something you can rush or neatly wrap up in a single chapter.

It takes time—years, not months.

So don’t let social media convince you that your timeline is “too long” or your progress is “too slow.”

Healing takes time. Purpose takes time.

One of the most pivotal moments in this journey was during my trip to Hong Kong when I interviewed my 94-year-old grandpa.

I asked him about his life, his hopes for me, and the principles that guided him.

Until then, I had no idea about the depth of his story.

I didn’t know he had built a thriving business despite never having an education or knowing how to read.

I didn’t know he had witnessed his father’s murder at 17 or fled to Hong Kong by clinging to the top of a train.

I didn’t know he had raised seven children, paving the way for nine grandchildren—including me.

Learning about his resilience and sacrifices gave me a profound sense of connection to his legacy.

It also reminded me that building something meaningful takes time, grit, and a deep sense of purpose.

His story ignited something in me:

I still have so much more to contribute.

So, if you’re still in the middle of figuring it all out, give yourself grace.

The journey to rediscovering your spark might take longer than you expect, but when it comes, it’ll be worth it.

Purpose isn’t found in the rush, force, or fearful hustle.

It’s found when you slow down, reflect, and have patience.

When you’re ready, that spark will pull you forward—not out of force, but out of something deeper.

And when it does, you’ll know: you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Wishing you a happy new year,Vanessa