Healing Over Hustling – The Reset
I had been trying to wrap my head around why it has been so hard to get out of this hole. How it seemed like no matter how hard I have been grinding, hustling, putting one foot in front of the other, up with the chickens and down with the crickets, I was getting no further along.
Wake up exhausted, go to bed exhausted. Can’t fully sleep because as soon as I close my eyes my mind wakes me up, reminding me of all the many things I have undone, unfinished, stuff in limbo — and if not that, it is a phone call from a loved one or close one needing assistance or utilization of my resources, skill sets, or assets.
Ever be built for problem solving but be like, “God just hide me because I don’t want to solve not nan other problem?” That’s me. Exhausted from surviving… surviving the 12–16 hour day gig work grind.
As a creator and small business owner, I would judge myself by my measurable productivity until it became unrealistic and, in this meaning, poisonous to my holistic welfare. I know we throw around the word “toxic” so much in this postmodern world that it has lost its real qualitative value, but for me in this equation:
pp = tp
poisonous productivity = toxic productivity
Literally meaning killing myself by this unrealistic rubric I was living by.
If I am completely honest, I am still in recovery. Trying to relieve myself from guilt and shame of being so equipped with training, talents, and hidden treasures yet to be discovered, only to be in disastrous and chaotic need again.
How can I (still do help) have helped, aided, and come to the rescue of so many, and don’t know but one person outside of my household I can ask for twenty bucks? This has me in a grappling grasp on reality and the gravity of how this hurts.
I did the whole — asking for help — and it got me nothing, honestly. I am so very humbly grateful for those that extended me an olive branch many times from their tree of needs themselves.
Once I was so very excited to be chosen to take a major step for my businesses and my brands. I sought out the help from whom I thought were my supporters and graciously I was “gifted” the chance to make a difference in a cause I believe so deeply in. Some of those same supporters offered to continue support for new endeavors, but when I was completely transparent that I would use the support as a building block, it was met with resistance and no assistance.
Why am I being so transparent? Because I know I am not the only one suffering from hustle overload — working hard to make a difference for your family, the community you live in, all while building a legacy that is believable and can be built upon.
These keystrokes are offering me a leap pad toward my healing, toward a freedom of not being ashamed that my hustle is failing me — not because I am lazy, not because I do not care, not because I am living above or beneath the means I have in my possession, not because my dreams are unobtainable — but because the shift happened.
Last year, a dear friend helped me eat so many times without ever judging me. Not once made me feel small because I didn’t have it or asked embarrassing questions about how I can own a business and make sales but still can’t afford to feed myself.
So many times over the last two years in particular, my presence was required in spaces that, had I not shown up or been present and accounted for, the outcome for those connected to me would have been gravely disastrous. Being present in those moments saved lives, built bridges, healed hurt for those I had to stand in the gap for — but it also cost me leverage to build for current and future financial needs.
I am exhausted with not having enough.
I am exhausted with always being the one that gets called on but can’t call no one.
I am exhausted with having to choose between paying for one necessity and going without the other.
Something as simple as buying laundry soap versus paying my mobile phone bill should not cause me to cry myself to sleep.
How can I be facing being unhoused again, disconnections again, auctions again, zero mobility again, when all I ever do is fall asleep and wake up (outside fear of notices and lockouts) dreaming about ideas, drawing plans, and creating programming for those in need around me — but can’t climb out and stay out this hole again?
I am not broken, but my ability to pay attention to the things I know I am called to has shifted into exhaustion — from being scared that I will not have something I really need so I can continue to fight, create, and build on these thoughts, ideas, and plans that never died, even in the midst of facing immediate personal calamity.
What does it mean that I have nearly 25 months being the exact resource those around me needed, but no one sees or cares about what I need?
I am exhausted from struggling.
Struggling to continue to hustle.
Struggling to choose between bread or peanut butter to go on the bread.
Struggling to choose between gas or water (water won, of course).
Struggling to give when I have nothing left but the lint in my pocket.
Struggling because I am overworked and undersupported — and those words fall off my lips easily, but they only scratch the surface.
I believe in this movement.
I believe in the momentum it will create.
I believe that this collection will give visualization to something bigger than this gray-haired grandmother.
When you read these words, I want you to hear my heart.
Hear my pain.
Hear my desire to break the chain of being ashamed and feeling guilty.
And when you wear one of these tees, I want you to hear my healing as people read the words.
They’re not just random words I threw on a tee to make another urban wear collection line for another money grab. It is the very existence of where I am as I penned these words, and it is the very needful springboard I want to use to share, find, and use my voice for others who can’t.
Join me as I divorce hustle culture and work on my healing over hustling.
These last two years have taught me that culture to nurture didn’t fail me — but hustle did. Better yet, my form of hustling did.
I see you all on the other side.
Love and Light,
Peace and Blessings,
Coach A
This may be my story to tell, but it’s our journey to share.
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