Every Time I Start Climbing, I Slip

There’s a version of my life where I’m further ahead than this.

In that version, I built on the momentum I had two years ago. Or maybe four. I didn’t burn out, or get sick, or need to step back just as things were beginning to take shape. I kept going. I said yes to everything. I became a name people recognised. That version of me never had to start over — not really.

But I don’t live in that version. I live here, where every time I start climbing, I slip.

It’s not that I don’t work hard. When I’m on, I’m on.

I make things. I create things I’m proud of. I throw myself into projects and push past the point of exhaustion just to prove that I can. But then, without fail, something gives out. My energy. My mind. My body. A quiet collapse that doesn’t always look dramatic from the outside, but it flattens everything.

And once I’m down, I stay there longer than I want to.

By the time I get back up, it’s not just about continuing where I left off. It’s about rebuilding the momentum I lost. Relearning the systems I built. Re-explaining myself. Reintroducing myself. Hoping people are still watching. Hoping I’m still watching.

It feels like climbing a ladder where every third rung vanishes when I get close. I pause to catch my breath, and the world keeps moving. The clients keep booking someone else. The algorithm forgets me. My inbox rots. And I don’t blame anyone — it’s not their job to wait for me. But it makes me feel like no matter how much I care, how much I show up when I can, I’m never quite on time.

That’s the part that stings. Not the rest. Not the stillness. Not the breaks I need — I’ve learned not to feel guilty for needing them. What stings is that pausing means falling. In my industry. In this economy. In a world that rewards consistency more than it rewards quality.

Sometimes I think about what my career could look like if my energy was consistent. If my brain didn’t pull the handbrake when I’m just picking up speed. But that’s not my reality. 

So instead, I’m trying to find a rhythm inside the climb. 

I’m trying to believe that even if I stop, I’m not starting over.