From 9-to-5 to Full-Time Blogger: Why I’m Betting On Myself (and My Blog)
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Hey Friend!
In this manifesto, I’m pulling back the curtain and inviting you inside the wild little adventure I’ve decided to say yes to: betting on myself — and my blog — for real this time. This post is all about how I got off track, why I thought a traditional job was the answer (spoiler: it wasn’t), how a batch of lemon blueberry mini loaves taught me more about dreams than any self-help book ever could, and why I’m choosing to go all-in on me. If you’ve ever wondered, “Am I crazy for wanting more?” — welcome. You’re in the right place.
Let’s set the scene: It’s late April, 2025. The pollen is thick, the rent is high, and I’m standing in my kitchen having an existential crisis over a bag of off-brand flour.
Life comes at you fast.
A month ago, if you had asked me what my plan was, I would’ve shrugged and said something about applying for project management jobs, or maybe getting serious about LinkedIn, or maybe, if I was feeling extra spicy, starting that cottage bakery idea I kept daydreaming about.
How did I end up so far from where I knew I wanted to be? Let’s rewind.
The Accidental Job Hunt That Changed Everything
Back in March, my family and I were facing a dilemma: Stay in the apartment we were tired of… or move to a better place that we hadn’t actually saved any money for.
Cue the internal screaming.
Out of necessity (and a tiny bit of last-minute panic), I decided, “I need to make more money. Like, yesterday.” Naturally, the first thought was, “Get a job, dummy.” You know, the safe route. The stable route. The one everybody pats you on the back for.
So, I dusted off the ol’ résumé and started looking for project management jobs. Even flirted with a few interviews. Turned down some second interviews because I realized halfway through, I do not want to sit in an office all day trying to care about quarterly reports.
That little voice that’s been riding shotgun my whole life whispered again:
You don’t really want a job. You want freedom.
But still, I kept looking at remote jobs, convincing myself maybe — just maybe — I'd find the “perfect” one that would pay me well, let me work in my pajamas, and not crush my soul.
(Plot twist: That job doesn’t exist. It’s called self-employment.)
The Lemon Blueberry Loaf Breakdown
Fast forward to this past weekend. I’m elbows-deep in my side hustle dreams, whipping up a batch of my “Taste Like Summer” lemon blueberry mini loaves for my cottage bakery, Sugar & Sable.
The first batch? Divine. The second batch? Hot, confusing mess.
Turns out, using different brands of flour and sugar actually matters. Who knew? (Spoiler: probably everyone but me.)
Standing there, staring at my sad little mini loaves, I had a lightning bolt moment:
**This is it. This is what building my dreams looks like. It’s messy. It’s experimental. It’s inconvenient. But it’s mine. **
Remembering What I Actually Want
Somewhere between trying to fix my mini loaf disaster and refreshing remote job listings, the real question hit me:
“When did I forget that I don’t actually want to work for anybody else?”
It’s not a new revelation. I’ve known for years that I’m built for entrepreneurship. Built for freedom. Built for big dreams that don’t fit neatly inside somebody’s HR policy.
But somehow — probably between rent stress, mom life, and a heavy dose of “be responsible” programming — I lost sight of that.
And that loss of sight? It cost me precious energy. Energy I could’ve been pouring into my blog, into my dreams, into myself.
The Real Reason I Pushed Blogging to the Side
Truthfully? It’s fear.
(And maybe a sprinkle of low-key impostor syndrome.)
I convinced myself that blogging wasn't really a way to make money. I mean, yeah, I knew people did it... but people with huge audiences. People with courses, coaching programs, affiliate deals up the wazoo.
Not people like me.
Not regular people with a tiny kitchen and a half-formed granola empire.
But you know what? That story doesn’t hold up anymore. Every success story you see? Started with a regular person who decided to bet on themselves before the world did.
If they can do it, why the hell not me?
The New (Old) Plan: Betting On Myself
So here we are. Full circle. I'm choosing to believe in myself again.
And here's what that looks like right now:
Building my blog like it’s the million-dollar business it will be — not like it’s a cute little hobby.
Showing up consistently, even when I feel like nobody’s watching (yet).
Creating products, courses, and digital goodies that I actually believe in (and that help Black women build soft, sovereign, joy-soaked lives).
Treating myself like the CEO — not the intern.
Tracking everything — income, expenses, website traffic, new ideas. Being intentional and visible in my own growth.
Building a community, not just an audience. A sisterhood of Black women betting on themselves alongside me.
Facing my fears, because they’re not going anywhere. (But they don’t get to drive the car.)
Fear, But Make It Fashion
I’m not going to sit here and lie to you: I’m scared.
I’m scared it won’t work.
I’m scared nobody will care.
I’m scared of putting in all this work and still feeling like I’m shouting into the void.
But here’s the thing: staying scared and not doing the work guarantees failure.
Trying — messy, public, imperfect trying — at least gives me a shot.
Besides, if I fail? At least I’ll have a hell of a story.
(And probably some damn good mini loaves to comfort me.)
What Betting On Myself Really Means
It means walking into rooms — virtual and otherwise — like I deserve to be there.
It means writing blog posts when my inner critic is screaming, “Who do you think you are?”
It means creating with joy instead of constantly calculating ROI.
It means redefining success on my own terms — soft mornings, community wins, financial freedom, ancestral pride.
It means being okay with starting small — tiny, even — as long as I start.
The Invitation: Walk With Me
So here’s your official invite:
Come walk this journey with me.
Watch me build a soft empire from scratch.
Watch me figure it out (sometimes the hard way).
Watch me show up scared, messy, and still somehow magical.
If you’ve ever felt like maybe, just maybe, you were built for something bigger — this space is for you, too.
Sign up for my email list to get the real behind-the-scenes: the rituals, the mindset shifts, the funny (and slightly tragic) updates, the soulful reminders that soft life isn't just aesthetics — it's a revolution.
We're not waiting for permission anymore.
We’re building it, loaf by loaf, post by post.
Let’s bet on ourselves — and win.
Live Pleasurably,
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