The Cliff Was Bigger Than I Thought

March 20, 2025

I’ve been away from a standard working environment for four months.

Sounds like forever, right?

Shoot — I used to think one week away from work felt like a long time.

Four months?

Surely, I would’ve changed the world by now. Or at least traveled it. Started a few businesses. Something substantial.

Well, folks, I haven’t. And honestly, I’m still months away from being on the other side of this discovery.

Am I making a pretty drastic change? Yes — maybe more drastic than most.

But before my last day, I had several people tell me, “Expect it to take way longer than you think — at least six months.” I brushed it off. No. Freaking. Way.

First of all, I move fast and basically had it all figured out before I left (HA!). Plus, I couldn’t imagine going without an income for that long.

Two months. That’s all it would take.

Welp.

This process is taking way longer than I expected. And I say “process” like I fully understand it — I don’t.

I have no idea what comes next or how long it’s really going to take. But I do have a strong sense of what I should be working on right now, and the best I can do is approach it honestly and diligently.

I am working. Maybe not quite the same hours I was before, but definitely in a full-time capacity. (Side note: not tracking every hour of my day feels like a fresh haircut.)

I’m writing. I’m reading. I’m talking to people. I built a website — and, wow, that made my brain hurt. I create a new business model in my head every day.

When I say I have a new direction or idea, Marc now asks, “Will it change tomorrow?” Honestly… probably. But today, it’s the best idea I’ve had.

If I had to break the process down so far, it would go something like this:

1. Healing

I was tired. Burnt out. I needed eight weeks — I’ll repeat that: EIGHT WEEKS — for my brain and body to be capable of creativity or strategy again.

I had no idea how exhausted or mentally compromised I was. Adrenaline and cortisol are powerful drugs.

I spent this time sleeping, exercising, reading, and hanging out with my family.

2. Frantic Panic

I spent about a month just trying to figure out how to make money. I contorted what I really wanted to do into any form that could lead to a contract or engagement. I had four statements of work drafted. And my stress skyrocketed.

3. Reframe and Reset

I was struggling to sleep, my chest felt tight all the time. “Wait a second. This isn’t the purpose of this.”

I took a few days “off” and reconnected with what I’m really trying to achieve during this time — for me, that’s repositioning the back half of my career.

I gave myself permission: “You can go find another job right now. It could be challenging, fun, and take you out of this discomfort. But if you do that, you know another ten years will go by before you have this kind of space again.”

4. Committing

I turned down the contracts, made a true financial plan with Marc, and committed — fully — to exploring the pull toward helping athletes live fulfilling lives beyond their sport.

You can read more on the moment I made this decision here : Listening to the data: Why I'm Going All In

5. The Rollercoaster (Current Stage)

Committing doesn’t mean I have it it all figured out. I don’t.

I have no idea how I’m going to solve this problem or how I’ll make a living doing it. I have a new approach EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

And for someone who isn’t naturally a visionary, that’s exhausting.

But I do have weird clarity on what I should be working on right now:

Reconnecting with my own gymnastics story
Capturing the stories of other athletes, parents, and coaches
Applying to grad school (say whaaa?)
Connecting with industry leaders

I’ve found incredible mentorship from people who are helping anchor me during this chaos.

Some hours are good. Some are awful — hence, the rollercoaster phase.

I can’t tell you what’s on the other side of this or even how long these tasks will take. But on my best days, I feel confident. And on my worst days, I’m still hopeful that I’ll see the next step when I need to.

If you’re considering taking a sabbatical, and you feel overwhelmed by reading all of this — I get it. I really do.

I had to trick myself into thinking I was just taking a few months off in order to summon the courage to do it. Turns out the cliff is way bigger than I thought it was.

But even though I don’t yet know what will come of this, I can say with absolute certainty: the “what if” would haunt me if I chose a different path.

At the end of it all, at least I’ll know.

One final reflection:

Having Marc as part of this decision is, without a doubt, where 90% of my courage comes from. This isn’t my decision — it’s our decision. There’s no way I could take this risk without his support.

Also, having a detailed financial plan that meets both our current needs and future goals has given me boundaries and peace of mind. We have a clear date when we’ll reassess. So when I start to spiral, I anchor myself with this reminder: “No, this is the process. You have until X to explore, and you’ll pivot if you need to pivot.”

I'm using a single-source notebook and index cards (Thanks, Scott Covington!) to keep track of the ever-evolving direction. And, yes, this spot on the couch has become my primary office.