Failing and Learning

I thought this was my grand offer. Nobody bought it.

In October 2025, I had an idea for a program to help someone design and create their intentional life. It was robust. The program included every area of life, from home to relationships to tech to spirituality to personal style and more.

I’ve evaluated and curated each of these areas of my life over the last several years, and I wanted to teach how I did that. I wanted to help people who desire an intentional life actually create one. One specific to them. Not one that looks like mine, of course, but one that feels like theirs. I wanted to walk them through each area over the course of a year so that at the end of it, they would be living inside a life they had thoughtfully designed.

But talking about this program proved tougher than I realized it would. I spent the last six months talking about it, designing and re-designing the damn sales page, writing about it, sharing Instagram stories and posts about it, recording podcast episodes about it, and writing emails about it.

I wanted to help someone change their whole life. Perhaps that is too much. Even though I had it strategically planned and did my best to make it manageable, I can understand how reading about this program could’ve felt like a lot to take on.

And it was a lot for me to take on to market it. I don’t subscribe to most of the business advice we’re told is THE way, but I do understand why they tell you to focus on selling one outcome and speaking to the problem that you solve. Ugh. I wanted to speak to the DESIRE this time. I wanted to tell people what was possible for them and what their intentional life could look like if they took the time to create it.

I didn’t want to focus on telling them that they’re missing out on a life they could be living or that time is passing them by and now is when they should start because the longer they put it off, the longer they wait to experience the life they could be enjoying right now.

Nobody wants to be told their life could be better. It feels like they’re not enough or their life isn’t “there” yet and Instagram already has us feeling that way. I wasn’t trying to add fuel to an already fast-moving wildfire that we are excruciatingly aware of. We see every day that people have the lives we want. We scroll past their beautiful homes, their happy relationships, their sweet babies, their booming businesses, their adventurous travels, and we compare and despair enough. I didn’t want to add to that.

What I DID want to say is that you don’t have to keep scrolling and comparing, but instead, you could be creating. You could use the scenes you’re seeing as inspiration, as ideas for what’s possible, and you could sit with yourself and ask the question, “What do I want?”

Not what do I think I want, what should I want, what do other people want for me, what do I want?

I wanted to facilitate the asking of that question and I desired to hold the space for it to be answered over the year together alongside other women who were creating their intentional lives, too. But then nobody purchased my program.

I bumped the start date back again and again. I thought I needed more time to sell it. I thought I needed a better way to talk about it. I kept telling more of my story. I kept giving examples. And then I stopped. A week or two before the program was supposed to start, I did the opposite of what you should do in a launch. Instead of doubling down, sending more emails, and sharing more posts, I did less.

I kept asking myself why I did that. It was like I didn’t even want it to work. I decided it wasn’t working and then decided not to make it work. I was getting good feedback from friends and clients who had already worked with me, great open rates on my emails, and genuine responses, but no bites.

And then I sort of spiraled. I threw myself a bit of a pity party. I often say this to clients – throw the party. Blow up the balloons, have the cake, sit there and sulk. Then, wrap it up. Pop the balloons, throw away the cake, and let’s get back to it.

This is me getting back to it. Party’s over, bitch. We gotta decide what to do from here and act accordingly.

And that’s the part I’m kinda struggling with now. What DO I want to do now? Do I want to go back to talking about 1:1 coaching? Am I so embarrassed that this didn’t work that I don’t want to talk about anything because I feel like a fuckin’ idiot? Yes.

And yet, coaching makes me feel alive. I can’t not coach. When someone achieves something they came to me to accomplish, when they have a breakthrough, when they start believing in themselves, when they unlock one little block that has kept them from something they want, when they finally feel free to be themselves, I feel a feeling of fulfillment that nothing else gives me. I am designed to coach. And I know this because I’ve tried a zillion careers in the last decade and a half, and this is the only one I feel high on life while doing. I know people search for the kind of work that makes them come alive and I feel blessed to have found it, but pissed as hell that in order to do it, I have to market like a madwoman and sell people on themselves and FUCK.

So anyway, the launch of Your Intentional Year was a failure, but I learned a lot. Will I offer it again? Will I delete everything I spent months creating? Will I go back to 1:1 coaching? Will I only ever coach 1:1? Will I ever have a group? Is group coaching even for me? Am I supposed to scale? Hell if I know.

But one thing about me is that I’ll keep trying. If nothing else, I do resilience well.

Is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you that you can click here to work with me? Probably. Maybe I wrote all of this to learn that I gotta figure out how to like marketing more. Eye roll. Okay, fine.