The worst advice I ever got
Every yes was a breadcrumb
A mentor once told me to rein in my multi-passionate nature.
I understood why. On paper, my path may have looked scattered and unfocused. Event producer. Charity founder. Brand Ambassador. Sales Mentor. Clinical Hypnotherapist. Transformation Coach. Retreat host. Philanthropist. Legacy Architect. And now, as you read last week, retreat space founder.
That's a lot of hats.
But here's what that mentor missed: every single one of them was a breadcrumb. Not a detour. Not a distraction. A breadcrumb leading somewhere I couldn't have mapped in advance. Each one became a thread in the tapestry that made me who I am and made my purpose in the world undeniable.
Last week I talked about how it started with The Celestine Prophecy, that strange book from university that taught me nothing was random. I started saying yes differently after that. Yes to the past life regression that cracked my identity open. Yes to the hypnotherapist I met at a dive bar in Venice Beach, of all places, who took me somewhere even deeper. Yes to the career no one understood. Yes to getting on that plane. Yes. And with every yes, self-trust was brewed.
The path to success is strewn with a hundred nos
The hardest yes I ever said was to a network marketing business.
The people around me were skeptical at best, openly judgmental at worst. I said yes anyway, because I could see something in it that no one else seemed to see yet. The mentorship. The personal development baked in. The possibility.
What followed was years of nos. Rejection. Silence. I watched people I had personally brought into the business surpass me while I stayed stuck, trying to understand what I was missing.
It wasn't until a shake-up conversation with my mentor Linda that everything changed. She asked me something simple, but it landed hard: “have you actually been giving this everything you've got, consistently, for a prolonged period of time? Like you would any other business?”
The truth stung. I had been treating this differently than everything else I had ever built. I was waiting to feel ready. Waiting for proof before I gave it my full effort. Waiting to get there so I could finally feel happy, finally feel worthy.
The shift wasn't dramatic. It was a decision. A decision to stop waiting to feel good and to feel good first. To trust that if I led with joy and showed up with full belief, the results would follow. And to do the work, not constantly, but consistently, for as long as it took.
I realized that the self-discipline I exhibited in business was a mirror to the discipline I showed in every area of my life.
So I started waking up early. Reading personal development books. Moving my body every morning. Meditating. Writing gratitude lists before the day began. I did the small things, the ones that are as easy not to do as they are to do. I concentrated on working consistently instead of constantly. Building relationships and setting goals I knew I could hit. And I hit them. Every day.
Motivation got me started. Discipline kept me going.
Who I became in the process
Within three years, I was in the top one percent of that company. I accepted a global impact award in Las Vegas on the stage of the MGM Grand in front of 20,000 colleagues, with my mom by my side. I was coaching and mentoring thousands on the path to their personal goals. Travelling the world. Speaking on stages I once only dreamed of.
But that's not the part that changed my life.
What changed my life was who I became in the process. Because years later, even though I no longer operate that business, I still carry the disciplines I cultivated during that time.
The morning routine that made me feel like I had already won before the day had even started. The evening routine that let me close the day with intention instead of collapse. And then, as the burnout neared, the slow understanding that filling my own cup first wasn't selfish. It was the whole strategy. When I was resourced, everything I touched worked better.
Small actions, over time, compound in ways I could not predict. The ones that compounded most for me weren't the ones that looked impressive. They were the quiet ones. The ones no one saw.
And when nothing seemed to be moving, I learned to trust that everything was moving. That kind of discipline is less about force and more about faith.
That same approach is at work right now. Last week I shared the news about what we are building in Nosara, Costa Rica. This week, we broke ground on the first enhancements. We are choosing the sauna, the yoga gear, the sheets, all of the small details that turn a place into a sanctuary. It is early and exciting and a little bit terrifying in the best way. One brick at a time. One decision at a time. The same discipline that built everything that came before is now building a physical space to share with the world.
What self-discipline actually means
For a long time, I thought my hundred-hour weeks were discipline. That running on adrenaline was strength.
Looking back, so much of that was fear dressed up as a work ethic. Fear of slowing down. Fear of feeling like I wasn't worthy of the success I was achieving. Fear that if I stopped, I would be exposed as not enough. Achievement had become a painkiller.
What changed everything was realizing that discipline and self-pressure are not the same thing.
The discipline that healed me wasn't the kind that demanded more. It was the kind based in self-trust that taught me I could rely on myself. That I could make one small promise and keep it. Then another. Then another. Until it became my baseline.
Self-discipline is not about intensity. It is about repetition. Not perfection. Just the small, meaningful actions that support our body, our nervous system, our energy, and our growth. Done consistently. Done with devotion. Done when we don’t feel like doing it… especially when we don’t feel like doing it.
It was never about the destination. It was always about who I was becoming on the way there.
But the truth was, the moment I started putting myself first, my morning, my practice, my energy before anything or anyone else, not everyone clapped. The people most used to having access to me with no boundaries pushed back the hardest. That is not an accident. Because those who have the biggest issue with our boundaries are often the ones we need them with most.
More on that next week, in Chapter Four: Self-ish.
The Practice: Show up for yourself
Self-discipline is how self-trust becomes a way of life. Not through intensity. Through repetition. Through doing what you said you would, again and again, especially after the excitement wears off.
This is where you move from a single act of integrity to a life built on devotion.
1. Choose one to three nonnegotiables. Pick small daily actions that genuinely support your life. It could be water before coffee, ten minutes of movement, reading ten pages in a personal development book, a morning gratitude list, a daily walk, or your phone off by a certain hour. Keep it simple enough that you can actually sustain it.
2. Make your why bigger than your excuses. Before you begin, go deeper than the surface reason. How does this support your body, your peace, your energy, your becoming? Your mind always moves away from pain and towards pleasure. Discipline becomes sustainable when your reason for doing the thing is stronger than your reason not to.
3. Keep your word, especially when you don't feel like it. This is where self-trust and self-discipline meet. Anyone can act when they feel inspired. Discipline is built in the moments you don't feel like it and show up anyway. Not from pressure. From devotion.
4. Return quickly when you fall off. You will miss a day. That is not failure. The practice is not perfection. The practice is returning. Notice where you stepped away from yourself, and begin again. Immediately.
I'll see you next Friday for Chapter Four: Self-ish.