Looking back, I realize I spent years confusing motion with progress. The endless hustle, the late-night "networking" sessions that were really just excuses to drink, the constant pivoting from one shiny opportunity to the next—I thought I was building an empire, but I was actually constructing a house of cards. It took losing everything multiple times, battling alcohol dependency, and finally hitting rock bottom to understand what real success actually looks like. This isn’t another feel-good transformation story; it’s a raw account of how accountability became my North Star and why sometimes you have to completely destroy your old self to build something authentic and lasting.
The Hustle Culture Trap That Nearly Destroyed Me
The dropshipping golden age felt like a drug, and I was completely hooked. Every morning I’d wake up to Shopify notifications, convinced I was living the digital nomad dream. Moving from country to country, laptop in hand, preaching the gospel of "location independence" while secretly drowning in the chaos I’d created. The money was coming in, sure, but so was the anxiety, the sleepless nights, and the growing dependence on alcohol to quiet the constant noise in my head.
What I didn’t realize then was that I was trapped in a cycle that hustle culture actively promotes: the belief that being busy equals being productive, that more projects equal more success, and that rest is for the weak. I jumped from dropshipping to NFTs to content management, always chasing the next big wave instead of building something sustainable. Each pivot felt like progress, but looking back, it was just another way to avoid dealing with the underlying issues—my inability to focus, my fear of commitment, and my complete lack of genuine accountability to myself or anyone else.
The breaking point came when I lost my third major account due to policy violations. Not because I was doing anything malicious, but because I was moving so fast and managing so many projects that I couldn’t keep track of the details that mattered. The same ADHD traits that made me great at spotting opportunities were making me terrible at executing them properly. I was like a person trying to fill a bucket with massive holes in the bottom—no matter how much water I poured in, it all leaked out.
The worst part wasn’t the financial losses or even the failed projects. It was the realization that I had no idea who I actually was beneath all the hustle. I’d become so addicted to the identity of being a "serial entrepreneur" that I’d lost touch with any authentic sense of purpose. Every setback sent me deeper into drinking, and every drinking session led to more poor decisions. I was caught in a downward spiral, using alcohol to cope with the stress of a lifestyle that was fundamentally unsustainable, all while telling myself I was "networking" and "building relationships."
Why Sobriety Became My Ultimate Business Strategy
Getting sober wasn’t a business decision—it was a survival decision. But five months in, I can honestly say it’s been the most powerful business strategy I’ve ever implemented. When you remove alcohol from the equation, you’re forced to face the uncomfortable truths you’ve been numbing. For me, that meant confronting the fact that most of my "networking" was just drinking with other people who were also avoiding their problems, and most of my "creative breakthroughs" were just impulsive decisions made under the influence.
The clarity that comes with sobriety is unlike anything I’d experienced in years. Suddenly, I could see the patterns that had been destroying my progress: the way I’d use alcohol to cope with ADHD overwhelm, how I’d make major business decisions while drunk, and how I’d consistently choose short-term dopamine hits over long-term strategic thinking. Without the constant fog of hangovers and the emotional rollercoaster of drinking, I could finally think clearly about what I actually wanted to build, not just what seemed exciting in the moment.
What surprised me most was how sobriety affected my relationship with social media and instant gratification. When you’re used to numbing discomfort with alcohol, you tend to numb all discomfort—including the productive discomfort that comes with deep work, difficult conversations, and long-term planning. Sober, I had to learn to sit with anxiety instead of scrolling it away, to face boredom instead of drinking it away, and to deal with failure instead of numbing it away. This forced me to develop actual coping mechanisms and emotional regulation skills.
The business implications were immediate and profound. My decision-making improved dramatically because I was no longer making choices through the lens of "what sounds good when I’m drunk" or "what will impress people at the next networking event." I started measuring success by different metrics—sustainability over speed, depth over breadth, authentic relationships over transactional connections. For the first time in years, I was building something based on genuine value creation rather than just chasing the next dopamine hit.
From Chasing Quick Wins to Building Real Impact
The shift from quick wins to real impact required completely rewiring how I thought about success. Instead of asking "How can I make money fast?" I started asking "How can I solve real problems for real people?" This fundamental change in questioning led me to examine my own journey and realize that my struggles with ADHD, social media addiction, and alcohol dependency weren’t unique—they were epidemic among entrepreneurs, especially in the digital space.
Building a coaching business focused on helping entrepreneurs understand the benefits of sobriety felt like the first authentic thing I’d done in years. Instead of trying to scale before I’d even validated the concept, I committed to going deep with individual clients, really understanding their challenges, and developing systems that could create lasting change. This meant saying no to opportunities that would have excited the old me—quick partnership deals, flashy collaborations, anything that prioritized growth over genuine impact.
The hardest part of this transition was learning to measure progress differently. In dropshipping, success was measured in daily revenue. In NFTs, it was about floor prices and volume. But in coaching, success is measured in client breakthroughs, sustained behavior change, and long-term transformation. These metrics require patience, consistency, and a level of accountability I’d never maintained before. I had to learn to find satisfaction in the slow, steady work of building trust and delivering real value.
What I’ve discovered is that real impact requires real vulnerability. I can’t help someone overcome social media addiction if I’m not honest about my own struggles with dopamine-driven behavior. I can’t guide someone through the benefits of sobriety if I’m not transparent about how alcohol nearly destroyed my business and my life. This level of authenticity was terrifying at first—it felt so much safer to hide behind the polished facade of "successful entrepreneur"—but it’s been the key to creating genuine connections and real results for my clients.
The entrepreneur I am today barely resembles the person I was eighteen months ago, and that’s exactly the point. Rock bottom wasn’t a detour from my path to success—it was the foundation I needed to build something real. Every failed project, every account ban, every morning I woke up hungover and full of regret was teaching me lessons I was too stubborn and too drunk to learn at the time. Now, five months sober and building something that actually matters, I understand that accountability isn’t just about tracking metrics or having someone check in on your goals. It’s about being brutally honest with yourself about what’s working, what isn’t, and what needs to change. If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in my story, know that hitting reset isn’t failure—it’s courage. And sometimes, the most successful thing you can do is admit that everything you’ve built so far isn’t taking you where you actually want to go.
Leave a Reply