Sometimes I forget.
I forget why I do what I do.
I think we all find ourselves in that place from time to time. For me, though, it's been a journey of discovering my why, losing it, and eventually finding it again in a completely different way.
When I first started Hudson House, I had big dreams. I am a dreamer by nature, and when a big idea grabs hold of me, I launch myself headlong into the abyss and hope something sticks.
I wish you could have seen me in those early days. I had charts, diagrams, lists, and giant pieces of scrap cardboard covered in scribbled ideas. It was absolute chaos...the fun kind. I dreamed so hard that, without realizing it, I wound up crippling myself even further.
For years, I was deeply career-driven. I chased success with everything I had. Looking back, I can see burnout quietly weaving itself into my story long before I knew what it was. I have always been the kind of person who shoots for the stars and hopes to land on the moon. If someone told me to jump, I'd ask how high. If someone handed me a project, it was never good enough...at least not by my standards.
Year after year, burnout arrived like clockwork.
At first, I brushed it off. I was tired. I had too much on my plate. I figured everyone had an annual crash.
Until one day my body decided it had had enough.
For those who know me, you know I am not someone who sits still. Yet there I was, struggling to do even the most basic things. My daily to-do list became painfully simple:
Eat something.
Drink some water.
Go for a short walk.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Burnout didn't just steal my energy...it stole my identity.
Eventually, I resigned from the career I had poured so much of myself into. And somehow, from that place of loss, Hudson House Creative Co. was born.
Sometimes I look back and laugh, thinking, "You're an idiot, Steph."
My soul was desperate for passion. For creativity. For something that gave my hands meaningful work. Something that offered purpose.
Something that made me feel like I still had worth.
If you've walked through burnout before, you probably know exactly what I mean.
The excitement of starting a business carried me for a while. But when the novelty faded, I faded with it.
In many ways, I still feel like I'm walking a long road back to myself.
The truth is, I never really gave myself permission to heal. I convinced myself that if I could just find my spark again, everything would be okay.
It took me far too long to realize that healing doesn't work like that.
There isn't a shortcut.
No burst of motivation magically repairs a burned-out mind. Recovery is slow. It's counselling. Rest. Boundaries. Self-care. Paying attention to your body before it starts screaming.
Instead of slowing down, I kept piling more onto my shoulders.
I was trying to build a business I no longer had the energy to run.
Around that same time, I applied for funding to produce a video podcast...and somehow got it. It was an incredible opportunity, but it also demanded more of me than I had left to give.
Meanwhile, we were building a house.
I was walking away from a faith that no longer stood up to my questions.
Relationships were ending.
Identity after identity seemed to fall away.
Career.
Faith.
Stability.
Even my own sense of self.
It felt like everything I had built my life around had collapsed.
Today, though, I find myself somewhere different.
Not finished.
Not fully healed.
But rebuilding.
First everything fell apart. Then came the long, exhausting work of clearing the rubble. I dragged my feet through much of it. I distracted myself whenever I could.
But eventually, a foundation began to emerge.
And with a foundation comes the courage to dream again.
Recently, I had the opportunity to create a recruitment video for a municipality.
Somewhere between the interviews, the conversations, and watching people light up as they talked about something they cared deeply about, I stumbled across my why.
I come alive when other people do.
And if I get to help create the space where they come alive...
Well, that's even better.
When the project was finished, they thanked me for helping them see the value of what they do.
What they didn't realize was they had done the very same thing for me.
They reminded me why I picked up a camera in the first place.
Purpose has a funny way of finding us.
For years, I tried to manufacture mine. I searched for it. Chased it. Tried to build it from scratch.
I never found it.
It found me.
Quietly.
Unexpectedly.
And exactly when I needed it most.
