I Had to Uninstall My Old Self
She outgrew the brand, buried the girlboss, and rewrote the code. This wasn’t burnout — it was a system override.
It didn’t happen all at once.
There was no meltdown. No dramatic epiphany.
Just a slow, quiet realization that the version of me running the show…
was glitching.
She was good — brilliant, even.
She had built entire brands from scratch. Led teams. Delivered results. Danced the algorithm. Outworked the clock.
But she was running on an outdated operating system.
The kind built in survival mode.
The kind programmed by childhood accolades and adult expectations.
The kind that rewarded burnout and called it ambition.
I kept thinking if I just optimized harder — new strategy, new funnel, new notebook — I’d feel better.
But the truth was: I wasn’t out of alignment.
I was out of identity.
I used to wear my exhaustion like it was designer.
Slick. Polished. Palatable.
I could package pain into pretty branding and call it productivity.
But underneath?
I was tired of being someone I no longer recognized —
someone whose power was always contingent on performance.
The world teaches women to be everything:
Soft but structured. Visionary but valuable. Magnetic but manageable.
We become expert shapeshifters —
until the code starts to crash.
And then?
We freeze.
We procrastinate.
We loop.
Not because we’re lazy.
But because deep down, we know:
The next level doesn’t come from doing more.
It comes from becoming someone else entirely.
I started whispering things I didn’t dare say out loud:
“I think I’ve outgrown the version of me that built this.”
“I don’t want to scale a business I secretly resent.”
“I’m allowed to want more than just sustainability — I want sovereignty.”
This wasn’t a rebrand.
This was a reckoning.
Uninstalling your old self isn’t glamorous.
It looks like silence. Doubt. Withdrawal.
It looks like staring at a Google Doc and realizing you don’t know how to sell yourself anymore because your soul won’t sign off on the strategy.
It looks like pausing the performance long enough to hear the quiet ache of your becoming.
What comes after that?
Stillness.
Softness.
And then… signal.
A new frequency.
One that doesn’t scream for attention — but commands it.
One that doesn’t chase — but magnetizes.
That’s the frequency I’m building Femme Tech from.
Not a place of constant productivity, but from clarity.
Not from launch pressure — but from energetic precision.
I’m not here to teach you how to do more.
I’m here to remind you that you’re not broken — your programming is just outdated.
And it’s time to uninstall what no longer serves the empire you're meant to lead.
🌀 If this landed for you… stay close.
The next post will show you what happened when I finally cleared the code.
But for now —
Ask yourself this:
What version of you is still running…
that your future self no longer needs?