Why I stopped posting on YouTube (and what comes next)

I’ve always dreamed of turning social media and YouTube into a career. My vision was to build a business through YouTube while doing filmmaking on the side. But somewhere along the way, that mindset drained my love for making videos. When you force yourself to monetize creativity, it can become exhausting. When views drop, frustration follows. When your channel struggles, self-doubt creeps in. Over time, burnout settles in.

Every now and then, I get a comment that reminds me I’m seen. There’s an audience for my work. It’s just visible at the time it’s meant to be.

Making YouTube my career took a toll on me. And I’ve seen it happen to so many others I follow—creators who simply stopped posting. The dream of quitting your job or finishing school to pursue YouTube full-time was once romantic. We’ve all watched the top 1% of YouTubers do it, living extravagant lives. But in chasing that dream, maybe we lost sight of what YouTube truly offered: a space to create, a space to be heard, a space to share what we love.

Starting my YouTube journey in 2014

Before YouTube became a serious part of my life, I had already been editing since 2006, making anime music videos and fanmade trailers. But it wasn’t until 2014 that I started filming myself.

At the time, I had just finished high school and was preparing for university. It was a season of reinvention. My high school years were shaped by alternative fashion and a small, curated group of friends who shared my energy.

Then, a school project forced me to face my biggest fear—being on camera. I hated it. I hated being filmed. I hated being seen. I struggled with self-image, and being on camera forced me to confront that. But something about the experience stuck with me. After that project, I challenged myself to pick up the camera on my own terms. I wanted to see myself, or more accurately, shape how I wanted to be seen.

Editing those first videos was cringeworthy—but also funny. And for the first time, I thought, “Maybe, with effort, I could actually like how I look on camera.”

Finding my niche and losing it

In 2014 and 2015, I created videos that reflected my interests—alternative fashion, anime, cosplay, conventions. I was inspired by creators like Drew Disaster and TheLovelyIfy—Black girls in alternative and kawaii fashion spaces. That world felt like home, and making videos about it felt effortless.

At the same time, I was in film school, training to become a film editor. YouTube was fun, but it wasn’t the career I was working toward. And yet, something shifted.

Over time, my interests changed. My style evolved. The things I loved didn’t define me anymore, and that terrified me. Who was I beyond my interests? Who was I when I wasn’t talking about fashion, anime, or conventions?

And as my self-discovery deepened, my views dropped. My old videos still pulled in AdSense revenue, but I felt disconnected from them. Trying to force content for the algorithm only made me miserable. Editing batches of videos became a chore. The fun was gone.

Burnout and stepping away

Since 2014, I had never gone a year without posting. But in 2021, I finally allowed myself to stop. And I’m glad I did.

I needed space to think. To separate my identity from my content. To figure out who I am when the camera is off. I know one thing for sure—I am a child of God. I believe in Jesus Christ. But beyond that, what defines me? Am I a filmmaker, a figure skater, a martial artist? I’ve built my career around these topics, but is that truly who I am?

Redefining my career and creativity

A dream career isn’t just doing what I love for fun. It’s doing what I’m called to do, what makes an impact.

Throughout history, God has equipped people like Abraham and Joseph with gifts that made them prosperous—not necessarily their hobbies, but their true purpose.

In my spare time, I love practicing poomsae in a dojang, figure skating in a crowded rink, cosplaying at conventions, and learning new languages. These hobbies challenge me, push me to grow. They are not my job, but they matter.

Learning to create for myself again

Despite everything, I still love making videos. Filmmaking is in my bones. When I close my eyes, I see frames coming together, music syncing perfectly, visuals aligning like a dream. The same feeling happens when I write blog posts—words and images forming a narrative.

But I have to separate creativity from career. That’s what broke my relationship with YouTube.

If I return to YouTube or TikTok, I need to create from a genuine place, without worrying about strategy. I need to be okay with 10 views and still be proud of what I make. Blogging has allowed me to experience that again—to write for myself, without pressure.

Healing my relationship with creating

The strategist in me says my content needs a niche. It needs a theme. It needs to be optimized. But the part of me that just wants to create says, “Do everything.” Make shuffle videos. Film Taekwondo progress clips. Capture my figure skating journey. Just create.

I want to return to my 12-year-old self who uploaded AMVs without a second thought. I want to create for the joy of it.

Why I’m not posting right now

What’s stopping me? It’s a huge commitment. I’m scared to be on camera again. I have controversial things that I want to say and there might be consequences that come with that.

But I’m working on it. I’m healing behind the scenes. And when I’m ready, I’ll just start. I won’t strategize. I’ll simply post. My first YouTube video on a new channel might be “God told me the exact year I would get married, and it happened”.

Let’s see, shall we? 🙂