You can build the life you dreamed of and still lose yourself inside it.

I thought I was building a business. Looking back, I was building a life I could hide in.

For the last six months, I’ve been asking myself the same three questions: Why am I starting this? Who is this for? Why am I sharing now? Every time I sat down to write, I’d end up asking myself those same questions over and over again in my head. I’d consume everyone else’s content trying to answer them, convinced I needed to know exactly what this newsletter would become before I could ever press publish. The funny thing is, I already knew. I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet, nor did I have the words for what I’m about to share with you.

Let’s start here. I love slow mornings; they’ve become a part of my daily non-negotiables. Every morning, I ease myself into the day with a light 10–20 minute stretch and meditation while I wait for my hot cinnamon oat matcha to cool. But this particular morning was different. I felt an overwhelming wave of emotion wash over me, almost like someone had gently shaken me awake. It wasn’t a new feeling. I’d felt this before. And it was one I’d experienced far too many times to ignore anymore. So I stopped what I was doing and decided to journal. It was then, all at once, that everything started pouring out of me as if I somehow knew exactly why I wanted to write. I felt it in my heart, a quiet calling. It was time to share my story, my experiences, and the observations I’d been quietly collecting over the years. It was time to step out from behind my own inner critic and the belief that I needed to know more, learn more, or become someone “better” before I allowed myself to share. Somewhere in those pages, I wrote a sentence that answered every question I’d been asking myself:

I’m not writing because I’ve healed. I’m writing because hiding no longer feels possible.

My soul is on fire, my throat is scratchy, and my hands are trembling as I type these words because I can’t believe this is finally it.

It took me a long time to understand why these stories kept asking to be written. For years, I thought they were just mine. Memories tucked away in journals. Observations I’d quietly collect and never share. Lessons I thought I needed to fully understand before I had any right to speak about them. But somewhere over the last six months, something shifted. I realized the stories I’ve been carrying were never just about me. Every experience, every observation, every lesson has slowly become a mirror—one that has helped me understand myself more deeply, and one that I hope helps you understand yourself, too.

That’s why I’m sharing my journey now.

Not because I’ve finally figured life out, healed every wound, or suddenly woke up with the confidence to share. I’m writing now because I finally understand why these stories have been asking to be told in the first place.

This newsletter is for the person who’s trying to find their way back to themselves. The person who’s built a life that looks successful from the outside but quietly wonders why they don’t want what they once dreamed of. The person who’s exhausted from performing a version of themselves because somewhere along the way, they started believing they had to. If that’s you, I’ve been thinking about you for a long time. No, really, I have. I just haven’t had the right place to write to you until now.

I’ve spent years trying to outrun parts of my own story. Whenever I opened up about what I’d been through, I’d hear things like, “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” or, “You should have never had to go through that.” And if I’m being honest, I think those comments, along with many others, are exactly what kept me from sharing my truth for so long. I didn’t want to be known for what happened to me. I wanted to be known for who I am.

Now, you may or may not know this about me, but I’m a founder, entrepreneur, and single mom just living what probably looks like a pretty normal life. Well... that’s how I’ve made it look from the outside anyway. My social media had always revolved around my business, LRA Design Studio. I convinced myself that this was how I could share what I loved without actually showing my face or speaking to the camera. Which is so wild for so many reasons—reasons I only came to understand a few months ago.

I’d been hiding behind LRA, which stands for Lyndsey Renee Ajster—my name.

If you know me in real life, you know I’m outgoing, spontaneous, fun, your biggest cheerleader, and your best friend. I love being around community, family, friends, clients... people. I long for depth and conversations that are anything but surface level. Not because I think I have all the answers or because I want to be the loudest person in the room (which is quite the opposite), but because I’ve always believed one honest conversation can change the way someone sees themselves. It can make someone smile, laugh, recognize a part of themselves, or simply remind them they aren’t alone.

So I found myself asking the same question again...

Why wasn’t I fully showing up as my authentic self online?

For a long time, I thought I was. Truly, I thought I had come out of my shell because I was doing all the “right” things… posting consistently, showing my face, talking on camera, using hooks, trending sounds, clear CTAs, posting stories every day... you get the picture. But if I’m being honest, it never felt quite right. It didn’t give me energy. It left me feeling exhausted, and worse, it felt performative. Like I was trying to keep up with what everyone else was doing instead of simply expressing who I actually was.

Then one day, I woke up with this undeniable pull to change every social media handle back to my own name: Lyndsey Ajster. I sat with the thought for a while because it wasn’t new. It had come through before, but every time I let it fade away. Out of sight, out of mind... (Side note: where did I even pick that saying up? Honestly, it might be the worst advice I’ve ever followed.) But this time was different. It wouldn’t leave me. For about a week, I sat with it. I started thinking about my future, my goals, and the dreams I’d been working toward for years. And what I realized was that the dreams I’d once been so attached to no longer felt like mine.

I was chasing someone else’s dream while quietly trying to prove I was worthy of it.

Yep... you guessed it.

My worth had become directly tied to my business, which meant every ounce of spare time I had, every bit of energy, and every decision I made was dedicated to growing my design agency. Some people might say that’s just what entrepreneurship requires, and to an extent, I agree. But once I started paying attention to where my energy was actually going, what genuinely lit me up and what didn’t, I had to admit something I’d never said out loud before.

I hated doing almost eighty percent of the work I was offering.

Yep. (My inner voice: I can’t believe you’re publishing this)

That’s the first time I’ve ever shared that thought.

So why was I still doing it? For the success. The recognition. The credibility.

Because somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself those things would finally make me feel like enough.

Every win immediately became another goal to chase. I can remember hitting milestones I’d once dreamed about and hiding them from everyone around me because I didn’t want to look like I was “too much.” And truthfully, because deep down it still didn’t feel like enough. I wasn’t where I wanted to be yet, so instead of celebrating the wins, I just kept moving the finish line.

Looking back, I can see my subconscious—and my ego—were completely running the show. I was on a hamster wheel, running as fast as I could but never actually getting anywhere. I was working most weekends, saying yes to every opportunity, people-pleasing without even realizing it, sacrificing my own health, and, at the time, even my relationship with my son.

At that point, we didn’t have the relationship we have today, and I take full responsibility for that. I was a single mom, running a business, scaling, managing a team, carrying a full roster of clients, while still doing the day-to-day admin, design, and strategy work myself. Oh yeah... and somehow “showing up” on social media while trying to be the best mom I could be. I genuinely believed I could do it all (because everyone I “saw” on social media was doing it so who was I to say it was to hard? No that would make me weak, so I kept going. I thought if I just pushed a little harder, worked a little longer, and made it through the next launch, the next client, or the next milestone, then it would finally pay off. Then I’d be able to rest. Relax. Live the life I’d been working so hard to build.

Welp... Spoiler alert.

That day never came.

Instead, my body eventually gave out.

I suffered from chronic tension migraines for over eight months straight, from the end of 2024 through most of 2025. And yes, I was still working fifty-plus hours a week, still trying to do all the things, still convincing myself I was okay (while lying in bed unable to function irl). Until one day, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was mentally, physically, and emotionally burnt out. My health was suffering to the point that I was afraid to leave the house. My friendships were suffering. My relationship with my son was suffering. And somewhere along the way, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. Looking back now, I catch myself wondering... who put these beliefs in my head that if I stopped working, I wouldn’t be worthy of the life I wanted. I wouldn’t amount to anything. My value is directly tied to how much I produced. I don’t know where any of it came from, but I know I’ve carried them for way too long, and it was time to let them go.

That’s really when I decided to go all in on finding myself. The more I thought about what I wanted—what I dreamed of as a child—there was nothing. Blank. Just static. I couldn’t remember my dreams, and that scared me more than anything. You know the question people ask when you’re little: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Or, “If someone handed you a million dollars, what would you do with it?” I couldn’t answer either of them.

So I stopped asking myself what I wanted to do and started asking:

What kind of life do I actually want to live?

That’s the question that changed everything.

Who was I without LRA? What else could I do if I walked away from the life I’d once dreamed of? My six-figure business. My only source of income. Would I be a failure? How could I heal my body enough to feel alive again? To have vitality again? To actually live? I mean... really live, beyond the agency I’d built.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I’d spent years building a life without ever stopping to ask myself whether it was still the life I wanted. Somehow, I never really knew the real me—and once I did, it changed everything.

It wasn’t until I uncovered my truth that everything started making sense. I wasn’t hiding behind my business. I was hiding behind performance. From a young age, I learned how to figure things out on my own because survival demanded it. I didn’t want people to find out what had happened to me, or know how I was really feeling. I didn’t want them to think less of me, question me, or see me differently, so I kept everything the only way I knew how: by controlling the outcome and suppressing my emotions. By making sure people only saw the parts of me I was comfortable showing them.

That was the mask I’d worn for most of my life. It quietly followed me through everything.

Through becoming a mom at twenty. Through surviving cancer at twenty-four. Through becoming an entrepreneur at twenty-six. Through every goal I thought would finally make me feel worthy. Through proving myself over and over again... although if you asked me who I was trying to prove myself to, I honestly couldn’t tell you. The mask I wore always looked composed. Capable. Strong. Successful. Confident. Those are the words I heard all the time. But underneath it all, I was tired of trying to hold everything together all the time.

It wasn’t until I took my healing journey seriously that the mask finally came off. And once it did, I knew I could never put it back on.

The woman I am today is not the woman I was a year ago. She’s softer. She’s more honest. She’s more present. She trusts herself in ways she never used to. She no longer measures her worth by how productive she can be or how much she can accomplish. She isn’t trying to earn love, belonging, or success by constantly proving herself. And for the first time in a very long time, she feels like herself.

Now I’m giving myself her voice back.

I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or promise you a strategy that’s magically going to heal you, help you scale your business, or give you all the answers. Truthfully, I don’t have them. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I’m still finding my way, just like you probably are.

So the reason behind all of this... why I’m writing on Substack... is because I feel this deep calling to share my life experiences, the obstacles I’ve overcome, the observations I’ve gathered, the lessons I’ve learned, and the thoughts that come to me through what some people call an inner knowing. The kind of thoughts that stop me in my tracks. The ones that bring me to tears because they feel less like an idea and more like a remembering of who I’ve always been. The ones my intuition keeps whispering—and sometimes shouting—“You need to share this.” I’ve ignored that voice for years because I thought my stories weren’t important enough, or that people only wanted to hear about the positive things in life, business, branding, and strategy. But the more I’ve listened to myself, the more I’ve realized the things that light me up have very little to do with LRA (the design agency).

They have everything to do with being human.

My hope is that through my stories, you’ll see pieces of yourself. That you’ll know you’re not alone. That maybe something I write helps you pause long enough to hear your own inner voice a little more clearly. Maybe it opens your eyes to a different way of thinking. Maybe it helps you understand yourself just a little more deeply. Or maybe it simply reminds you of who you’ve been all along, underneath all the roles you’ve played, the expectations you’ve carried, and the version of yourself you’ve felt like you had to become.

I joke that I’m a “writer by calling” in my bio. But if I’m being honest… Being a writer didn’t happen by accident. It called to me.

For years, I thought writing was just something I did for myself. Something that belonged inside journals where no one else would ever read. Looking back, I think every journal entry was quietly preparing me for this moment. Every observation. Every question. Every season that brought me to my knees. Every time I chose to push on and not give up. It was all leading me here, even when I couldn’t see it.

I don’t know exactly where this newsletter will lead, and honestly, I don’t think I need to anymore.

For so long, I believed I needed to have everything figured out before I was allowed to share my voice. That I needed more experience, more credentials, more certainty, or some kind of permission before my story was worth telling. But the more I’ve come home to myself, the more I’ve realized that the stories we’re most afraid to tell are often the ones someone else needs to hear the most. So I’m done waiting. I’m done believing I have to earn the right to tell my story. I’m done hiding behind the life I built because it felt safer than letting people know the woman behind it.

The woman writing these words is no longer willing to hide behind the life she built.

My hope is that somewhere in my story, you recognize a part of your own—and give yourself permission to question the parts of your life that no longer feel like you.

P.S. If you made it all the way to the end, I’d genuinely love to know what brought you here. Was it curiosity? A season of change? Burnout? Or maybe you simply found this at exactly the right moment. Whatever it was, thank you for letting my words into your life. It means more than you know.