Dear 25-Year-Old Me,

I see you.

It’s another Tuesday night, and you’re sitting in that gray cubicle under buzzing fluorescent lights. The hum from the AC blends with the soft clack of your keyboard, but your mind isn’t on the spreadsheet in front of you.

You keep glancing at the clock in the corner of your screen. It’s 8:47 PM. You still have two hours left on your shift, but your thoughts are already in the studio. The beat you’ve been working on has been looping in your head all day, and you can’t wait to lay down that verse.

Your phone sits face down next to the keyboard. You haven’t checked it in hours because you already know: no new messages from the venues you emailed last week, no replies to the music videos you sent out.

When you finally clock out and head to the studio, you’ll be running on fumes. The gas tank is almost empty. So is your wallet. You’ve got $20 left until Friday, but you’d rather buy two hours of recording time than groceries.

You’ll stay there until 3 AM, editing and mixing until your ears ring. Then you’ll grab two hours of sleep before dragging yourself back to that cubicle.

And through it all, one question will hang in your chest like a weight:

"What if I’m wasting my life on something that’s never going to work?"

Here’s the truth you can’t see yet: you’re not wasting anything. Every tired night, every long shift, every silent release with 12 views—it’s all shaping you into someone who can’t be broken.

Flashback Scene – The First Show You Couldn’t Book
It’s 2002. You’re standing outside a club, clutching a burned CD of your latest track. The owner listens for 20 seconds before shaking his head. “We’re not booking hip-hop right now.” You walk away with your jaw tight, swearing you’ll find a way in. You don’t know it yet, but this moment is the first spark that will make you fight for independence years later.

Section 2 – The Losses You Can’t Prepare For

I wish I could tell you this dream won’t cost you much. But the truth? It’ll cost more than you think.

You’ll lose people. Some will walk away because they can’t see the point of your grind. Others will disappear because they don’t believe in it. And a few will leave because it’s easier than watching you struggle.

You’ll lose money—more than once. Every extra dollar you earn will go into gear, production costs, and promotion. You’ll skip vacations, skip parties, and skip meals so your projects can exist.

You’ll face layoffs—times when you’re holding your last paycheck, trying to stretch it far enough to cover the mortgage and the next video shoot. Nights when the silence in the house feels so loud, it drowns out your thoughts.

And the hardest loss? Time.
Time with friends, time with family, time with your kids when they’re small—because you’re out working to build something you hope will matter.

You’ll sit in empty parking lots after long shifts, staring at your hands, wondering if they’ve built anything worth keeping.

But here’s what you won’t see in those moments: every loss is an investment, one that will pay out in ways you can’t yet measure.

Flashback Scene – The Overtime Camera Purchase
It’s a Saturday night in 2006. You’re on your third 16-hour shift in a row, running on bad coffee and vending machine snacks. Your coworkers are complaining about being stuck at work, but you’re thinking about the camera you’ve been eyeing for months. When that overtime check hits, you buy it without hesitation. Holding it for the first time feels like holding a key to a future you’re still figuring out.

Section 3 – From Failure to Ownership

There’s a day in your future when you’ll release a short film called Knuckles.

You’ll believe it’s the one—the project that will finally make people pay attention. You’ll stay up for days editing, building songs around it, creating promo clips, writing captions. You’ll spend more than you should to get it out there.

And then… nothing.

The views will barely move. The feedback will be minimal. You’ll feel that hollow ache in your chest that says, “Maybe this isn’t for me.”

But instead of quitting, you’ll make a different choice. You’ll stop asking other people’s platforms for permission to matter. You’ll take control.

You’ll build KayatickStyles.com—a streaming home for your stories, your voice, and your people. No gatekeepers. No algorithms deciding whether your work gets seen. Just you, your vision, and the audience you’ve been fighting to reach.

And it won’t just be a website. It’ll be proof that you can take ownership of your work, that you don’t need the middlemen. It’ll be a place where your art lives without compromise.

Owning your platform won’t make the grind easier. You’ll still juggle 12-hour shifts, parenting, and production. But for the first time, you’ll know that every drop of sweat, every dollar, every sacrifice—it’s all going into something that belongs to you.

Flashback Scene – Your Daughter’s First Reaction
It’s 2019. You’re at your desk, KayatickStyles.com pulled up on the screen, testing a video stream. Your daughter wanders over, leans against your chair, and asks, “Is this your TV channel?” You nod, smiling. She shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world—and in that moment, it hits you: you’re building something she’ll grow up thinking was always there.

Section 4 – What I Need You to Know

If I could stand in front of you right now, I’d tell you this:

Your low view counts won’t define you. They’ll teach you to stand on your work without begging for approval.

Your failures will point the way. Each one will push you closer to independence.

Your grind will inspire more people than you realize. Even when it feels invisible, your persistence will give someone else permission to keep going.

You’re not just building for yourself.
You’re building for your kids—your daughter who will watch you show up, day after day, no matter the obstacles. Your son who will understand what it means to create something from nothing.

You’re building for the ones who come after you, who’ll inherit more than property or a bank account. They’ll inherit proof—proof that you refused to fold when folding would have been easy.

The seeds you’re planting now won’t bloom for years. But when they do, the harvest will be bigger than anything you can imagine.

Flashback Scene – The Empty Venue
It’s 2005. You show up for a local performance. The flyer said doors open at 8, but by 9:30 there are only three people in the crowd. You still get on stage. You still perform like it’s a packed house. And you walk away with the knowledge that you’re not in this for applause—you’re in it because you can’t imagine doing anything else.

Watch the Full Story on YouTube

🎥 Letter to My Younger Self
🎥 Why I Never Quit (Even When It Felt Hopeless)

🔥 Join the Movement

Stream Original Content: KayatickStyles.com

Follow on YouTube: @KayatickStyles

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📌 Next in This Series: The Cost of Building Your Own Platform – the unfiltered truth about the sacrifices no one sees, the toll it takes, and why it’s still worth it every time.