Ep. 20 - Mindset In The Margins: The Truth Behind Creative Growth

What happens when you keep building and no one sees it? This raw, solo episode is a cinematic deep-dive into the quiet chaos behind creative progress. From burnout and breakdowns to small wins and identity resets, Pratyush shares the truth behind the invisible work, the part of your journey that doesn’t get claps, likes, or viral moments… but changes everything.

If you’ve ever questioned your worth, paused your passion, or felt lost in the middle of your creative climb, this episode is your permission to continue. Quietly. Honestly. Unapologetically.

Whether you’re a designer, creator, founder, or just in the fog, this one’s for the ones still working in the shadows. Your story matters, even when it’s not seen.

About Pk:
Pratyush has been a designer for more than 6 years. He started creating content to share his knowledge and establish a connection between design and business. He believes that knowledge grows by sharing and he wants to do just that. He is in a journey to help fellow freelancers and content creators make a profitable career.

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Transcript

Hey. You're listening to mindset in the margins, a soft space within the underdog protagonist. Today, I want to talk to you about something nobody really claps for the invisible work. The kind of work that does not get posted. The kind of progress that cannot be screenshotted.

The kind of building that happens in silence not because you're hiding but because there's nothing glamorous to show yet. If you've ever felt like you're doing everything right and still feeling stuck, this episode is for you. And if you've ever looked at someone else's journey and thought, damn, why does it look so easy for them? I promise you, you're only seeing the light, not the wiring behind it. So let's start here, in the quiet room.

There's this strange space a lot of us end up in when we are building something real. It's not failure. It's not a breakthrough. It's just quiet. You're still working, still trying, still caring, but it feels like nobody sees it, like you're whispering into a void hoping someone hears you, hoping it all amounts to something.

And the worst part? You start doubting whether that silence means you're doing something wrong. But what if it doesn't? What if the quiet isn't punishment and what if it's part of the process? I've been in that room.

Hell, and still am in that room most days. I've had days where I'd sit down full of ideas and then nothing. No energy. No spark. Just a blank document and that familiar thought.

What's even the point of this? And I know I'm not alone. You, you listening right now, you've probably been there too. Building in silence, working without applause, and creating without that confirmation. You know what's wild?

Silence isn't actually quiet. In the quiet, your own voice gets louder and not always in a kind way. It says things like, no one's watching, maybe it doesn't matter, others are growing faster, maybe you should quit, you have been doing this for years, why aren't you farther along? And maybe the loudest one, If this was really meant for you, wouldn't it feel easier? We crave proof metrics, feedback, and momentum.

But the kind of work that changes you doesn't usually announce itself. It's invisible until it's undeniable. Here's a story. It's a plant called the Chinese bamboo tree. You water it every day.

You nurture the soil. You protect it. You care for it. And for five years nothing happens. No sprout, no leaves, no visible sign of life.

But in the fifth year, it breaks through the soil and grows 80 feet tall in just six weeks. Did it grow in six weeks? No. It grew in five years underground. The roots were building what no one could see.

Therefore, you're not failing, you're rooting. You're laying the foundation for something that may not look like much yet but will rise when it's ready. We live in a world addicted to before and after stories. The I was broke, then I made it montages, the I quit my nine to five and now I'm free Instagram reels, and the five tips to grow your side hustle TikToks. But what about that part in between?

The long boring lonely middle. Nobody claps for that because nobody sees it. But that's where the real transformation happens. That's where you break and rebuild, where you redefine what success even means to you, where you realize that maybe, maybe you're not lost, you're just not loud about your process. So if you're in the quiet room right now, just want you to know I see you.

You're not broken. You're not invisible. You're not behind. You're just becoming. Becoming the kind of person who shows up without a crowd, who creates even when no one claps, who does not wait for permission to move forward.

You're not in the wrong place. You're just in the invisible part of the story. And maybe that's where the most important work happens. Have you ever worked so hard on something then it started pushing back? You're doing everything right, showing up, being consistent.

You're sacrificing sleep, weekends, Netflix, peace of mind, all of it. You're burning your energy for this thing you say you love. And then one day, you sit down to create and nothing comes out. Not because you don't care but because you're tired of caring so much with nothing to show for it and that's when the work starts working against you and that is the invisible burnout. This isn't that dramatic movie style burnout where someone collapses on a bathroom floor crying.

No. This is quite a slower and sneakier. It's sitting at your desk, staring at the screen and not knowing where to begin. It's hitting publish and feeling nothing. It's achieving little milestones and wondering why do you feel so hollow?

This is the kind of burnout that does not scream. It just erodes. It erodes your excitement, your drive and your identity. I was there. There was a point where I did not even feel like myself anymore.

I was not waking up with ideas, I was waking up with dread. Not because I didn't love the work but because I was so damn tired of carrying it alone. No applause, no spotlight, no external motivation. Just me in my room trying to figure out if I was even still in the game. You know that moment when you're not even afraid of feeling, you're afraid, you're already irrelevant.

Yeah. That. You know what made it worse? The pressure to stay consistent, to post, to perform, and to keep up. It's this toxic little idea we've absorbed that says, if you stop, you'll fall behind.

If you pause, you'll disappear. And for a while, I believed it. So I kept pushing even when I was sleep deprived, even when the ideas went ready, and even when my heart was not in it. Because I thought if I stopped, everything I've built would crumble. But that's where I realized, you don't grow by pushing through everything.

You grow when you start listening to what that silence is trying to tell you. I had to stop. There came a point where I wasn't just creatively blocked, I was emotionally exhausted. So I stopped. Not because I had a plan, not because I had a plan, not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice.

And that was terrifying. Because for the first time, I wasn't just taking a break from the work. I was taking a break from the version of me that was addicted to proving myself. Let's get real. Most of us, especially the underdogs, are building from a place of survival.

We're trying to create while paying the bills, trying to dream big while answering emails, trying to be more with very little support, time or energy. And survival mode can make you incredibly productive but it also makes you deeply detached. You start running off fumes, you stop checking in with yourself, you start asking, is this still true to me? You just keep going until you forget why you started. I remember this one moment specifically.

I was sitting at my desk trying to write something for the podcast, but every line felt fake. Nothing sounded like me. And I remember thinking, maybe I'm just not good enough anymore. But then I stepped away. I shut the laptop.

I went for a walk. No headphones and no input. And in that silence, this one thought hit me hard. You're not broken. You're just building too fast without a foundation.

That was the first honest thought I had in weeks because here's the truth It wasn't my passion that disappeared. It was my system that failed me. Let me throw in a quote from James Clear's Atomic Habits. And I keep on coming back to this over and over. He says, you do not rise to the level of your goals.

You fall to the level of your systems. And my system, it was chaos. No schedule, no space, no sustainability. I was relying on motivation and not structure. And that's a losing game.

Motivation is fragile. But systems, they are what keep the train running when your willpower runs out. If any of this feels familiar, if you are exhausted, uninspired, doubting everything, let me say you this you are not done. You have not missed your chance. You have not lost your touch.

You are just in the middle of that messy part. And that part, it doesn't mean you're broken. It means you're real. Let's try to go even deeper. What happens when you hit the bottom?

When you do stop? Not because you want to but because life forces you to. When you're fully burnt out, when your passion feels dead, when there's nothing left to give, that's when most people disappear. But what if that's where the most honest version of you is waiting? You ever hit that point where it does not even feel like burnout anymore?

Not exhaustion, not pressure, and not even frustration. Just numbness. No spark, no noise, no guilt, and no excitement. Just this quiet acceptance that maybe the fire went out a long time ago and you did not even notice. This is the part nobody warns you about because it's not dramatic enough to be a breakdown.

It's too real to ignore. This is the part where the underdog burns out not with a bang but with a silence. There was a point in my journey where even the things I used to love storytelling, designing, creating felt like chores. I could not fake passion anymore, could not force the hustle, could not pretend that pushing through was noble and for the first time in a long time, I was not afraid of quitting. I was just tired of pretending I was not already done.

It felt like whatever was driving me had driven off. If you're here, if this is where you are right now, let me put words to the fog. You wake up tired even after eight hours of sleep. You dread opening your laptop, your email, your notebook. You avoid people who ask, so how's your project going?

You scroll through your old content and wonder who that person even was. You hear your own voice in a past podcast episode and it sounds like a stranger. This isn't laziness. This isn't a phase. This isn't not being motivated.

This is emotional depletion. This is burnout that sunk so deep into your identity, you don't even remember what it felt like before. There was a day when I sat on the edge of my sofa, laptop open, ready to record. I had the mic, the notes, the plan, and I just sat there for ninety minutes, not recording, not writing, just sitting. No tears, no breakdown, just nothing.

That's when I knew this wasn't about productivity anymore. This was about purpose. And I could not find mine. You know what's dangerous? When you're good at performing your purpose even after you've lost it.

You still hit deadlines. You still show up on socials. You still post a quote that sounds quote unquote inspiring. But inside, you're checked out. Not because you're fake but because you have been running on empty for so long that pretending has become a survival skill.

Here's what changed it for me. I stopped trying to restart that fire. And instead, I start rebuilding that fireplace. Meaning, I made room for stillness. I gave myself permission to feel like shit.

I stopped consuming content that made me feel behind. I reconnected with why I even wanted to share my story in the first place. Because here's the truth, nobody says out loud. You don't come back by getting better. You come back by getting honest.

Passion isn't a light switch. It's not on or off. It's more like a campfire. Sometimes it's roaring, sometimes it's drying down and sometimes it's just embers. But if you tend to it even gently, it stays alive even in the coldest seasons.

There's this quote I love, not from a book, just from a conversation I heard from someone who had been through this. They said, When your body stops you, it's not betrayal. It's a boundary. Let that sink in. Your burnout isn't your fault.

It's not weakness. It's a message. And sometimes, the message is simple. You're not meant to build something beautiful by destroying yourself in the process. If you have had to stop, if you have stepped back or paused your that does not make you a failure.

It makes you human. You're allowed to recalibrate. You're allowed to go quiet. You're allowed to disappear for a bit to find your voice again. You don't owe consistency to the algorithm.

You owe compassion to yourself. So, if you're in the ashes right now, just know this is not your end. This is your soil. Ashes are what remain after the fire, and sometimes that's the only place where something new can grow. You're not behind.

You're underground. And like the bamboo tree we talked about earlier, you're getting ready for something people won't be able to ignore, but you won't need their collapse by then. Because you'll have built something something stronger than applause. You'll have built you. So here you are, still standing, still breathing and still here.

Not with the fire blazing just yet, but maybe with a spark, maybe with the smallest flicker of quote unquote, okay. Let's try that again. This chapter isn't about that big movement. It's about what comes before the big movement, the in between, the rebuilding. It's about the small wins, the kind that happen in the background, The kind nobody posts about.

The kind that whisper you're coming back even if nobody sees it yet. Let's talk about that. We have all been fed this narrative that the comeback needs to be cinematic. The bounce back needs to be impressive. The new season needs to be louder, stronger, and bolder.

But real growth, it's often quiet, almost unnoticeable. It's not quitting the job. It's updating your resume. It's not publishing the book. It's writing 300 words today.

It's not launching the brand. It's googling how to register a domain. These are the wins that don't go in the feed, but they're everything. Let me tell you what my first small win looked like after the burnout. I recorded a voice memo, thirty seconds.

I did not post it, did not edit it. I just talked to myself, and that was it. But it cracked something open because it reminded me my voice still exists even when I wasn't using it and even when I wasn't sure if I should. And that tiny act of speaking, just for me, was a win. Maybe yours look different.

Maybe it's a sketching again. Maybe it's a finally replying to that email. Maybe it's deleting that old draft so you can start fresh. Whatever it is, don't ignore it just because it's not shiny. Small wins compound.

And one day, they don't feel small anymore. You don't owe anyone a comeback. You don't need to post that I have been gone for a while caption. You can just start. Start messy, start quietly, but start without making it content.

Because the most authentic returns aren't performances. They're choices. They're decisions to re engage with something you once loved. Not because the world asked you to but because you missed it. I want to say something that took me years to believe.

You don't have to be fast to be real. You don't have to go viral to be valuable. We have been tricked into believing that progress is a race. But for us underdogs, it's practice. Showing up without a win, writing without an audience, building without recognition, that's not weakness, that's devotion.

And in a world full of fast content, you choosing to go slow, that's revolutionary. There was this underdog designer I met a few years ago, never got famous, never had a huge following. But every month without fail, she would share a personal project. Not flashy, not trend driven, just honest, thoughtful work. She told me, I promised myself I'd be consistent for the version of me that's still doubting.

That hit me. Because sometimes we don't build for the audience. Sometimes we build for our past self, the one who needed to believe this wasn't even possible. So, ask yourself, what would your six months ago self be proud to see you doing right now? We talk a lot about transparency, about quote unquote documenting the journey.

But sometimes the journey isn't sacred. Sometimes you don't owe the algorithm anything. Let your progress be private for a while. Let it be yours before it becomes something you give away. Build your system.

Find your rhythm. Re learn what your flow feels like without the pressure of an audience. You don't need to disappear. But you don't need to perform either. Here's the reframe I have been leaning into lately.

Create like there's no launch date. Build like there's no next big thing. Work like the process is the point. Because the pressure to ship is useful until it becomes a source of shame. You're allowed to enjoy the build, to take your time, to start something without knowing how it ends.

That's not lost energy. That's what artists do. That's what underdogs must do because we're not selling performance. We're offering perspective. If you have been waiting for some external validation to begin again, this is it.

This episode, these words, this exact moment, this is your sign that you're not behind, you're not broken, you're just rebuilding slowly. And that counts. One action today and that's your win. You pressed play on this episode. You stayed with me through the dip, through the burnout, through the ashes.

That's already proof that you're moving. And no matter how small it feels, motion is momentum. So we made it. If you're still here, still listening, I want you to know something. This, this is just not the end of an episode.

It's the beginning of a decision. A decision to keep showing up. Not just online, not just in your work, but in your life. To keep being the voice in your own story even when nobody's watching, even when the algorithm is silent, and even when your inner critic gets loud. Because you don't need permission anymore.

The mic is still on and that means you still get to speak. There will be days after this when things go quiet again, where the world feels too loud and your inner voice gets buried under deadlines, doubts and distractions. But silence, that's not failure. That's just a pause, a breath and you have learnt now. Pauses are not the end.

They are reset buttons. So when you feel stuck, overwhelmed or lost again, come back to this moment. Remember, you did not quit, you reset and there's no shame in that. If this whole episode has been your comeback, let me remind you. You're not starting over.

You're starting wiser. You're starting with systems, with self awareness, with scars that now feel like blueprints. The version of you now, they know how to rebuild. They know what burnout feels like and what peace costs. They know that rest is not weakness, that growth is not linear, and that silence isn't the enemy.

It's information. So no, you're not starting from scratch. You're starting from experience and that is everything. I want to challenge you not in a dramatic motivational way but in a deeply honest way. Before this episode ends, before you go back into the noise of the world, ask yourself, what's the next thing I'll do just for me?

Not the content, not the comments, not the strategy, just you. The builder, the underdog, the voice in the middle of the mess. It could be opening that document you keep avoiding, recording five raw unscripted minutes of your voice, writing a one liner idea for something you'll start when you're ready, Telling a friend you're not done. You're just pacing yourself differently now. Take that action.

That one action, that's the real comeback. I'll tell you something I had to learn the hard way. The world does not always recognize the comeback in real time. It might not clap, it might not notice, and it might not move on without pausing. But the real ones, they feel it because they have lived it because they are it.

You don't need to announce your return. Discrete like someone who never left. Let me be real with you for a second. This podcast, it started because I needed to feel seen. But it's never been about just my story.

It's been about yours, your climb, your chaos, and your quiet victories. You have listened to my voice. Now it's time to trust your own. You're not just an underdog. You are a protagonist.

And the best part? Your plot twist is still unfolding. So what now? Now you go lift the next chapter of mic with no pressure to be profound, just permission to be present. And when you're ready, hit record again, write again, speak again, build again.

The mic will still be there. The space will still be there. I'll still be here. And I'll be rooting for you every quiet invisible uninstagrammable step of the way. Because some of the loudest impact happens in silence.

And you, you are a living proof of that. You have been listening to the underdog protagonist and this, this was the story of the invisible work, the work no one claps for, the work that no one sees, but the work that makes you who you are. So keep building, keep blooming, and never forget the mic is still on. I'll catch you in the next episode but until then, take care.