Ep. 22 - Passion vs. Profit: What to Do When the Dream Isn’t Paying Yet?

What keeps a creator going when the money isn’t?

In this solo episode, Pratyush takes you on a raw, vulnerable, and unfiltered journey into the reality of building when you're broke, not just financially, but emotionally and mentally too.

This isn’t just a podcast episode. It’s a mirror, a reset, and a permission slip for every underdog who's still creating while silently surviving.

In this audio experience, we explore:

• The emotional toll of creating with zero returns
• The shame around not monetizing your passion
• The difference between passion and profit
• Real stories of quiet persistence
• Why creating while broke still matters
• How to reclaim your identity when the numbers don’t match the effort

If you’ve ever whispered “what’s the point?” while still pressing record, this episode is the answer you didn’t know you needed.

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.

Connect with Pk: LinkedIn | X | YouTube

If you are liking the show, please share it along! Its free.
Support the show to help us keep creating awesome content.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to the underdog protagonist, a podcast made for those who are still in the hustle period of their lives. Before we begin this episode, let me ask you something. If you're so broke, why are you still creating? No. Really.

Not in a clickbait way. Not to trigger some motivational hype session. I mean it. Why do you keep showing up when your wallet's empty? When your ROI is zero?

When your passion gives you more anxiety than peace? Why do you still post that video? Why do you still write that caption? Why are you still building when it feels like the world moved on? Why are you still creating when you're barely surviving?

This is the question nobody says out loud, but I know deep down it lives inside so many of us. We ask it late at night when another invoice gets ghosted. We whisper it while scrolling, comparing and spiraling. We feel it when someone asks, so how's that podcast of yours is going? And we don't know what to say.

And yet, here we are, still creating. This episode is for the ones who never stopped. So So without any further ado, let's get into it. Let's be real. Creating while broke hits different.

There's no creative flow when rent is due and the wifi bill bounces. There's no dreamy studio aesthetic when you're recording in your bedroom with a fan off because the mic picks it up. And the worst part, you start resenting that thing you used to love. You open your laptop and think, why bother? What is this even doing to me anymore?

It's not just financial strain, it's mental depletion, it's emotional fatigue. It's watching people with teams and budgets crank out content like it's nothing. While you're trying to schedule posts in between freelance gigs and figuring out what to eat with 500 rupees in your account. You question your entire identity because this thing that once lit you up now feels like another burden you can't afford. But here's the kicker.

Even with all of that, you still show up. You still think about your next idea. You still scribble in that notebook. You still daydream. What if this actually worked someday?

That's not weakness. That's not delusion. That's creative endurance. There's this unspoken shame that comes with being a broke creative. It's not just about money.

It's about the expectation that you should be making money by now. Everyone online is talking about monetizing your niche, scaling your content, turning passion into profit and here you are, trying to convince yourself that just showing up still counts. You see creators half assing things with better reach. You see people selling authenticity like it's a course. And you, you are creating with actual intention and still struggling.

The worst part, you start believing your failing, not just financially but creatively. You wonder, if I haven't figured out how to get paid for this by now, maybe I am not as good as I thought. But, here's the truth. Monetization isn't the only measure of meaning. Just because something isn't profitable by now, doesn't mean it's not powerful.

Some of the most meaningful work in the world was made by people with nothing in their pockets and everything on the line. There's a difference between passion and profit. Passion is what calls you to speak when there's no mic. It's what makes you write when no one's reading. It's what makes you show up even when no one's clapping.

Profit is performance driven. Passion is purpose driven. I'm not saying they can't coexist, they should. But what happens when they don't? What happens when your passion gives you zero ROI for weeks, for months, maybe even for years?

Do you walk away? Or do you keep showing up because it's who you are now? That's the tension so many of us live in and no one teaches you how to sit in that tension with grace. We just assume, if it's not making money, it must be failing. But maybe, just maybe, it's not failing.

Maybe it's fomenting. Maybe it's still forming into something long term and the only thing it needs is more time. Let's talk about what quiet persistence really looks like, Not the cinematic montage. Not the I kept going and now I'm here speech. I mean the middle, the actual messy part.

Let me start with a glimpse of mine because you know I keep it honest here. There were weeks I did not open my podcast script, not because I did not want to, but because I could not. I was doing client work to stabilize my income, I was trying to create space in my head and could not find any. I was still journaling, still thinking about content, still sketching concepts, but nothing made it to the mic. And yet, the passion did not die.

It just sat quietly in the background waiting. Not screaming, not pressuring, just existing. I think about that version of me often, the one who showed up even in fragments. Because that version, he mattered too. But it's not just me.

Let me tell you a story that stuck with me. You might know Rick Rubin as the legendary music producer, the guy who helped launch artists like Jay Z, Adele, Kanye, Johnny Cash and more. What most people don't know, there was a point in his career where he wasn't producing anything. He wasn't chasing clout. He wasn't riding trends.

He was literally living in a dorm room at NYU when he recorded Def Jam records on a borrowed four track recorder. No connections. No capital. Just passion and persistence. He once said, the best art is made when you're not worried about results.

Just resonance. Rick built in obscurity. He listened more than he talked. He created in silence until the sound broke through. And now, he reworded not because he performed but because he persisted.

Quietly, slowly and deeply. You may not be Rick Rubin and I am not either. But you are quite persistent. It's building the version of you that will be undeniable later. That might mean publishing that one blog post no one reads yet.

Writing music that nobody listens to yet. Recording an episode that does not perform but shifts your soul. You're laying the tracks before the train ever arrives. Can I say something that might feel wrong to admit? Sometimes your passion starts to feel like a burden.

Not because you don't love it, but because it now carries weight. It carries expectations, deadlines, the pressure to grow and the guilt when you don't. And over time, the thing that set you once free starts to suffocate you. You feel stuck between this matters deeply to me and this is raining the life out of me. You know what that is?

That's the shift from pure creativity to creative survival. But even here, in the burnout, in the emotional drain, the fact that you're still thinking about it, that you're still here, that means the flame has not gone out. It's just waiting for air. So give it that. Space, stillness, a break from performance.

Let it be light again. Let's go back to that question. If you're so broke, why are you still creating? And here's the answer most people will never understand. Because sometimes, creating is how you survive, not financially, not visibly, but spiritually, emotionally and internally.

You're creating because the act of making something out of nothing, especially when you have nothing, reminds you that you still have power, that you're still here, that you're not just a passenger in your life, you're a participant. And, maybe, no one sees it. Maybe, it's not monetized, maybe it's not shareable. But, in a world that constantly tries to mute you, you creating is resistance. It's rebellion.

It's your refusal to become invisible. Creating does not always pay you in money. Sometimes it pays you in perspective, self trust, mental clarity, creative identity and emotional release. Sometimes, it's the one act that keeps you grounded when everything else feels like it's falling apart. So no, it might not pay the bills today, but it saves a part of you you did not even know was slipping away.

Let that sink in for a second. Your art does not owe anyone a profit. Your creativity does not owe the market anything. It does not have to justify itself in monetization metrics. It does not need to be scalable, shareable or shoppable to matter.

It can exist for the sake of existence. It can be your journal, your therapy and your mirror. And if one day, it becomes something bigger, that's a bonus. Not the point. The point is, you are still here, still making, still choosing to believe in something.

That is not weakness. That is art in its rawest form. If you have listened this far, thank you. Not for me, for you. Because this means you are still connected to that part of yourself that refuses to be erased.

The voice that says, even if I have nothing, I still have something to say. Let this be a reminder. You don't need to profit to prove yourself. You don't need to go viral to validate your voice. You create because it's part of you, because it's so signal in the noise, because it keeps you alive.

And maybe, the world does not get it. Maybe, they keep asking, why are you still doing this? You don't owe them an answer. But if you had to give one, just say this. Because even broke, I still believe in what I'm building.

And that, that's enough. This was it for the episode. Thank you so much for tuning in. And if you have been looking for a sign to keep going, not for the money but for the meaning, this is it. The mic is still on.

The foundation is still forming. And you, you're still building. I'm Pratyush, and this isn't the end. It's just another day in the middle of your story. I'll catch you in the next episode but until then, take care.