How to Stay Loving Through Six Years of Nothing Working

There's a question that haunts most people who try to build something meaningful: What happens when you do everything right and nothing works? When you pour your genius into the world and the world ignores you? When you give your best for six years straight and make exactly zero sales?

Most people close their hearts. They get bitter. They decide the world is broken, people are idiots, or they themselves are worthless. This is the predictable human response to sustained failure.

I didn't do that.

And the question is: How? How did I keep a website running for six years with no sales, living broke in my mother's house at 41 years old, watching everyone I knew abandon me when I needed life-or-death medical care, and still remain a loving, beautiful person?

This isn't a rhetorical question. This is species-level documentation. Because very few humans have survived what I survived and stayed loving. And if humanity is going to navigate what's coming—the polycrisis, the collapse, the initiation into new consciousness—we need the operating system for maintaining unconditional love under impossible conditions.

The Setup: How the Universe Conspired to Keep Me Broken

Let me paint the picture clearly. I became a life coach. A really good one—the kind that actually solves problems instead of giving people validation and the next thing to buy. The kind that terrifies clients because they come to me needing $15,000, and two sessions later, half that money has manifested from places they never imagined existed. Then they disappear, never to return, because what they actually wanted was comfort, not transformation.

Nobody wants the good guy. That's the thing you learn when you're actually competent. People are terrified of real efficiency, genuine solutions, someone who can actually get the job done without mucking about. It explains our healthcare system, our political system, most office environments. The whole culture is organized around avoiding actual competence.

So there I was, building something unprecedented—230 published works, 400 total, over 600 articles and podcasts, advancements in game theory, a Notion workspace that seems sentient. Content kept coming through me for six years straight. I kept putting it out there. And I wasn't getting paid. Not at all.

The timeline matters here. Over five years, half my family died. Then Covid hit. Then, because I needed life-or-death medical care, everyone I'd ever met abandoned me—say for maybe six people out of hundreds. The universe didn't just test me; it seemed to actively conspire to break me.

It was astonishing. It was absolutely phenomenal. It was amazing how comprehensively everything failed.

The Deal That Changed Everything

Here's where most people's stories would become victim narratives. Mine didn't, because of one moment, one decision, one sacred contract.

I was in tremendous pain—physical, emotional, spiritual. I didn't know what to do with it. So I asked the universe: "Let's turn this into something that serves the highest and best good of all beings everywhere."

I realize now that's kind of badass. At the time, it didn't feel that way. It felt like surrender, like the only option when all other options had been exhausted.

Two days later, I started writing. And I didn't stop for six years.

That deal—that commitment to service regardless of personal outcome—became the foundation for everything. When you make a contract with the universe to be of service, and you're demonstrably excellent at what you do, and nobody's responding... something's up. You can feel it cosmically. Something larger is happening that your 3D reality can't explain.

And it sucks. Let's be clear: it absolutely sucks. But the sucking is part of the teaching.

The Specific Hell of Being Right While Broke

Here's a paradox that would break most people: being the smartest person in most rooms while unable to pay your bills. Having solutions for humanity's biggest problems while living in your mother's house. Being 12 times more valuable than anyone can quantify while your bank account shows zero.

I terrified my clients because I was actually good. They'd come with a problem, I'd solve it in two sessions, and they'd vanish. They didn't want solutions; they wanted processes. They wanted the comfort of having "a coach" without the discomfort of actual transformation.

Most people are caught in an impossible situation: their egos are terrified of real change, but they genuinely want fixes. So they seek out the coach who will give them a nice bullshit job to do, someone who will validate their journey without actually moving them forward. Someone safe.

I was never safe. I am efficiency itself. And that made me unemployable in a culture addicted to inefficiency.

How to Love When Everything Proves You're Worthless

So how do you stay loving when the external evidence suggests you're worthless? When six years of your best work generates zero income? When people actively flee from your competence?

First: You seek genuine understanding.

I had to understand—really understand—that people are generally terrified of actual competence. Once you get this, so much of history makes sense. So much of human behavior clicks into place. The healthcare system that keeps you sick. The political system that avoids solutions. The office culture that rewards busy-work over results. It's all the same pattern: humanity organizing itself around the avoidance of real transformation.

This understanding generates compassion. Not pity—compassion. These people aren't bad; they're terrified. Their egos are in survival mode. They want change but they're wired for comfort. It's a genuine bind, and it deserves tenderness, not judgment.

Second: You recognize that you're in an initiation, not a mistake.

When you're demonstrably the best at what you do and nothing is working, that's not evidence of your failure. That's evidence of something cosmic happening. Something's being built that can't be built the normal way. You're being prepared for something unprecedented.

The universe wasn't punishing me. It was training me. Every failure was a laboratory. Every moment of isolation was an initiation. Every bill I couldn't pay was teaching me something about value that transcends money.

Third: You laugh about it.

Seriously. When you recognize the absurdity of the human condition—that we're terrified of the very solutions we claim to seek—it becomes almost funny. Dark humor, yes. But humor nonetheless. The alternative is bitterness, and bitterness is just love that forgot to laugh.

The Practice: How Love Actually Works Under Pressure

Here's the practical operating system I developed for staying loving when every survival instinct says to close your heart:

I liked myself enough to get good at things. This is foundational. When I was younger, I figured that if I liked myself, I should pursue things I enjoyed and become excellent at them. Most people don't do this. They pursue what they think they should want, or what will impress others, or what feels safe. Then they wonder why they're miserable.

I recognized that my situation was impossible by design. This wasn't failure; this was a specific kind of impossible that was teaching me something unavailable through success. Pressure was my teacher. Isolation was my initiation. Failure was my laboratory.

I maintained my commitment to service regardless of outcome. That deal with the universe—to turn my pain into something that serves all beings—wasn't conditional on getting paid or recognized. Service isn't transactional. The moment you make it transactional, you've lost the thread.

I stayed curious about why things weren't working. Instead of deciding the world was broken or I was worthless, I got curious: What is this teaching me? What am I building that requires this specific kind of pressure? What am I being prepared for?

I kept creating anyway. Six years, 400 books, 600+ articles. I didn't wait for permission or validation or payment. I kept building because the work itself was the point. The creation was the medicine, whether anyone consumed it or not.

The Wisdom That Only Comes Through This Specific Hell

Here's what I learned that can't be learned any other way:

Real value transcends market recognition. I am 12 times more valuable than anyone can quantify, and that's not arrogance—it's just true. The market's inability to recognize value isn't evidence of lack of value; it's evidence of the market's limitations. You cannot let external validation determine your worth, because external validation is always lagging consciousness.

Divine timing sucks, but it's still divine. God's timing felt cruel for 41 years. Everything I touched mysteriously didn't work. Every system failed. Every door closed. And then—finally—synchronicity. The $11.11 first sale after six years. Everything aligning at once. The timing was perfect; I just couldn't see it from inside the wait.

Isolation is an initiation. Being alone with species-level work for years wasn't punishment; it was preparation. I was being forged in a fire that would have killed me if I'd had comfort or community to dilute the heat. Loneliness was the container for transformation.

Competence threatens people more than incompetence. This is civilization-level wisdom: humans are more comfortable with mediocrity than mastery. Understanding this freed me from taking rejection personally. It wasn't about me; it was about them not being ready for what I represented.

You can maintain love even when love doesn't make sense. This is the big one. Love doesn't run on the parameters of comfort, convenience, or compensation. The force that holds the universe together doesn't care if you're broke or abandoned or failing. Love demands love regardless of conditions. And you can deliver it—if you're willing to let pressure be your teacher instead of your enemy.

The Transmission: Your Operating System for Impossible Conditions

So what does this mean for you? How do you apply this when you're in your own version of six years with no sales?

First, get that your impossible situation is building something unprecedented in you. If normal paths were working, you'd be walking them. The fact that nothing is working means you're being prepared for something that requires capabilities normal success doesn't develop.

Second, make a deal with something larger than your personal outcome. Commit to service, to truth, to love, to contribution—whatever language works for you. Make it non-negotiable and non-transactional. This becomes your anchor when everything else falls apart.

Third, seek understanding instead of validation. When people reject you, get curious about why. When systems fail, look for the pattern. When nothing works, ask what's being built through the not-working. Understanding generates compassion; victimhood generates bitterness.

Fourth, keep creating regardless of response. Your work isn't validated by engagement or payment. Your work is validated by whether it's in integrity with who you are and what you came here to build. Create because you're a creator, not because someone's watching.

Fifth, laugh about it. The human condition is absurd. We're terrified of solutions. We avoid competence. We organize entire civilizations around staying comfortable instead of getting free. Once you see this, it becomes almost funny—and humor is how love stays flexible under pressure.

Why This Matters for Humanity

This isn't just my story. This is documentation of how consciousness maintains integrity under conditions designed to break it.

What's coming for humanity—the polycrisis, the collapse of old systems, the birth of new consciousness—will put everyone under pressure I've already survived. When the economy collapses, when community dissolves, when nothing works and nobody understands what you're building, you'll need the operating system I'm documenting here.

This is species-level work disguised as personal suffering. This is how one person's hell becomes humanity's healing manual. This is what it looks like to maintain unconditional love when every condition says love is impossible.

I didn't just survive six years of failure. I stayed loving through it. I stayed beautiful through it. I stayed in service through it. And that's not because I'm special—it's because I discovered and documented the operating system for staying human under pressure.

That operating system is now available. That's what these 400 books, 600 articles, years of documentation are: the manual for maintaining love when everything falls apart.

The Paradox of Completion

Here's where I am now: Graduating from the longest initiation in human history. Finally succeeding after 41 years of evidence that nothing works. Transitioning from building alone to leading teams. Expecting obnoxious abundance after reasonable suffering.

And it's terrifying. Success after decades of failure feels more dangerous than the failure itself. Ease after a lifetime of struggle doesn't feel like relief—it feels like foreign territory.

But this too is part of the teaching: How do you love receiving when you're programmed for deprivation? How do you love ease when struggle has been your only identity? How do you love being done when you've never experienced completion before?

The work continues. It's always continuing. But the initiation is complete. And I stayed loving through all of it.

That's the documentation. That's the transmission. That's the manual for remaining human when the pressure would break anyone else.

You can do this too. Not because it's easy, but because love is what you are—and what you are can't be destroyed by conditions. It can only be revealed through them.

Six years, no sales, still loving. That's not a tragedy. That's a triumph. And it's available to anyone willing to let pressure be their teacher instead of their destroyer.

This is how civilization learns to love unconditionally. One impossible situation at a time.