all endings are not sad.

here's to choosing alignment over obligation.

It’s officially been a month since I closed Spiked Wellness. And closing such a meaningful chapter, while stepping into something new and still unfolding, feels like the right moment to reflect.

When I launched Spiked Spin (most recently Spiked Wellness) in 2016, I didn’t have a business plan or five-year vision. I had a calling, some naivete, and a lot of audacity. I was still working in advertising, Innovation & Partnerships at CBS, and Spiked was supposed to be a side project. As a boutique fitness junkie (during NYC’s peak cult fitness era), I knew nothing I tried ever felt quite right. So I created what I wanted to see: a space where my people could show up as their whole selves: powerful, supported, and seen, no matter where they were in their fitness journey.

That small intention turned into something much bigger.

Over the years, Spiked evolved into a brand rooted in movement, culture, and transformation. We opened studios in Brooklyn and Los Angeles. We worked with dream brands like Nike, Adidas, Beats, Topicals, and Fenty. But most importantly, we built something that didn’t previously exist, a space for women, especially Black women, to be centered in boutique fitness. We moved. We inspired. We created a real community.

… And it took me on the personal journey of a lifetime.

Entrepreneurship is a faith walk. It reveals who you are and how you move through the world. As a self-funded founder, every decision mattered. Over nearly a decade, Spiked didn’t just shape my career; it shaped me. It stretched me. It gave me language and lessons I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. I used to call it my “first baby,” which now, as a mom with a different lens on business and identity, makes me cringe a little. But the depth of the experience still holds. The entire path was deeply personal.

So why did I close?

The short answer: it was time.
The longer answer: I was starting to feel like an imposter in my own dream.

On the surface, I was still giving 100 percent, teaching, pitching, leading. But inside, something felt off. I’d be in the LA studio or on a Zoom call and feel this subtle, quiet knowing. There was no crisis. No collapse. Just clarity. In the same way I once felt called to build Spiked, I began to feel released from it. I had done what I came to do. And the version of me who started it wasn’t the version I am now.

But — I resisted. I thought about the team, every instructor who brought their own magic. I thought about our clients, women who finally felt seen. And then the bombardment of internal dialogue:
“Am I quitting?”
“Am I giving up?”
“What will people think?”

And so it was me and my thoughts. I kept journaling. Kept praying. Kept scrolling the MyPattern app (don’t judge). And the answer stayed the same. I was already in transition, even as I tried to keep pushing forward. And if I am honest, I pushed because I was scared. I didn’t know what was waiting on the other side — I still don’t.

However, I did the most liberating thing. I decided.

When I started telling people, most responded with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.” “You must be heartbroken.” “What happened?” I get it. We’re not taught to stop. We’re taught to keep going until something breaks, or until the next shiny thing is ready to announce.

But this wasn’t that. This was freedom. This was choice. This was me finally releasing what looked good in order to hold onto what felt right.

During our last toast at the studio, I gave a short off-the-cuff speech that summed it up:“…this is a conscious decision made with love, thought, and a lot of untangling. We’re not meant to die with everything. This was one part of my journey… and according to my grandma, I’ve got at least six more lives… and I’m excited for each one.”

That’s the part I want to name. I ran this business for nearly a decade. It taught me how to think, how to lead, and how to execute. I no longer have to convince myself of what I bring, I know. Strategy. Vision. Clarity. Discipline. The courage to build. The intuition to pause.

It also taught me that growth doesn’t always look like scaling.
Sometimes, growth looks like release.

This is the release of what was, so I can step fully into what’s next.

If you’re in a transition — career, relationship, identity, motherhood, purpose — I hope this reminds you that you’re allowed to change. You’re allowed to choose something else.

You’re allowed to stop.

I offer you the peace that life keeps moving. That discomfort often means growth. That bold decisions make room for aligned ones.

We’ll talk soon.
– BT