Once upon a time passion was enough and it was fun.

You loved to draw, to write, to dance, to style people, to build apps from scratch. It did not need to make sense. It did not need to make money. You did it simply because it made you feel alive. Then came adulthood, capitalism, and expectations. Passion became productivity. What once brought joy now feels like a deadline and somewhere along the way, the thing you loved most started feeling like a burden you could not afford to put down. This is the reality for us young Africans today and I know this because I am one.

As a writer and editor, I have felt that shift. The very thing that once lit up my soul has, at times, felt like a weight I carry. Through my journey, I have come to realise I am not alone because the conversations, the confessions, and the exhaustion echo across our community.

We live in a time where creativity is currency. Platforms like TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram have made it possible for anyone with talent and an internet connection to become a brand. In Africa, where traditional jobs are scarce and youth unemployment is high, turning passion into profit has become a survival strategy. However, what happens when you must monetize everything you love? When your hobbies now have KPIs, and your art needs a content calendar?

All the burnout does not always scream. Sometimes it whispers:

• You feel guilty resting, even though you are exhausted.
• You are constantly comparing yourself to others online.
• You have not created anything just for yourself in months.
• You start questioning whether you were ever really talented or just lucky.

These feelings are not uncommon. In fact, they are increasingly normal. The pressure to “make it” is doubled when you are African. There is often no safety net. Your family is looking up to you. Your community believes you have escaped poverty just because you got featured once on a blog. There is this underlying fear that if you stop pushing, everything will fall apart.

For many creatives including myself, there is a nostalgia for the early days, when the stakes were low and the joy was high. You could dance in your room and post it online without caring if it hit 10,000 views. You could write long, emotional threads simply because they were on your heart.

Now? Everything is strategy. Everything is aesthetics. Everything is performance. It is not that you hate what you do. It is just that you miss how it used to make you feel. I have come to realise that one has to fall in love with their passion all over again after capitalism has turned it into a job. Here are a few things I have tried that have helped me slowly find my way back:

1. Create something just for you. There was a time I constantly wrote poems and even made submissions some of which were accepted and published. I suddenly slowed down, and that made me believe I had lost it. Very recently, I decided to start writing poems again, and I can hardly believe how healing it has been for me. So I encourage you to create something for yourself and your soul. Not for work, not for a client, not for clout, and certainly not for the algorithm.

2. Take intentional breaks. Rest on purpose and reflect while at it. It does not mean you are lazy. You are human, and you deserve rest that is not riddled with guilt.

3. Unfollow pressure. Curate your digital space. If certain pages make you feel inadequate, mute or unfollow them. Your peace is more important than your explore page. Growth is vital, yes but it is still okay to move at your own pace.

4. Redefine success. This might sound harsh, but maybe you do not need to go crazy viral. Sometimes, the people you are meant to impact are not the largest audiences. Remember: having a small but loyal community is perfectly okay. Of course, you can still strive for more but not at the cost of your peace.

5. Talk about it. Many creatives are silently burning out. Try to share some of your challenges now and then. You never know, your honesty might give someone else permission to pause too.

You do not have to abandon your passion but you also do not have to kill yourself for it. The truth is: it is okay to outgrow the way you once expressed your gifts. It is okay to pivot. It is okay to say, “I need to slow down.” Passion was never meant to be a prison.

This is just a reminder: you are not behind. You are not alone. You are allowed to create a new definition of joy, one that honours both your creativity and your wellbeing. Your passion still matters but so do you.