3 Misconception I Made before I Understood Online Entrepreneurship

For a long time, I believed that making money by set up my online business simply wasn’t meant for me.

I watched people who seemed to figure things out faster. They built audiences, found direction, and slowly turned their work into something sustainable. I followed them closely, studied their paths, and tried to replicate their actions.

Still, nothing really moved.

At that time, I assumed the problem was my ability.

But it took me years to realise the truth:

The problem was never a lack of effort.

The problem was how I initially understood online entrepreneurship.

Misconception #1: Expecting Clarity and Progress Too Early

Like many people, I started with the hope that there was a clearer path.

I tried ideas that sounded reasonable on the surface—short-video models that promised income without an existing audience, and writing online as a possible business direction. None of these were scams. But none of them worked for me either.

I spent weeks, sometimes months, trying to make each idea work. What I didn’t get was feedback. Or clarity. Or a sense that I was building toward something stable.

What slowly changed my perspective was watching other creators over time.

Some of the YouTube creators I followed—science educators and marketing creators—were small when I first discovered them. Their videos were quiet. Their comment sections were nearly empty. Years later, they had recognizable brands, and some even ran their own companies.

I realized something uncomfortable: when I first found them, they weren’t successful yet. I was simply early.

That was when it finally clicked:

Making money online is rarely fast. It’s cumulative.

Most people don’t fail because they lack ability — they fail because they expect short-term returns from something that only works long-term.

Misconception #2: Learning Constantly Without Understanding the User

For a long time, I believed I just needed to learn more.

So I kept learning. Courses, templates, systems. I saved everything and told myself that once I understood the “right way,” I would finally know how to start.

But when it came time to create something on my own, I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say or what was worth saying.

I remember thinking, Why does this look so much easier for other people?

Things started to make sense during my master’s program, when I took a course on user-centred thinking. It wasn’t dramatic, but it stayed with me.

I realised that I had always been starting from myself—what I wanted to talk about, what interested me, what felt meaningful to me. I rarely thought about what someone else might actually need or find useful.

That didn’t mean my efforts were wrong. It just meant they were incomplete.

What I wanted to say.

What I found interesting.

What felt meaningful to me.

I rarely asked the harder questions:

What does the audience actually need?

Why would someone spend time on this?

What value am I creating for others?

Once I began shifting my perspective from creator-centred to user-centred, many of my past failures suddenly made sense.

Online outcome doesn’t reward people who merely follow methods.

It rewards those who develop transferable abilities — understanding users, communicating clearly, and delivering consistent value.

Misconception #3: Being Consistent Without Knowing What I Was Building

Six years ago, when I decided to become a study account content creator, I was deeply committed to consistency.

I filmed every single day. And every single night, I spent at least two hours editing and publishing my videos. At first, this routine felt helpful and meaningful. It did help me to set up the habit of learning everyday regards to that I record my process of studying, the camera just made me feel like a CCTV, and all the people can watch what I did during the time and whether I really studied or not. Over time, however, I began to notice something uncomfortable.

The work didn’t make me think more clearly. It didn’t help me develop stronger skills. Most days, I didn’t even know what to film. I sat there trying to come up with something—anything—that could count as content.

The process wasn’t helping me grow.

It wasn’t strengthening any transferable skills.

Instead, I found myself trapped in a cycle of production. I spent hours editing simply because I had to. When it came time to film, I often didn’t know what to talk about or what ideas were worth sharing. The confusion slowly replaced the initial motivation.

From the inside, I felt busy and directionless.

So when I eventually stepped away from certain platforms and ideas, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to work anymore. It was because I didn’t know what I was working toward.

Objectively speaking, the effort wasn’t pointless. My audience gradually grew to around 1,000 followers, and in order to keep producing content, I read a large number of books for material. But internally, I felt stuck — busy, yet directionless.

I didn’t quit because I was lazy.

I quit because I felt lost.

Many times, I walked away from platforms and ideas not because they were difficult, but because they became emotionally exhausting. There was no feedback, no validation, and no clear signal that I was on the right path.

What I’ve learned since is this: The hardest part of consistency isn’t time — it’s uncertainty.

To be a content creator often means creating in silence for a long time. It means producing value before anyone notices. And for ordinary people, that lack of immediate feedback can be deeply discouraging.

Most people don’t fail because they’re incapable — they fail because they leave just before momentum has a chance to form.

Where I stand to say to people

I don’t see online entrepreneurship the same way anymore.

I no longer expect clarity at the beginning. I no longer expect effort to turn into results quickly. If anything, I’ve learned that direction often comes after a long period of confusion.

I’m still figuring things out. This isn’t advice. It’s just an honest account of where I am right now.

But if you’re an ordinary person who feels uncertain, stuck, or quietly discouraged, you’re probably not as far behind as you think.

Sometimes, continuing doesn’t mean pushing harder.

Sometimes, it simply means giving yourself more time than you expected.