Why I fired my manager after six months

Names and identifying details have been changed.

The email landed in my inbox just before midnight. My manager, a woman I'd trusted with my entire content strategy for the last half-year, had sent me a link to a "collaboration opportunity." I clicked it, bleary-eyed, and immediately felt a cold dread creep into my gut. It was a brand known for incredibly toxic, weight-loss focused content, the exact opposite of everything I stood for. My entire brand, built painstakingly over years, was about body neutrality and self-acceptance. This wasn't a mistake. This was a fundamental misunderstanding of my work, my values, and frankly, my entire worldview.

I remember staring at the screen, the blue light reflecting off my glasses, and feeling a slow burn of anger. Six months. Six months of meetings, strategy calls, content reviews, and explanations about my core ethos. Six months of trying to communicate what I cared about, what aligned with my community, and what I absolutely would not touch. And this was the result. It wasn't just a bad pitch; it was a profound disrespect, a signal that she hadn't heard a word I’d said.

Before I hired Sarah, my manager, I was drowning. My channel was growing, opportunities were coming in faster than I could vet them, and my DMs were a constant stream of questions, offers, and requests. I was passionate about creating content, but the business side of things was overwhelming. There were contracts to negotiate, campaigns to organize, deliverables to track, and payments to chase down. I loved connecting with my audience, but the administrative burden was crushing my creativity. So, I did what many creators do: I sought professional help.

Sarah came highly recommended. She had a roster of successful creators, a polished website, and a reassuring demeanor. Her pitch was all about taking the weight off my shoulders, allowing me to focus on what I do best. She talked about understanding my brand, protecting my values, and strategically growing my income. It sounded perfect. I signed a fairly standard management contract, giving her a percentage of my brand deals in exchange for representation and management.

In the beginning, things were great. The volume of opportunities she brought in was impressive. She handled the initial back-and-forth with brands, freeing up hours in my day. My income definitely saw an uptick. But slowly, cracks began to show. I’d get pitches that felt off-brand, but not catastrophically so. I’d gently push back, explaining why a particular product or company didn't fit. She’d apologize, say she’d misunderstood, and we'd move on. I attributed it to the learning curve, the natural process of someone getting to know a creator's intricate world. After all, my niche was nuanced.

Then came the bigger issues. Deals would close, and I wouldn't hear anything about the payment schedule. I'd have to chase her for updates. Deliverables would be due, and she wouldn't have coordinated product shipments in time. I'd end up scrambling. I started to feel like I was managing her, instead of the other way around. The very thing I hired her to alleviate—administrative burden and stress—was seeping back into my life, only now with an added layer of frustration because someone else was supposed to be handling it.

The final straw, that late-night email, wasn't just about a bad brand fit. It was the culmination of weeks and months of feeling unheard, underserved, and ultimately, disrespected. It was the realization that this person, who was supposed to be my advocate and shield, was actually putting my brand at risk. If I had accepted that collaboration, imagine the backlash from my community, the trust I would have eroded. My entire platform would have been undermined.

The next morning, I called her. It was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had. I explained, as calmly as I could, that this wasn't working. I recounted the pattern of misaligned pitches, the administrative oversights, and the fundamental lack of understanding of my brand's core values. She was surprised, then defensive, then apologetic. She tried to salvage it, offering to do better, to "realign." But the trust was gone. It had been chipped away over time, and that last email had shattered it completely.

Terminating a management contract isn't simple. There were legalities to navigate, ongoing deals to transition, and a period of feeling utterly exposed as I took everything back in-house. For a while, I went back to managing everything myself, which was exhausting but, paradoxically, less stressful because at least I knew what was going on. It taught me invaluable lessons about vetting not just the professional skills of a manager, but their alignment with my values, their communication style, and their ability to genuinely listen. It also emphasized the importance of a clear, shared understanding of what success looks like and what boundaries are non-negotiable from day one. I learned that having someone in your corner isn't enough; it has to be the right someone.