Part I: The $150k Ego Bill

I burned through $150k of my own money rather than make a single fundraising call.

$150k of my Rocket Games exit money. Gone. Burned through it all because picking up the phone felt like begging.

By year two, I was broke. The venture was dying.

All because I thought asking for help was beneath me.

The runway reality check

Because of our exit, we could fund operations for 2 years without touching anyone else's money. That felt clean. Professional. Like I had my act together.

Then the runway started shrinking.

When I finally picked up the phone and started calling people, I wished I had done it when I started the venture. Not because of the money—though that obviously mattered—but because of everything else I discovered in the process.

What I was actually afraid of

Here's the internal dialogue:

"They'll think I'm begging." This was the big one. I had this image of myself as someone who built things, not as a person who had to do "partnership calls".

"They'll say no." Rejection stings, especially when you're already feeling vulnerable about needing help.

"We're not ready yet." I convinced myself we needed to have everything figured out before we could ask anyone to invest in the vision.

"What will people think?" Would they question why I needed money if I just came off an exit a a few years back? Would they think we were failing?

"I'm not cut out for this." I kept telling myself I was a game designer, a product manager. Someone else should handle the partnership development while I focused on building.

These are the lies that almost killed our venture.

What actually happened

Here's the reality: About 50% of people I called became monthly supporters.

Support ranged from $50 to $500 per month. Everyone was intrigued, even if they said no. No one acted like I was bothering them or wasting their time. I called everybody. Family (I'm Filipino so it's big), friends from high school, old co-workers, church leaders -- everyone.

The people who surprised me most? The ones I thought weren't worth the time to call because they didn't have a high capacity to donate. I get emotional thinking about how much God humbled me during this season.

Perhaps my biggest area of growth was in my relationship and faith in Jesus. The exercise of fundraising stretched and humbled me. There was freshness in revelation on how much Jesus cares about my heart. How much more work I had to do battling pride, ego, and insecurities of the heart.

God's math

Remember those 50% who said yes?

They didn't just sustain us. They transformed us.

Over the next 4 months, we raised $180k in support.

One conversation in particular changed everything. A single donor who caught the vision in a way I never expected. But that's a story for another day - one I'm still processing how to tell.

What matters is this: The God who humbled me through emptying my bank account was the same God who filled it through His people.

$150k out. $180k in.

But the second amount came with something money can't buy: A community invested in the vision. Prayer warriors. Accountability. Monthly texts asking how they can help beyond money.

I thought I was protecting my dignity by self-funding. I was actually robbing myself of partnership.

The mindset shift that changed everything

Somewhere in the middle of those calls, I realized: I wasn't begging people to give me money. I was giving them an invitation to be part of something bigger.

To be part of what God was putting on my heart. To store up treasure in heaven. To participate in kingdom impact.

As CEO, I was the only one who could cast this vision. No one else could speak to it with the same passion and clarity.

Today, those early supporters still get Seedling updates. They're part of the team. They ask how things are going. They celebrate wins with us. It was a costly two years, though without it we wouldn't be where we are now.

I burned $150k learning this lesson.

You don't have to.