From Burnout To Breakthroughs

Why People Matter More Than Production

Public Domain Photo

When people ask how long I’ve been in real estate, I proudly say “25 years”—and then I pause for dramatic effect like I’m announcing how long I’ve survived in the wilderness. Because let’s be real: some years, it has felt like that. This career has been equal parts thrilling, exhausting, gratifying, and at times, a full-blown contact sport. And while I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, I’ve also made a few mistakes along the way—some big, some humbling, and all of them educational.

Let me take you back to where it all started: San Antonio, Texas. I was young, scrappy, and had the miraculous good fortune of landing a spot on the sales team for a brand-new master-planned community that would eventually house more than 3,000 families. I was one of six agents, and we were all required to pool and split commissions evenly. At the time, I didn't blink. I was just thrilled to be in the room—well, the sales trailer.

Pretty quickly, I discovered something big: I loved the work. I loved helping people build their dream homes. I loved the fast pace. I loved the challenge. And I worked—hard. I came in early, stayed late, and worked every day of the week. I remember one day I wrote seven contracts. Seven! In one day! And this was before cell phones—my voicemail light would be blinking like a disco ball, with 100 messages waiting when I got in. Did it stress me out? Nope. I was on fire.

That year, I sold over $30 million in real estate all by myself. Not bad for someone who still occasionally used a fax machine upside down.

But while I was burning the candle at both ends, not everyone on my team was... how shall we say... doing the same. It started to gnaw at me. I’d be grinding, and others were coasting. And yet we were all splitting commissions like we were in a real estate commune. Eventually, I started to get resentful.

Then, life (and karma) served me a cold plate of perspective.

The lots in our section sold out. Just like that, I had nothing left to sell. And I couldn’t move to a new section until the builder developed more lots—which in builder time is somewhere between “not soon” and “eventually.” I found myself on the bench, twiddling my thumbs, completely dependent on the very people I’d been frustrated with. That sting? That was humility knocking.

Flash forward a few years and—bam—the Great Recession hits. Real estate everywhere slammed on the brakes. Things got scary. But by a twist of fate, my builder hired me to travel the country training other sales teams on how to sell in a down market. It was a wild ride. Some markets I visited hadn’t even felt the downturn yet. They’d say, “Oh, we’re good here. Our market isn’t like those markets.” Sound familiar?

Then I’d return a few months later, and the same agents were scrambling, panicked, and blaming themselves and others for things entirely out of their control. It was eye-opening.

Here’s what I’ve learned: the real estate market moves in cycles. One agent (or company or team) doesn’t make or break it. And when things shift—and they will—it’s easy to internalize it and feel like you’ve lost your touch or you're doing something wrong. But you haven’t. You’re just riding the wave. And sometimes, the tide goes out.

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I’d say: “Roxanne, calm down. And for heaven’s sake, make friends. Be generous. Don’t get worked up about one deal or one slow month. This is a long game. You’re going to need these people someday.”

Over the past 25 years, my business has evolved. Some years were booming, and others were quieter—like when I was having babies or making cross-country moves. But every year, it taught me something new. And through it all, the constant has been the people.

Real estate may be about property, but nothing happens without people. People who trust you. People who challenge you. People who come back to buy or sell again. People who refer their friends because you treated them right—even if the deal didn’t go perfectly.

So if you’re newer to this wild industry, or maybe just in a slower season, let me offer you this: Keep showing up. Keep working hard. Don’t get too high in the highs or too low in the lows. And above all—be good to people. That’s the part that will sustain you.

And if you need me, I’ll be over here, blinking at my voicemail like it’s 2003.