My business was my fifth baby. It required me to nurture it, believe in it, choose it over myself, and give and give and give. I did this for more than three years with the utmost faith in what this business could be for me, for my family, and for the many people I was helping. I worked harder than I had ever worked and yet I couldn’t keep it going. It turns out sheer willpower and supportive customers can’t overcome poor profit margins, non-existent cash reserves, and increasing costs.
The day I said goodbye to my loyal customers and began to dismantle the business wasn’t the most difficult day. The hardest day was a couple of weeks later, when I sat alone in my empty playroom and reflected on the very first week I moved in. I remembered sitting on a chair I brought from home, balancing my computer on empty boxes, while I waited for furniture deliveries. I was full of so much hope then. Now the same empty room felt like a hollow reminder of my failures.
Instead of crying, I felt an unexpected emotion – anger. A deep seething anger at everyone and no one.
Everything annoyed me. I didn’t want to reply to emails from people asking to learn from my failures. I didn’t want to be asked if I would do it all again. I didn’t want to be composed and polite. I argued with my husband more than normal. I had little to no patience for my children’s lack of understanding of the enormity of what was happening.
At the same time, I was reeling from the financial impact. My bank accounts were empty, my credit was shot, I was behind on all my bills, and it was the holidays. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t tell myself this was a short-term issue. The reality of the situation was piled on so high, I felt myself drowning.
I wanted to disappear. What I needed to do, however, was make money and focus on my family – my actual real life babies.
I locked myself in my room and binged on terrible shows. I didn’t want to think or feel or explain. I just wanted to be held in a protective bubble of my own choosing.
After a couple of days, I did what I have always done. I got dressed, showed up, and forged ahead. I didn’t have the luxury of self-pity. I couldn’t simply disappear.
So, I made the decision to move forward. I focused on my work as a Realtor. I tried to be home when my kids got off the bus. I stopped living on social media and gave myself permission to grieve.
One day, I began to write. I went back to what always gave me life. I thought my creative voice had stopped talking to me. I realized that I had stopped listening. My all consuming business had pulled me away from my first true passion – my writing.
At first, my writing was a collection of bitter and angry words about failure. I didn’t share these.
Slowly my words began to change. I felt the flutters of transformation deep within. My anger was lessening. I began to feel like myself again. I realized my anger was never really anger. My anger was part of my grieving process.
It may sound silly to grieve something that was never alive, but the business was a real and profound part of my life. It was not just a business loss, but a loss of what I thought I wanted.
I am on a new path now. One where I am focused on what’s most important to me – family, friends, clients, and writing.
My business loss is part of my story and journey, but it does not define who I am. Instead, perhaps, it was the realignment I needed to begin again.
Such Strength!