The Real Breaking Point

I thought I’d already had my “fall apart” moment.
Closing the store. Sitting on the floor with boxes. Feeling that strange mix of heartbreak and relief.

But life has a way of asking, “Are you sure you’re done unraveling?”

Because just when I thought I was finding my footing again, something beautiful happened.
I gave my first big speech.

A real one. On a stage. In front of a few hundred people.
I told my story—raw, real, no filter.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like me.

Not the version scrambling to hold things together.
Not the one second-guessing every decision.
Just me. Calm. Clear. Connected.
I felt like I belonged.

I remember walking off that stage with a lightness in my chest, thinking, Maybe this is the start of something new.

And then my phone rang.

It was two of my top employees—people I had trusted and leaned on through so much.
They knew the inner workings of the business: the formulas, the operations, the systems.

And they had a proposal.

They wanted to take over the backend of Pure Placid—production, shipping, the website.
They said I could still have my store, but I’d purchase my products from them moving forward.
It was presented like a business opportunity, like they were helping.

But to me, it felt like something else entirely.
Not a business opportunity. Not a favor.
It felt like a betrayal.

These were people I had trusted deeply—people I had shared my vision with, invested in, believed in.
And now, they were asking me to hand it all over.
To buy back the very thing I had built with my own hands.

I was stunned.
This wasn’t just a business. It was my life’s work.
The candles. The formulas. The long nights. The tears. The tiny wins that no one else saw but me.
It was mine.

And suddenly, I was being asked to step aside from it.
To become a customer in my own story.

It shook me.
Not just because of the proposal itself—but because of who it came from.
That’s what hurt the most.

So I said no.

Things shifted after that.
The trust had fractured, and the working relationship quietly came to an end not long after.

Suddenly, it really was just me.
Back to pouring candles.
Back to printing shipping labels.
Back to the beginning—but in a very different way.

This time, the silence felt heavier.
And yet... there was something sacred in it.

For the first time in a long time, I stopped focusing on saving the business—and started focusing on saving me.

I hired two coaches. Not for strategy. Not for growth.
For healing.

We didn’t start with goals.
We started with questions:

• What brings you joy?

• What are you naturally good at?

• What kind of life do you want to live?

I didn’t have the answers yet. But I finally felt like I was asking the right ones.

Sometimes the real breaking point isn’t when you lose something—it’s when you realize what you refuse to lose again.

Yourself.