@thesoulful_writer: To close the doors of your own business is not just an end—it’s a quiet death. One that does not gather mourners or ritual, yet leaves you grieving all the same. It is the sound of keys turning for the last time. To switch off the lights. The stillness of a room that once held dreams in motion. You do it gently, but it splits something in you. The ache is not just in the ending, but in everything it cost to try. Letting go of staff—people who stood beside you, who came early, stayed late, carried things with you—is its own kind of sorrow. You do the numbers, you plead with margins, you stretch hope across spreadsheets. And when you finally fold your hands in surrender, there is shame that rises even though you tried everything. There is guilt, because they trusted you. There is silence, because you don’t have answers. Then come the clients. The ones who became more than customers. The ones who referred you, defended you, built with you. Telling them means naming the end out loud. And as they respond with kindness or confusion, what you feel is not just professional—it’s personal. You are not just closing a business. You are closing a chapter of yourself. There is a kind of hollow that follows. A silence that stays even when everyone else has moved on. There are no clean endings. Only the hope that what you built mattered. That it left a kindness in the world. That those who walked with you will remember the way you tried—fully, earnestly, humanly.

The Soulful_Writer

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Friday 06 June 2025 10:35:17 GMT