Closing a business is one of the hardest decisions an entrepreneur can make. In this personal story, Steph Briggs shares why she closed the retail business she spent ten years building, how it changed her identity, and the lessons that now shape her work helping other business owners grow.
For a long time, I struggled to talk about closing my shop.
When you've spent ten years building a business from the ground up, it becomes part of who you are. It isn't just somewhere you work. It's where your ideas come to life, where you've celebrated the good days and worried through the bad ones. It's where you've invested your savings, your weekends and, if you're anything like me, a fair bit of your heart.
There was a point where people didn't call my husband Stu anymore. He'd become "Mr La Di Da".
I'd be walking around Sainsbury's and people would stop me to say hello. I was "the lady from that gorgeous shop". Others recognised me from social media. My business wasn't just somewhere I worked; it had become part of my identity and, in many ways, part of my family's too.
So when I locked the door for the final time, I wasn't just closing a business. I was saying goodbye to a version of myself.
The decision had nothing to do with falling out of love with the business. In fact, I still loved it. But life has a habit of changing your priorities without asking your permission.
My mum had developed dementia and needed my support. She lived a long way from me and was in an abusive relationship. Suddenly, what had once felt important became urgent.
Like so many independent retailers, I wasn't sitting behind the scenes managing a team. I was the business. I was the buyer, the marketer, the visual merchandiser, the customer service department and the decision maker. The business worked because I was there every single day. As soon as I couldn't be, it simply wasn't financially viable to keep it going.
At the time, I saw closing the shop as failure.
Looking back, I realise it was one of the bravest decisions I've ever made. That doesn't mean it wasn't incredibly painful. I carried an enormous amount of guilt. Not just because I was closing the business, but because I felt I was failing everywhere.
I felt guilty that I wasn't there enough for my mum when she needed me most. I felt guilty that I wasn't being the wife or the mum I wanted to be. I'd spent years pouring everything I had into building a business for our future, only to realise I'd missed so many of those ordinary moments that make up a childhood. Those years when your little one wants you to watch every drawing, read every bedtime story and celebrate every tiny achievement. You don't get those years back.
Then there was the guilt of closing the shop itself. I worried about my customers. I worried about my suppliers. I worried about the relationships I'd spent years building and the people who had supported me.
For a long time, I believed all of that meant I'd failed.
Now I see it differently.
Life had changed. My priorities had changed. The decision wasn't between running a successful business and giving up. It was between trying to be everything to everyone or accepting that something had to give.
It took me years to realise that making the right decision doesn't always feel like making the easy one.
Looking back, I can also see something I couldn't see then. I'd built a business that relied almost entirely on me. That wasn't unusual. In fact, it's how thousands of small businesses still operate today. We wear every hat because that's what needs to happen to get the business off the ground. It works brilliantly... until life happens.
And life always happens.
Parents become ill.
Children need you.
Relationships change.
Health changes.
When a business can't function without its owner, those moments become far more than personal challenges. They become business risks.
If I could sit down with the version of me who was standing behind that shop counter all those years ago, exhausted but determined to make it work, I wouldn't give her marketing advice.
I'd tell her to build a business that could survive real life.
I'd tell her that asking for help isn't weakness.
I'd tell her that systems matter.
I'd tell her that she doesn't have to carry everything herself.
Most of all, I'd tell her that one day she'll understand why this chapter mattered so much.
For years, I thought the story ended when I handed back the keys. I couldn't have been more wrong because that business has never really left me.
Every client I help today benefits from those ten years. Every website I audit, every marketing strategy I write, every retail business I work with is shaped by the lessons I learned inside those four walls. I understand what it's like to worry about cash flow, to lose sleep over staffing, to question every buying decision and to feel the weight of responsibility that comes with running your own business.
I don't teach these things because I read them in a book. I teach them because I've lived them.
The greatest privilege of my career hasn't been building businesses. It's been helping other people build theirs. Watching someone gain confidence. Seeing a client have their best month ever. Helping a business owner finally feel in control instead of overwhelmed.
Knowing that a conversation, a strategy or a different way of looking at something has helped someone move forward. None of that would have happened without the journey that began in a little interiors shop all those years ago.
When I eventually stepped away from retail, I realised I'd accumulated something far more valuable than I could see at the time. I'd spent ten years understanding customers, merchandising products, building a brand, creating marketing campaigns, managing suppliers, navigating cash flow and making difficult commercial decisions every single day. Those weren't just retail skills; they were business skills.
That experience became the foundation of Steph Briggs Marketing.
Today, I have the privilege of working with businesses across a wide range of industries, helping them build stronger brands, improve their marketing, grow their online presence and create businesses that are both profitable and resilient. Whether I'm reviewing a website, developing a marketing strategy or mentoring a business owner, everything I do is shaped by the lessons I learned as someone who has stood exactly where they are standing now.
But there was still something missing. I knew first-hand how lonely running a business could feel. I knew what it was like to carry every decision yourself, to question whether you were making the right choices and to wish there was a room full of people who simply understood.
That's why Zoe and I created the Pink Gorilla Collective.
We weren't trying to build another membership. We wanted to create the room I wish I'd been able to walk into all those years ago. A place where business owners could find practical support, honest conversations, expert guidance and people who understand that running a business isn't just about marketing plans and turnover.
It's about navigating real life while trying to build something meaningful.
Sometimes people ask me whether I miss having the shop. The honest answer is yes.
I miss the buying and unpacking new deliveries. I miss chatting to regular customers. I miss seeing someone fall in love with a piece of furniture and knowing it had found the right home. I even miss being recognised as "the lady from La Di Da", while my husband smiled because everyone knew him as "Mr La Di Da".
Those memories will always be part of me but I don't wish I could go back. Closing my shop wasn't the end of my story. It was the chapter that made everything else possible.
About Steph
I'm the founder of Steph Briggs Marketing and co-founder of the Pink Gorilla Collective. Before that, I spent ten years running my own interiors business, so I know what it's really like to juggle marketing, cash flow, customers and all the other hats that come with running a small business.
Today, I help business owners build brands they're proud of and businesses that are profitable, sustainable and don't rely on them carrying the whole weight of the world.
If this story resonated with you, I'd love to connect.