Opinion: Walking away after 12 years: letting go of the business that defined me

That conversation also planted a seed: Is this really what I want to do for the rest of my life?

For years, my identity was so deeply intertwined with being an entrepreneur that I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. If I wasn’t the business owner, then who was I? It shook me.

But I reminded myself of the truth: everything is impermanent—my skills, my abilities, even my body. If I clung too tightly to my role, I would not only limit my own growth, but also the business’s ability to evolve beyond me. So, I started learning to let go.

Read more: Is slowing down the new hustle?

I started delegating. This was a challenge in itself, as I once believed no one could execute tasks as efficiently or precisely as I could. At times, I avoided delegating altogether, thinking it was a waste of time to explain when I could just do it myself. But instead of simply getting things done, I shifted my focus to building systems for long-term sustainability. I documented processes, trained my team, and gradually stepped out of the spotlight. My goal was clear: for HighSpark to be known for its proprietary methods and collective expertise, not just its founders.

Decoupling my identity from the company allowed the team to step up, to own their roles, and to drive HighSpark forward. We were more profitable, more sustainable, and no longer reliant on one person.

I knew we were on the right track when I returned from a holiday to find that no clients had emailed me. The team had handled everything. Business was running smoothly without me.

Despite feeling deeply fulfilled by the impact I was making by training people on communication skills, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Though I gained happiness from hitting milestones, growing the business, helping clients, this happiness was fleeting.

No matter how much I achieved, something always felt slightly off. Like a teacher poetically puts it: It’s like the compass needle is aligned slightly different to true north, and you know you’re living a life not worthy of your death.

I’ve met many high achievers including CEOs, thought leaders and entrepreneurs. But the happiest people I know aren’t the most successful by worldly standards. They are monks in saffron robes, living with little yet completely at ease. That realisation pulled me deeper into exploring a different way of life. I began spending time in forest monasteries and going on retreats, immersing myself in their simplicity. I wanted to see for myself, was it really possible to be truly happy with so little?

Read more: The correlation between wealth and happiness

What I discovered was a peace and joy unlike anything I had felt before: one that wasn’t tied to accomplishments or external validation. It didn’t fade when a project ended; it was deeper, more enduring. I saw immense merit in following this path more fully.

So, I started preparing. I built frameworks, trained my team and created systems to ensure HighSpark could run without me. The goal was to slowly transition out, so I could dedicate more time to deepening my practice, travelling for retreats, and immersing myself in what truly called to me. But then, Covid hit.

Overnight, everything changed. HighSpark had always relied on in-person workshops, and suddenly, that was no longer an option. We had to pivot, fast.I put my personal plans on hold and focused entirely on adapting the business. We shifted online, revamped our offerings, and, to my surprise, thrived.

At first, I told myself this was temporary. Once things stabilised, I would return to my original path. But then, as the months turned into years, the thought of leaving was shelved. I got swept up in the momentum. The business was doing well. The team was thriving. Clients needed us.

Even after borders reopened, I stayed on, immersing myself in planning the next phase of growth, mapping out exciting strategies to take the business forward. The path I once felt so drawn towards seemed further away, buried under the weight of responsibility and success.

Read more: The role of creativity in an organisation’s success

But then… it crept up again

At first, it was subtle. A quiet discomfort. A nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Then, I started noticing the signs. I was dragging myself out of bed 10 minutes before morning Zoom syncs. The same internal projects on my to-do list remained overdue for months. Work that once excited me now felt like an obligation.

The hardest part? Admitting that my heart was no longer in it. 

I was procrastinating, I was avoiding. Because deep down, I knew that the more I built, the harder it would be to leave. More responsibilities. More handovers. More ties keeping me bound to the business.

However, the thought of saying goodbye was daunting. I worried about how my team would take it. Would they feel discouraged or lost? Would they want to leave? Would they feel overwhelmed? Are they ready for it?

I felt stuck, trapped in my own rumination. But I knew that a leader who had lost their passion wasn’t just unmotivated, they were a liability. If I didn’t resolve this, the business would eventually stagnate.

There were moments I wished I was just an employee. Walking away would have been as simple as handing in a resignation letter. But as a founder, it wasn’t that easy. People’s livelihoods depended on the decisions I made. I wrestled with every possibility: selling the business, shutting it down and ensuring severance for the team, or parachuting a successor to take over. Options that would have let me walk away sooner because, deep down, I knew  I could no longer give it my all; not in the way the team, our clients and the business deserved.

But I couldn’t do it.

Our team members had been loyal and dedicated. Many had been with us for years, and for most, this was the longest job they had ever held, growing from nervous interns into confident professionals. We watched each other grow: getting engaged, married, starting families. Some of our clients had trusted us for nearly a decade. HighSpark and its people meant a great deal to me, and I couldn’t simply walk away without ensuring it was in good hands. I didn’t know how to move forward.

Read more: The founder’s farewell: Why and when to leave your startup

So, I worked with a coach to challenge my assumptions, gain clarity and have the difficult conversations I had been avoiding. When I finally spoke with my business partner and the team, their response surprised me.

They had already seen it coming. And they supported me.

After much deliberation, instead of an abrupt exit, I chose the harder path: the slow, intentional process of stepping back once again.

The initial plan was to gradually step away, removing myself completely from daily operations, relocating overseas, and transitioning into a pure advisory role. I would only step in for strategy meetings when necessary. In the meantime, we sought someone to take over the strategic and operational leadership I was leaving behind. But rather than a conventional job posting, we searched for someone who truly understood our culture and values. We knew this wasn’t a role that could be filled overnight.

And so, another year passed with me balancing my new life abroad while still managing the business. Yet, the ending kept dragging on. Letting go was proving harder than I had imagined.

After months of deliberation, we decided on the best way forward: My business partner would take over the team I managed, ensuring continuity, while we promoted someone internally to support strategic and operational execution.

And with that, I finally stepped away.

There were still many plans I had originally set out to see through, but I had to accept that there would never be a perfect time to leave. Practicing equanimity, I chose to be at peace with the situation. It is with a mix of relief and bittersweet finality to finally let go.

I’m truly grateful to the team for supporting my aspiration. As we gathered one last time over Chinese New Year, reminiscing about the years, we tried to hold back our tears. I couldn’t have done it all without my business partner, who has been a pillar of support throughout this journey.

Letting go wasn’t easy. But it was freeing.

As for what’s next? The path is uncertain. But for the first time in a long while, I’m at peace with not having all the answers.

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