I've been thinking a lot about disappointment lately.
Yesterday, after almost twelve years, we officially closed the final chapter of InSpero with the sale of our property. I've spent so much time over the past few months dealing with everything that needed to be done that I haven't really had much opportunity to think about how different this ending is from the one I imagined when we started.
In my mind, Susan and I were going to build something extraordinary. We were going to make an enormous impact on people's lives, build a thriving and financially successful practice, and eventually reach a point where we could afford to help people who otherwise wouldn't have access to the care they needed. I envisioned us being so successful that we could give more and more of what we did away for free.
I really believed that was how things were going to go.
I also believed that if you worked hard enough, cared enough, and gave something everything you had, success was practically inevitable. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I was convinced that all that effort would eventually pay off.
About four years ago, Susan needed to step away from the business to focus on her health, which I completely understood. But it also meant that keeping everything running fell squarely on my shoulders.
And things changed. With Susan no longer involved in the day-to-day, I found myself trying to maintain the vision we'd built together while navigating a different working relationship, with different perspectives and priorities. Susan and I had always wanted to create a place where the patient was at the center of absolutely everything. Not our individual interests, not our egos, not what was easiest or most convenient for us, but what was genuinely best for the person sitting in front of us.
That was the whole point.
Trying to hold on to that vision while managing the realities of running a business became increasingly difficult, especially without Susan beside me the way she'd been before. I was still working just as hard, probably harder, but I was beginning to realize that working hard wasn't necessarily going to get us where I'd always imagined we'd end up.
Well, here we are.
Almost twelve years later, I've closed the business, emptied the space, figured out what to do with an astonishing amount of stuff we'd accumulated, and am facing the fact that I'll walk away without the financial return I'd always expected.
And I am supremely disappointed.
I'd love to tell you that my first reaction was to reflect on everything I'd gained, appreciate the experience, and gracefully accept that life doesn't always work out the way we plan.
Yeah, no.
I was hurt. I'd worked incredibly hard for a very long time, and I genuinely believed there would be something waiting for me at the end of it.
I kept coming back to the same thought. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
The interesting part is that the woman who started InSpero almost twelve years ago is someone I barely recognize today. I was arrogant, although I would have told you then I was confident. I was deeply insecure, although old me would have argued otherwise. I was confrontational, angry, and convinced that I deserved a certain kind of life.
I thought the world owed me something.
And over the years, that changed. Not overnight, and definitely not without some uncomfortable moments of having to take a good, hard look at myself.
A tremendous amount of that growth came from Susan.
I don't think I can adequately explain what it means to have someone invest that much time, patience, energy, and love into helping you become a better person. Susan saw things in me that I couldn't see, or perhaps didn't want to see, and she had this incredible ability to help me recognize them without ever making me feel judged.
She helped me with my health, taught me more than I could ever begin to quantify, and supported me through some of the biggest changes of my adult life. She has been extraordinarily generous with me in ways that go far beyond anything financial.
I'm a fundamentally different person because of her, and I genuinely love the person I've become.
And here's what makes all of this even more interesting. I'm already seeing just how much those years have prepared me for what comes next.
Healing in the Space Between has taken off faster than I expected. I started this new business knowing exactly what I wanted to do and how I wanted to help people, but I had no idea how quickly things would begin falling into place.
I'm being approached with job opportunities almost every week, which has been a pretty wonderful reminder that all those years of figuring things out, solving problems, working with patients, and doing whatever needed to be done actually taught me a thing or two. I was so busy doing the work that I don't think I ever really stopped to consider how much I'd learned or how valuable those skills might be outside of InSpero.
And I love the people I'm meeting! I'm connecting with this incredible network of healers and practitioners who are doing fascinating work, genuinely care about their patients, and are excited to share what they know. I'm having conversations that leave me inspired, coming up with ideas, and thinking about possibilities I hadn't even considered a few months ago.
I'm going to be fine. More than fine really.
I'm excited about what I'm building, and I have a feeling this next chapter could be pretty extraordinary in its own right.
So why am I still so disappointed?
I've been thinking about that, because it's not as though I'm worried about what comes next. Quite the opposite. I'm looking forward to it.
I think what I'm realizing is that having something wonderful ahead of you doesn't erase the disappointment of what you thought was going to happen behind you.
And being grateful for everything you've gained doesn't mean you can't wish certain things had turned out differently.
I loved InSpero. I appreciate everything it taught me, and I recognize the extraordinary generosity of my mentor over the years. But I can still wish the ending had been different.
I can look at the person I've become, the experience I've gained, the relationships I've built, and the opportunities in front of me and be genuinely grateful for every bit of it. And I can still be disappointed.
I don't think one has to cancel out the other.
Expectation is ripe for disappointment.
Closing InSpero was entirely my decision, and I know it was the right one. But making that decision didn't make the process any easier or the disappointment any less real. I still had a business to close, responsibilities to fulfill, and people I care about deeply. I did what I said I would do, finished what I started, and handled things in a way that I can feel good about, regardless of the outcome.
That doesn't mean I've suddenly made peace with everything or that I'm thrilled with how it all worked out. I'm not.
But I've accepted that I don't get to decide how every story ends.
I spent almost twelve years believing that if I worked hard enough, the ending would take care of itself.
I know better now.
And while I wouldn't trade the person I've become for the person I was when this all started, I really wouldn't have minded getting the personal growth and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Just saying.