The Professional Mea Culpa I Never Expected

MEA CULPA BLOG - What I Did When Life Broke My Calendar

There was no big announcement.

 No strategy.

 No offboarding plan.

One day I was leading projects, working with clients I adored, writing copy I was proud of.

The next day, my world flipped, and I became a full-time caregiver. What followed was beautiful, brutal, humbling, and clarifying.

 And today, I want to tell the story that I never expected to make public. The one I wish someone had told me when I was in it. Because maybe you’re there right now.

WHEN CAREGIVING BECOMES CHAOS

My dad had dementia. We knew that.  But for a while, it was manageable. Quirky. Predictable, even.

And then, almost overnight, it shifted.

 From forgetfulness to confusion. From confusion to aggression.

I haven’t talked about this much.

 But I will now—because I think someone out there needs to hear it: There was a moment I truly feared for my safety.

 My father—the man who had protected me my whole life—no longer knew who I was at times.  And in his fear, he turned violent. I held him as he died a year later.  A beautiful, traumatic, and sacred goodbye.

But the emotional whiplash of caregiving during that final year or so?  That broke something open in me.  And with it, every structure I’d built for my business collapsed. My life, if I want to be honest. 

I DID NOTHING RIGHT

I want to say this clearly: I didn’t leave my business well. I tried to keep some clients. I didn’t charge them because I didn’t feel I deserved to. I handed off others, hoping they’d be taken care of.  And yes—I let some down. That part hurts the most. I did my best. But it wasn’t my best work.

Here’s what I’ve done since:

Reached out. Repaired where I could.

Offered honesty, not excuses.

Asked for forgiveness. And received it—more than once.

 (Some clients even came back, which I’ll never stop being grateful for.)

But this isn’t a redemption arc.  It’s a reminder that sometimes the “messy middle” doesn’t get cleaned up with a bow. And still - you’re allowed to come back.

What I Know Now

If you’ve had to step away from your work - not for a sabbatical or a rebrand, but because life demanded it- I want you to know: You’re not broken.  You’re not disqualified.  You’re not behind.

You may be changed.

 You may be tender.

 You may even feel like a stranger to your old self.

But you’re not done.

A QUIET RETURN

I’m not coming back to business with a bang.  I’m coming back with boundaries. With breath. With clarity. I’ve rebuilt my services.  I’ve rewritten my offers.  I’ve released the idea that I need to “make up for lost time.” I’m not trying to prove myself anymore.  I’m here to serve, clearly and calmly.

If this resonates - if your pause came with grief or caregiving or just a collapse of identity - there’s space for you.

This isn’t just my story.

 It might be yours too.

You can start slow.

You can start quietly.

But you can start.

Murl Sillaway 1932-2025