Slowing Down to Speed Up: What It Really Feels Like to Close a Location

The first time I closed a location, it felt like I was losing a part of me. Like I had failed. Like everyone in town would whisper about what a disaster I was. It took me nearly a year to pull the plug. I finally did it—on my child’s 8th birthday. I kept myself distracted all day just to avoid the pain of letting go of what I thought was my “baby.”

This second location was supposed to prove I had made it. It was supposed to be my flex. Instead, it flopped. And when I finally closed it, something strange happened: I felt relief. I woke up the next morning with a weight lifted. Funny thing? We had so few customers, barely anyone even noticed it was gone.

Then came the hard one: my flagship store.

This time, I had a “good” reason. We were moving out of state to open two new stores. So I could spin the closure as part of something exciting. But deep down? I felt like a fraud. Because if the store had truly been successful, I could’ve figured out how to manage it from afar. The truth? Great sales don’t mean much when your expenses are even greater. Constant staff turnover, wasted product, costly mistakes, and burn-out were killing our profits.

I closed that one during my kids’ end-of-year school performance. While they danced on stage, I was getting photos from my team of our last customer making their last purchase. Bittersweet doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The next few days were a blur—packing, moving, trying to sell equipment, and dealing with flaky buyers who backed out last minute. When the right buyer finally came through, just two days after we landed in a new state, I exhaled. We got paid, he took over the lease, and I could finally let go.

Closure #2 brought me clarity. I’d dodged a bullet and felt free to start fresh.

With that new beginning came new decisions. I was determined to do things differently. No full retail stores this time—just dark kitchens with minimal staff, low overhead, and no customer-facing space. Easier, right?

Well… customers kept showing up asking for the “real” experience.

Two months into the dark kitchen, we got word they were shutting down. So I pivoted. I bought all new equipment and turned our second location into a production center with a display case and full retail setup. Back to square one.

Then came another new store: a small but mighty location. It was outperforming our production center threefold. Meanwhile, the production center, now bloated with overhead and underwhelming in sales, was draining us.

I’d seen this movie before—I knew how it ended. But this time, I didn’t wait around. I dove into the numbers, analyzed every sale, every expense. It was crystal clear: this store was eating up our profits.

I called the landlord, hoping for options. And wouldn’t you know it? He offered us a way out of the lease. We could walk away, pay a prorated amount, and be done.

Closure #3 felt different. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t ashamed. I didn’t feel like I was losing a piece of myself—I felt like a real businesswoman. A grown-up who could make tough calls.

That first week after closing? Sales went up. My overhead went down. I had cash in my pocket and room to reinvest in ways that actually mattered. Weeks later, I’m still doing metaphorical cartwheels.

The Moral of the Story?

Not everything that looks like a loss is one.
Sometimes it’s just the clearing that makes space for what’s next.
If it’s not working for you, it’s okay to let it go.

The longer you delay a hard decision, the longer you delay the good stuff that comes with it.

And guess what?
You can always reopen, rebuild, or reroute—on your own terms.

You’ve got this. 💪

💬 Ready for your next bold business move?

If you're at a crossroads and wondering what to do next—whether it’s closing a chapter, pivoting, or scaling up—I’d love to help. Let’s chat about how to make bold moves that actually make sense.