Owning a business is a constant education—sometimes the lessons are expensive, and sometimes they’re just plain painful. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned came from a piece of well-meaning but ultimately damaging advice from a coach I hired when my company was growing faster than I was ready for.
My company, All Nation Restoration, is a remediation company here in Austin, Texas. As we hit $2 to $2.5 million in gross revenue and scaled up to around 16 employees, something unexpected happened:
My profit margins shrank.
My quality of life tanked.
And suddenly, I felt like I wasn’t running a business—I was babysitting one.
I was overwhelmed, burned out, and deeply aware that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. That’s when I reached out to a highly respected coaching company that specialized in small businesses. They seemed like the right fit, and when our assigned coach flew in for an intensive three-day on-site, I was hopeful this would be a turning point.
It was. Just not the kind I expected.
During the visit, the coach focused on creating job desc
riptions, performance metrics, and operational systems—which was great. But one question kept sitting heavy in my chest:
Where do I fit into this machine I’ve built?
I asked her repeatedly throughout the visit, hoping to find clarity about my evolving role. But the question kept getting brushed aside. Finally, at the end of the last day, in a rushed conversation, she dropped what I thought would be the golden answer.
She mentioned that one of my team members told her I owned a boat. She smiled and said,
“You need to spend a lot more time fishing.”
When I asked her to clarify, she told me I should be spending maybe an hour a week—max five—on my company. Just check your numbers, then let your general manager handle the rest.
A piece of me was terrified.
A piece of me was hopeful.
And the whole of me wanted badly to believe that this was the path to freedom.
So I took the advice—or at least, my version of it. I didn’t go fishing. Instead, I went and started another business.
Rather than invest in my existing company, I poured time, energy, and resources into something new—something shiny. It came with clients, employees, financial commitments, and worst of all, it tied my name and reputation to something I hadn’t earned mastery in yet.
And as I pulled my attention away from All Nation Restoration, the company that had fed my family and built my career, I saw the consequences show up fast.
Revenue dipped.
Team morale wavered.
Culture cracked.
I had taken my eye off the ball, and the company paid the price.
When I finally saw the damage clearly, I fired the coaching company, and I came back to the business full-time. But the cost had already been written in time, money, and stress. And now, I had two companies to manage—because the new one couldn’t be dropped without consequences.
It’s taken three years for that second business to finally break even.
Looking back, I don’t blame the coach entirely. But I do recognize that their advice was bad for me. And the way I interpreted it—trying to be a “smarter” entrepreneur by multiplying businesses before mastering one—was a mistake I’ll never repeat.
If I could go back, I would stay locked in on one thing.
I would double down on my team, my culture, and the mission of All Nation Restoration.
I would ignore the shiny offers, the tempting distractions, and the outside voices that didn’t understand the soul of what I’d built.
Because here’s what I know now:
Focus is more valuable than freedom.
Consistency is more important than cleverness.
And success isn’t found in stepping away—it’s found in showing up, day after day, until the business becomes what you always knew it could be.
Stay strong. Stay focused. Stay in business.
