What the Last Three Years Actually Taught Me About Growth

December 2025 quietly marked the end of a three-year chapter in my life.

It was the conclusion of my contract as Brand Ambassador for Just Between Friends, a company I founded, scaled, and eventually sold. For three years after the sale, I stayed closely connected: weekly one-on-ones with the CEO, monthly franchisee community calls, coffee connections with staff, board involvement, and special projects along the way. It was a gift to remain part of something I loved, while also beginning to imagine what might be next.

At the same time, those three years held a different kind of work, the slow, often invisible building of something new.

What I didn’t realize at the beginning.

When I sold Just Between Friends, I stepped away from a mature, systemized organization. It had a seasoned executive team, clear rhythms, capital, recurring revenue, and a plan. It was everything founders work years to build.

What I didn’t fully grasp when I stepped into full-time coaching in September of 2023 was this simple truth:

I was starting a startup again.

It had been a long time since I’d lived in that space.

I had experience. I had relationships. I had credibility. And yet, none of those eliminated the reality that early-stage work feels exposed. There’s no momentum to borrow. No systems quietly carrying the load. No predictable revenue smoothing out the edges.

Just clarity, consistency, and the willingness to stay.

The slow work behind the scenes.

At the end of 2022, my husband Mitch and I set clear goals for what my income and profitability would look like as I transitioned into this next chapter. We were aligned. We were thoughtful. And we were wrong about the timeline.

That level of contribution to our family didn’t materialize for quite some time. In fact, it wasn’t until this past year that we truly began to see it show up, and even now, it’s still not exactly where we want it to be.

But something important was happening underneath the surface.

Because of my background, I knew I needed indicators, not emotions, to tell me whether I was actually making progress. So I began tracking a 12-month rolling revenue and profitability spreadsheet, month after month, without fail.

Early on, if I had only looked at the current month, I would have been deeply discouraged. But the longer view told a different story. The numbers were moving in the right direction. Slowly. Consistently.

That’s one of the quiet lessons of leadership: momentum often reveals itself over time, not in snapshots.

The cost of doing things well.

One of the surprises of this season was just how much it costs to run a coaching business well.

The team. The technology. The infrastructure. The preparation. The margin between revenue and profit was tighter than I expected. Like any business, I had to learn where break-even truly lived, and that took time.

There’s a point in every business where you finally understand what it takes to keep the doors open, and only then can you clearly see what growth really requires. That clarity doesn’t come from theory. It comes from experience.

Year one, I lost money.

Year two, I was profitable, just not to the level my achiever mindset wanted.

Both years taught me exactly what I needed to learn.

Feedback that sharpens leadership.

Another unexpected gift came in the form of honest feedback.

One of my clients, a thoughtful, driven founder in the wellness space, is a true learner. He reads, attends conferences, hosts a podcast, and is deeply committed to his own growth. He’s also refreshingly honest.

While most of my clients rate our time together very highly, he twice gave me feedback below a seven out of ten.

And it stung.

But he was right.

That feedback forced me to slow down, overprepare, and get even more intentional about anticipating what my clients truly needed in each session. It raised my standard, not just for him, but for everyone I serve.

Leadership growth often comes through the conversations we don’t want but desperately need.

That season made one thing very clear: experience alone wasn’t enough. I needed perspective.

Choosing not to build alone.

One of the smartest decisions I made in this season was joining a mastermind for coaches.

It would have been easy to assume that my experience alone was enough, and in many ways, it was helpful. But experience doesn’t replace perspective, and it doesn’t eliminate blind spots. This was a new business, a new model, and a new season.

That group gave me more than tactics. It gave me context. It reminded me that the questions I was asking weren’t signs of failure, they were signs of growth. Hearing from others who were a few steps ahead helped me avoid unnecessary detours and normalize the pace I was experiencing.

Even as a coach, I needed a room where I wasn’t the one leading, just learning.

Leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about knowing when to put yourself in proximity to people who can sharpen your thinking and steady your resolve.

The discipline of boundaries, even with generosity.

One of the indicators I track each month might surprise people: unpaid work.

I knew going into this space that I would be asked to help people who couldn’t afford what I charge. Instead of pretending that wouldn’t happen, or letting resentment quietly build, I gave it structure.

I set a boundary: one hour per week of free coaching.

That decision preserved both generosity and sustainability.

One of the most meaningful expressions of that time right now is the work I’m doing with my church. Walking leaders through core values, helping clarify culture, and supporting people I love as they continue to grow and steward something bigger than themselves has been deeply fulfilling.

Leadership principles don’t change because an organization is nonprofit. Churches wrestle with vision, people, finances, alignment, and strategy just like any other organization. Sitting in that space feels full-circle, a reminder that growth isn’t only about revenue. It’s about impact.

What growth actually looks like.

What growth actually looks like. After two full fiscal years in this chapter, here’s what I know to be true:

Growth looks like consistency before confidence.

It looks like tracking indicators before results show up.

It looks like being willing to learn, even when you’re experienced.

It looks like surrounding yourself with people who’ve gone before you.

It looks like gratitude and ambition existing at the same time.

The breakdown wasn’t a failure. It was the necessary ground before the breakthrough.

Three years in, I don’t feel finished. I feel grounded.

And I’m more convinced than ever that the leaders who build something that lasts aren’t the ones who avoid hard seasons. They’re the ones who stay, learn, and let structure turn effort into momentum.

If you’re in a season that feels slower than expected, messier than planned, or quieter than you hoped, you’re not behind.

You’re building.

Lessons learned.

Growth rarely looks the way we expect it to, but it always reveals what matters most. Momentum is built through consistency, not confidence, and indicators tell the truth long before results feel satisfying. Even seasoned leaders grow faster in the right rooms, with the right structure, and the humility to keep learning. The breakthrough doesn’t come from avoiding the hard seasons. It comes from staying present and building through them.

Shine On,
Shannon