I’m going to say something it took me a long time to admit out loud: my generosity nearly destroyed my business.
It wasn’t just a bad client or a bad market. It was me – and the way I kept giving all of myself away.
For years I thought I was being kind..
Someone I knew really needed help in their business, so I’d drop my rate.
A client was doing it tough, so I’d knock a bit off by giving extra time for free.
I kept my prices low and left them there, because the thought of putting them up made my chest go tight.
What would people think? Would they decide I’d gotten greedy? Would they leave?
So I said yes when I meant no. I undercharged. I made myself endlessly available. I told myself all of it was generosity.
Nice and kind aren’t the same thing
What I was calling generosity wasn’t really kindness. It was niceness.
And they’re not the same thing.
Niceness is about being liked. It’s smoothing things over, saying yes so nobody’s disappointed in you. Underneath, it’s run by fear – fear of conflict, fear of what someone will think of you.
Kindness is a different thing altogether.
Kindness can hold a boundary without an apology stapled to it. It can tell someone the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, because honesty is what actually helps them. And it leaves room for you in the equation, instead of putting everyone else first until there’s nothing left.
I was being nice. I thought I was being kind.
The gap between those two is exactly where my business started to come apart.
What it cost me
When you run a business on niceness, the maths stops working. You can’t keep discounting and over-delivering and being available at all hours and expect the numbers to hold.
Mine certainly didn’t.
But the money was only half of it. The bigger cost was me. Always on, always available, until I had nothing left for the people I actually loved, let alone my clients.
I burnt out. And the part that stung was knowing I’d done it to myself, one well-meaning yes at a time.
Rebuilding on a different foundation
When I understood what was happening and accepted why I was doing it, I was able to realign my business slowly. I didn’t start with a new logo or a shiny new offer.
I started with boundaries – because that was the thing that had been missing the whole time.
I put my rates where they needed to be and stopped flinching about it. My business needs to be profitable financially AND energetically otherwise it’s not sustainable. I was bankrupting myself in those areas while ensuring other businesses (and their owners) flourished.
I let “no” be a complete sentence, instead of treating my time as something everyone else got first dibs on.
I declined work that drained my energy, and made me sloth-like. Course set up, marketing strategy, Meta Ads, content writing? No thanks.
Adhoc work? Must be booked in – not negotiable. Adhoc work is the same as projects – they fit in around retainers. If there’s no availability in a week/month, then that’s ok.
The strangest thing happened. The business got healthier, and so did I.
The people who valued the work stayed. The ones who only valued me when I was cheap and endlessly available drifted off.
Where generosity sits now
I’m still generous. That hasn’t changed, and I wouldn’t want it to – it’s who I am – but now my generosity has a shape. It has edges. It comes from choice, not from a fear of what someone will think if I say no.
That difference – kind rather than nice, boundaried rather than endlessly available – is the foundation everything I do now is built on. It’s how I run my business, and it’s the first thing I help other people untangle in theirs, because I know exactly how that knot ties itself.
Generosity didn’t have to break my business. It broke it because there were no boundaries holding it up anymore. Give it some, and it becomes something you can actually sustain – for the people you serve, and for you.
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