The Problem with My “Business Model”
Let me paint you a picture of just how spectacularly bad I am at this whole “scaling” and “delegation” thing.
I’m the business owner. Tick. I’m also the operational manager. Tick. And the relationship manager. Big tick.
I meet with every prospective client and their families personally. I answer my phone seven days a week – yes, even on Sundays when I’m supposed to be relaxing (whatever that means). I’m always the first point of contact. I ensure the little things get done, the ones that most business consultants would tell you to “systematise” or “delegate to someone else.”
My team and I will bend over backwards, do cartwheels, and basically move heaven and earth to support our clients. We don’t just provide a service – we create an entire ecosystem around each person we work with.
Any MBA graduate would take one look at my operations and prescribe immediate intervention. “You’re the bottleneck!” they’d say. “You need to work on your business, not in it!” they’d insist, waving their hands dramatically.
And you know what? They’d be absolutely right.
Swimming, Not Drowning (Mostly)
Am I stretched thin? Absolutely. Am I juggling more balls than a circus performer? You bet. Have I mastered the art of managing daily operations while nurturing relationships with families, staff, and clients all at once?
Not even close.
But here’s the beautiful part – I’m still swimming. Maybe not with the grace of an Olympic athlete, more like an enthusiastic golden retriever who just discovered water for the first time, but I’m swimming, nonetheless.
The Secret Sauce (It’s Not Really a Secret)
So why do I run my business this way? Why do I insist on being involved in everything, on knowing every client personally, on being the person who picks up the phone at 10 PM on a Saturday?
Because there’s one question that drives everything I do at Heart In Hand:
What would I want for my mum?
That’s it. That’s the entire business model if you can even call it that. Every decision, every policy, every interaction filters through that simple question. Would this be good enough for my mum? Would I want her to receive this level of care? Would I trust this person to support her with dignity and respect?
If the answer is no, we don’t do it. Full stop.
And here’s the thing about that question – it’s not hypothetical. When you’re choosing support for someone you love, you’re not looking for “good enough.” You’re looking for someone who will care as deeply as you do. Someone who will notice when they’re having an off day. Someone who will remember how they take their tea, what makes them laugh, and what frightens them.
That’s what families deserve. That’s what builds trust that lasts.
Why “Terrible” Is Actually Terrific
Here’s what my terrible business model creates:
- Families who have a partner for the long haul – someone who knows their loved one’s story, who they can call when things change, who’ll be there not just for this week or this month, but for years to come. Because trust isn’t built in a single conversation; it’s built through consistency, through showing up, through proving time and again that you mean what you say.
- Clients matched with support workers who are truly right for them – not just whoever’s available on the roster, but people who genuinely connect with them, who understand their communication style, their preferences, their dreams.
- A team that knows their leader is in the trenches with them – not sitting in an ivory tower, but right there beside them, understanding the challenges, celebrating the victories, and having their backs when things get tough.
- An ecosystem of care where people aren’t just clients with case numbers – they’re individuals with stories, families with hopes, and relationships that matter deeply to everyone involved.
This isn’t about quick fixes or transactional services. It’s about building something families can rely on, year after year. It’s about being the constant when everything else feels uncertain.
The Bottom Line
So yes, I have a terrible business model. I’m overextended, over-involved, and probably breaking every rule in the entrepreneurial handbook.
But when a family member tells me they finally sleep peacefully at night knowing their loved one is truly cared for, or when a client’s daughter says “you’re not just a service provider, you’re part of our family now,” or when someone calls me first – not out of obligation, but because they trust me – that’s when I know my “terrible” business model is actually the best decision I’ve ever made.
After all, some things are more important than efficiency metrics. Like knowing that the families who trust you today will still trust you tomorrow, next year, and the year after that. Like building relationships that don’t end when a contract does.
So I’ll keep swimming. I’ll keep answering my phone. I’ll keep asking myself what I’d want for my mum – and what I’d want for your mum, your dad, your sister, your loved one.
And I’ll keep running my terrible, beautiful, completely unsustainable business model – one heartfelt connection, one family, one lifetime of trust at a time.
With Love, May
