When 💩 Happens and You’ve Still Got Orders Due

There’s a myth about small business owners — and most of it comes straight from Instagram.

According to the grid, we’re all living the dream: doing the school run, grabbing a fancy coffee, taking long walks, popping to brunch with the girls, squeezing in a few orders between Pilates and a perfectly curated afternoon.

Life is rosy.

Everything is flexible.

And apparently, 💩 never happens.

But anyone who actually runs a small business knows that’s not the truth.

Behind the scenes, it’s a completely different story.

My first real lesson came during lockdown. I’d just booked my first three bouqcake orders — the kind that make you feel like your business is finally taking shape. I was buzzing. And then, overnight, my daughter was rushed to hospital with a life‑changing condition.

One parent allowed. Four days without a shower. Sleeping upright in a plastic chair. Running on adrenaline and fear.

And in the middle of that:

Do I cancel? Do I let people down? Do I try to honour the orders even though I’m barely holding myself together?

Eventually I was allowed home for four hours. I showered, piped three bouquets with shaking hands, and went straight back to the hospital. My husband handled delivery because I physically couldn’t. That’s what “commitment” looked like for me that week.

Two years later, a six‑week kitchen refurb turned into four months of chaos. No kitchen. No workspace. No way to bake. I had to cancel classes I’d been planning to run, and any orders I’d hoped to take on simply couldn’t happen — there was nowhere to stand, let alone create. The builder was later prosecuted for fraud, but that’s a story for another day.

Then, just as I got back on my feet, my mum died unexpectedly. The only grace was that Mother’s Day had been the weekend before, so the 20‑plus orders I’d poured myself into were already in customers’ hands.

And through all of this, I was still doing what so many small business owners do:

working a full‑time job, caring for my family, and surviving on 2–3 hours of sleep because of my daughter’s condition — yet still putting customers first.

If I commit, I commit. Unless the world is genuinely broken.

But life wasn’t done teaching me.

Not long after things finally felt steady again, I had an unexpected brush with ovarian cancer. One minute I was back on an even keel; the next I was on a two‑week fast track to an emergency hysterectomy.

The order book was full.

I had a long waitlist ready for the classes I was about to schedule.

And suddenly, everything had to stop.

Yet again, I found myself staring at my calendar thinking, How many curveballs can one business take?

Do I say, “Here we go again”?

Or do I start wondering whether life is telling me I’m not destined to succeed at running my own business?

And do you know what happened?

My customers were brilliant.

Cards. Flowers. Messages.

Someone even brought me my favourite cake — the M&S apricot Swiss roll, if you’re wondering.

And the words that meant the most:

“Don’t worry. Let me know when you’re back. I’ll keep ordering.”

And when I do have to cancel?

I always try to find another baker to cover the order.

The first time I did this, I was terrified I’d lose the customer forever. Impostor syndrome whispered, “She’ll like the other baker more.”

But she didn’t.

She said, “I love buying from you. I’ll be back.”

And she was true to her word.

That moment taught me something else:

building a referral network isn’t a threat — it’s a safety net.

When you help another baker in their moment of crisis, they remember.

And one day, when their oven breaks or their childcare falls through, you might be the person they send work to.

Community over competition isn’t just a slogan — it’s a survival strategy.

Because here’s the part people don’t see:

💩 happens.

Life throws curveballs, crises, and chaos at the exact moment you’ve got orders due, classes planned, or a diary full of commitments. And when you’re a sole business owner, there’s no team to absorb the shock. It all lands on you.

Most customers never see the hospital chairs, the sleepless nights, the grief, the surgeries, the juggling, the sheer grit it takes to keep going. And honestly? They don’t need to. They’re buying cake, not a documentary.

What does matter — and what keeps a small business alive through all of that — is good planning, clear communication, and a deep sense of professionalism. I care about my business as much as I care about anything else in my life. It’s my dream, my passion, and something I run with love. That’s why I honour my commitments, why I build contingency plans, why I find cover when I can, and why I show up even when life is messy.

That’s the reality behind so many small businesses like mine:

not perfection, but heart, preparation, and a whole lot of resilience.

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The Teachable Moment

If you take one thing from this post, let it be this:

You can be deeply committed AND still allowed to stop when life breaks.

Being reliable doesn’t mean being superhuman.

Being professional doesn’t mean being available at any cost.

Being passionate doesn’t mean sacrificing your health, your family, or your sanity.

What matters is how you handle the moment:

- Communicate clearly

- Cancel only when absolutely necessary

- Offer a referral when you can

- Build a network of trusted fellow bakers before you need it

- Refund promptly

- Trust that good customers will return

- Remember that your humanity is not a flaw — it’s the foundation of your business

And if you’re worried that stepping back will make customers disappear?

I promise you: the right ones won’t.