Entrepreneur Vanessa Norman breaks down the process of giving away a business, from the realisation she had to step back to what came after the handover.
I didn’t sell my business. I didn’t wind it down with a fat cheque and a retirement plan, instead, I walked away from a company generating over $2m a year, and I gave it away for free.
At the time, I thought I was failing. But looking back, losing that business was the beginning of a life that actually fits me. Here’s what happened and how I realised I needed to step back.
The wake-up call
Becoming an NDIS provider fitted me perfectly: As a mum to four kids, three of them on the spectrum, having autonomy in how I manage my schedule was non-negotiable. And, as a bonus, caring came naturally to me.
My approach was different. Instead of chasing deals, I took my time to focus on pairing care workers with participants where there was the potential for real connection and even friendship. I wanted participants to feel genuinely cared for. This also meant selecting my team with care and investing in people who bring a lot of heart to their work, people who work as care providers because caring is simply in their nature.
Before I knew it, my services were in high demand. It took just five short years to grow a business from zero to $4m in revenue. With a team of 50 incredible workers and 200 participants, everything pointed towards continued growth. I had my hands full – and if I had more hands, they would have been full too.
I felt pulled in all directions, but I answered what I believed to be the call of need. We moved into bigger, expensive premises, and brought on more support workers.
Then came the hard times. We took a small financial hit when a few clients passed away. As if by a stroke of bad luck, a few staff left, taking their clients with them. All that heart and connection between my support workers and participants had a drawback in that they got attached, and the bond is real. Revenue dropped right as overheads were rising. And these new overheads were long-term financial commitments, so we couldn’t just pull out of them. I made a few redundancies and scaled back on any overheads that I could shift, but most of them were fixed.
All of a sudden, we’d gone from spilling over the profit margin to barely making the column.
The decision to step away
Things were tough. My own assets were at risk – my home and my car. My challenges were now impacting my family.
The worst part? I was working the craziest hours. That flexible schedule I’d been so certain about was long gone. The thing about an NDIS business is that you’re providing care 24/7, and, as the head of the team, if an emergency occurred at 2am, I’d be called out.
Then there’s the never-ending admin. When I did get to bed, I’d lie awake thinking about super, taxes, expenses, salaries…
I was constantly ill. If I’d had five dollars for each doctor visit, I could have almost paid rent. Then began the dizzy spells and the racing heart. My worrying new symptoms warranted a heart rate monitor and led to my anxiety diagnosis.
If I didn’t shed some stress, my body would not cope for much longer.
The question now was: How do I care for myself while still honouring the 50 families depending on me for a salary? What about the 200 participants receiving round-the-clock care from my team and my business?
Giving the business away
In the face of these impossible questions, I did what I felt any sane person would: I gave the business away.
I spoke to my two admin ladies, and one of them accepted my offer, registered her own ABN, built her own website, and inherited everything else from me, for free. The business revenue had been at $4m. It was now down to $2m with the capacity to hit $4m again very easily, with better decisions.
I transferred my processes, the IP, the care model, the support workers and the clients to her ABN.
In the process, I discovered that real leadership means knowing when to walk away so others can keep rising. Letting go of ownership didn’t mean losing everything; it meant protecting what mattered most. It showed how much love and care existed in this business.
I lost my income, but found my purpose
When the dust settled, I had nothing left. Not the business, not the income, and not the constant noise. Just space. Quiet. Four kids and the time to actually be with them.
And then the calls started.
Other providers wanted to know how I’d built something so successful, scaled so fast, and navigated the mess of the NDIS while keeping clients engaged and staff loyal. They wanted my advice, and I realised I had something even more valuable than my old business.
These days, I coach other NDIS providers and service business owners. I teach them everything I learned the hard way: where to get business, what works, what burns you out, what no one tells you until it’s too late.
I work 9 to 5 and I have a fully scalable income, utilising the knowledge I gained from the loss I suffered. I learned these lessons so others don’t have to. I have my flexible schedule back, and I get to be a fully present mum again.
The blessing? I found a way to keep serving my community without sacrificing my health or my family. And I get to help others do the same.
If I hadn’t lost it all, I’d still be stuck in the chaos. Losing my business gave me something better: my peace, my purpose, and a new way forward.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
