Are you a prisoner in your own business?

The first time I opened a business—specifically, a small, plucky restaurant with more charm than cash—I gave it everything I had. Every last ounce of energy, every waking moment, and, regrettably, every penny I could scrounge up. For six heady months, I was the poster child for entrepreneurial enthusiasm, albeit one who smelled permanently of fryer oil and had conversations with vegetables (mostly out of sleep deprivation).

I worked seven days a week. I cheerfully accepted a salary so low it would have made a monk blush. I believed, in that beautifully naive way only first-time restaurateurs can, that sheer willpower and a nice aioli were enough to keep the lights on. Customers loved it. I was praised, patted on the back, and regularly asked if I was “the chef,” which was flattering, if technically untrue.

Then came month seven. Or, as I like to call it, the Fiscal Reckoning.

The cash dried up with the eerie suddenness of an English pub at last call. Rent loomed. Supplier invoices piled up like threatening clouds. I was still working every day, but now out of grim necessity rather than plucky resolve. The love I had for my customers—once warm and nourishing—became something closer to a desperate need to keep the doors open for just one more service.

Stress, I discovered, is not a vague concept but a highly tangible thing. It nestles somewhere between your shoulder blades, flares in your gut, and occasionally makes you weep into a tub of bulk-bought tomato paste. Eventually, my body staged a coup. I got sick. Really sick. So sick I had to shutter the restaurant and move back in with my parents, who very sweetly pretended not to notice that I smelled faintly of disappointment and rosemary.

The restaurant folded before the twelve-month anniversary. I didn’t even get a cake.

And here’s the kicker: I wasn’t a bad operator. I wasn’t lazy, careless, or even inexperienced in food. What I was—fatally so—was financially illiterate. I did not understand the numbers. I didn’t know where the profit levers were. I didn’t respect the margins. I believed customer satisfaction would save me. Spoiler: it didn’t.

If you're in food and beverage, please learn from my crash course in financial masochism. After your sense of purpose (and yes, I know, the sourdough starter), your financial literacy is the most important ingredient in your business. More important than customer satisfaction. More important than ambiance. More important even than your lovingly hand-curated wine list that no one ever seems to order from.

So tell me—what does being trapped by your business look like for you? Let’s commiserate, compare scars, and maybe, just maybe, help each other find a way to run our restaurants instead of letting them run us.