When Endings Honor Effort
Monday morning, Sha’Tara Robinson’s resignation letter appeared in my inbox. I stared at it, feeling relieved, sad, and worried. Relieved that I wouldn’t have to keep footing the bill for our Houston office, which had never generated income anywhere near its expenses. Sad to see Sha’Tara leave. Worried about how I would lead the team through this.
We all knew the financial realities. We all loved Sha’Tara.
Two years ago, we hired her to bring our approach to Texas. She got us licensed, built relationships with hospices, introduced us to referral sources, advertised in papers, and attended care fairs. She trained amazing caregivers. We paid nice advertising companies to say nice things about us.
We got no business.
While Santa Fe struggled to keep up with demand and Boulder scheduled orientation after orientation for new caregivers, Houston languished. The same approach that worked in New Mexico and Colorado failed completely in Texas, and none of us could figure out why.
Three months ago, I sat down with Sha’Tara: if we didn’t have business in Houston by year’s end, we’d pause Texas operations. Together, we created and implemented a plan. Layered in new marketing and community building initiatives. I spent weeks on the ground with her in Houston. It didn’t work.
In Wednesday’s nervous system meeting, where we talk about the emotional impact of our work without trying to solve anything, Sha’Tara led the conversation about her departure. Measured and careful as always, she shared her fear that maybe Houston’s failure was about her, not our approach. That being at the forefront in a new place with a new method was hard. That she loved being part of the team, had grown and learned, believed in what we were doing.
“I’m excited to see the Netflix or Hulu special about you all when it comes out,” she joked.
What struck me most about Sha’Tara while we worked together was the way she grounded herself during uncertainty. “Everyone in this organization says what they’re going to do and then does it,” she’d say out loud when things felt shaky. “Our actions match our words.”
And here she was, actions matching words, leaving before our year-end deadline because waiting wouldn’t help anyone.
Every other Wednesday we talk about feelings in Nervous System meetings, and every Thursday we have Task Meeting. In Thursday’s Task Meeting, Sha’Tara’s responsibilities were distributed throughout the team. Everyone taking a piece, along with some of her funny brightness and pragmatism.
When she visited Santa Fe, Sha’Tara often said she felt like a guest star in our reality show, connected but remote, part of us but apart. Yet in leaving, she showed she understood our deepest value: relationships matter more than positions.
She didn’t just resign. She led us through her resignation, making space for everyone’s feelings: her own doubts, our sadness, shared disappointment that we hadn’t cracked Houston. She preserved every relationship built over two years, talking about the work we’d done together, the fun we’d had, the challenges, our shared values and how we’d honored them.
It doesn’t feel like an ending, even though Sha’Tara will only be in a few more meetings. It feels like what it is: we labored together, we tried together, we grew together, and now we’ll labor and grow separately, enriched by the experience.
We’ll reopen in Texas eventually, with new learnings and clearer objectives. We just don’t know what they are yet. What we do know is how to fail with dignity, how to part with love intact, how to honor the trying as much as the succeeding.
Sha’Tara’s resignation letter arrived Monday. By Thursday, she’d redistributed her work. But what she really left us with was a masterclass in integrity, showing us that endings, done right, can honor everything that came before.
This column ran in the Santa Fe New Mexican on October 28, 2025, under Business Different.
