Opening Up: This story makes me uncomfortable, but needs to be told.
I don’t usually do this.
I don’t sit down and pour my heart out about the hard things, the ugly things, the things that made me feel like I was drowning. My world has always been about finding the good, focusing on the positive, and making the best out of what life throws at me. I believe in happiness, in second chances, in turning pain into something beautiful. But if I’m going to build a business rooted in transparency, in teaching, in sharing my real experiences—not just the pretty, polished ones—I have to be honest about the things that shook me to my core.
And this? This was one of those things.
Before I dive in, I want to give you the full picture of how we got here. If you’re new to my journey, or if you want to truly understand the heart behind this story, I encourage you to start with these three blogs:
Where Dreams and Fairy Lights Began: The Story of Our Booth – A look back at how this booth came to life, built with love, creativity, and a whole lot of heart.
Selling Vintage Changed Me: Here’s What I’ve Learned So Far – The lessons this journey has taught me—not just about business, but about resilience, trust, and navigating the unexpected.
I Didn’t See It Coming, But Maybe I Should Have – The moment before everything changed. Looking back, there were signs… but I never could have imagined how quickly it would all unravel.
If you’ve read those, then you know—this isn’t just about losing a booth. It’s about so much more than that.
So, here it is. The truth about what happened at The Shop, why I left, and how I found the courage to move forward.
The Weight of an Unfinished Goodbye
This story is hard to tell, not because I want to hold onto it, but because revisiting it means peeling back layers of emotions I’ve spent months trying to process. It means remembering how it felt to have my dream yanked away with no warning, how my daughter stood beside me, confused and heartbroken, as we were given our walking papers. It means acknowledging the gut-wrenching realization that I had spent months trying to prove myself in a space where I was never truly wanted.
But I need to tell it.
Because if I don’t, I’m just letting it fester inside me. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that hard moments are just as important as beautiful ones. They shape us, they push us forward, and they teach us things we wouldn’t have learned otherwise.
So, here it is. My story. The truth about what happened at The Shop , why I left, and how I found the courage to move forward.
The Dream We Built: A Mother-Daughter Journey
When I first walked into the Shop , I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. It wasn’t just another antique shop; it felt like a place where dreams could take root. It had charm, it had character, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had found the perfect spot for my little booth.
I had spent months picturing it in my head. A cozy little nook draped in fairy lights, filled with treasures I had carefully handpicked—pieces that held history, that sparked nostalgia, that made people smile. I imagined customers walking in and feeling that same magic I felt when I found the perfect item at an estate sale or a flea market. I imagined conversations about the past, the joy of finding something unexpected, the stories that would come from each sale.
But most of all, I imagined sharing this journey with my daughter, Ania.
She is 11 and she had been by my side through this entire process. She had helped me set up, had given her opinion on what pieces should go where, had been just as excited as I was about creating something beautiful. It wasn’t just a business to me—it was something we were building together, something that gave us even more memories and moments to hold onto.
I can still picture the way her little hands carefully arranged items on the shelves, the way she tilted her head as she considered where to place things, the way her eyes lit up when she found the perfect spot for a new piece. This was more than just a booth to us—it was an extension of who we were.
And for a while, it felt perfect.
But looking back, I realize now that I was ignoring the warning signs.
A Curveball We Never Saw Coming
The moment that changed everything came on what should have been just another normal day.
Ania and I had spent the morning at the booth, taking down Christmas decorations, packing up the twinkling lights and festive displays, brainstorming about what we wanted to bring in next. It was that exciting time of year where everything felt fresh, where we were looking ahead, making plans, dreaming bigger.
And then, out of nowhere, my world shifted.
I had just finished paying my January rent engaging in small chit chat, when the words hit me like a brick:
“Ya know I don’t allow my vendors to have other booths. You have 30 days to leave.”
At first, I thought I misheard her.
Because how could that be?
I had never once been told that having another booth was a problem. It wasn’t in my contract. It had never been mentioned, not once in all the months I had been there. I had just handed over my rent for the month, money I had worked hard to earn, money I had given in good faith, believing I was paying for a space I could continue to grow in.
And now I was being told I had 30 days to pack up and leave?
I stood there, stunned, trying to process what was happening. But what made it even worse—what made my stomach drop and my heart ache—was the fact that Ania was standing right next to me.
She heard every word.
I looked over at her, my little girl who had just been helping me refresh our space, so full of excitement for what was next. Now, she stood frozen, wide-eyed, confused, trying to understand why the place we had poured our hearts into was suddenly being ripped away from us.
And then, her face crumpled.
She was in tears.
And I had no explanation for her. No way to soften the blow. Because the truth was, I didn’t understand it either.
Walking on Eggshells: The Truth I Had Been Ignoring
Looking back, I realize now that I had spent months trying to make myself fit into a space where I was never truly wanted.
I had ignored the unease I felt every time the owner looked at my new items and said, “I don’t know,” like my choices weren’t good enough. I had brushed off the sting of every “No offense, but…” that came before a criticism that made me question everything I was doing.
I had told myself I was overreacting when I felt like I had to get in and out of that shop as fast as possible, like there was some invisible timer counting down the seconds until I overstayed my welcome.
I had played by the unspoken rules—rules that changed at the owner’s whim. There were times I brought pieces I loved, only to be told they weren’t right for no reason other than she didn’t like them. There were no policies about what I could or couldn’t sell, but that didn’t matter. If she didn’t approve, I knew better than to even take the item out of my car.
I had been walking on eggshells from the start. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
But this? This moment, being blindsided in front of my daughter? This was my wake-up call.
I wasn’t just dealing with a difficult situation—I was dealing with a place that had never truly valued me, my business, or my vision.
And that realization? That was a different kind of heartbreak.
The Reality of Unpredictable Hours: A Business Built on Sand
If you’ve ever run a small business, you know that consistency is everything. Customers rely on routine. They want to know that when they show up, the doors will be open, the lights will be on, and someone will be there to greet them. It builds trust. It makes people want to come back.
But that wasn’t what was happening at The Shop .
On paper, the store was open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 AM to 4 PM. Those were the official hours, the ones printed on the door, the ones vendors were told to expect. But in reality? It was a gamble. Some days, the doors were locked when they shouldn’t have been. Other days, the shop would randomly close early with no notice. And sometimes, it wouldn’t open at all.
At first, I brushed it off. Life happens, right? Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe it was a slow day. Maybe it was just bad timing. But as time went on, I started to see the pattern. And once I got my second booth across the street, I really started seeing the pattern.
From my new vantage point, I could see The Shop entrance all day long. I saw customers pull into the parking lot, walk up to the door, try the handle—only to find it locked. I watched them check their phones, confused, because according to Google, the store was supposed to be open. I saw them shake their heads, get back in their cars, and drive away.
That’s when it hit me.
I had been trusting my business—my income—to a shop that was barely open.
I did the math in my head one day, and it made me feel sick. If the store was open five days a week for six hours a day, that should’ve been 30 hours a week. But with all the unannounced early closures and random days off, it was probably closer to 20 hours a week. Maybe even less.
And here I was, paying rent every single month, expecting customers to have access to my booth, believing I was being given the full opportunity to succeed—when in reality, my business was at the mercy of someone who just… didn’t seem to care.
But the moment that really pushed me over the edge? The day I asked about it.
I remember it so clearly. It was a Friday, and I had just walked in to do some restocking. The shop closed early and was going to be closed Tuesday and Wednesday of that upcoming week. I was getting frustrated.
I asked the owner about it.
Her response?
“Well, you chose to be here.”
That sentence. Those five words.
I don’t even remember what she said after that, because my brain just shut down. I was so upset. Not just about the hours, but about the dismissiveness. As if it didn’t matter that I was trusting her store to be open. As if I should’ve known better than to expect my booth to have consistent selling time.
By the time I left, I couldn’t even drive. I had to pull my car across the street to another antique shop—one that, by the way, was actually open—and just walk around until I could compose myself. Until I could get my head straight long enough to safely get home.
That was the moment I realized:
This wasn’t my failure.
This wasn’t my business struggling.
This wasn’t my mistake.
I had been set up to fail.
And I didn’t even know it.
Packing Up: The Hardest Goodbye
When my 30 days were up, I did what I had to do.
I packed up. I took down my displays. I emptied the shelves. But let me tell you—it was brutal.
It wasn’t just about clearing out a booth. It was about dismantling a dream.
Every item I put into a bin wasn’t just merchandise. It was something I had chosen with love, something I had imagined finding the perfect home. Every decoration I took down was something Ania and I had hung up together, excitedly planning what our little booth could become.
And then there was the sign.
That damn sign.
Taking it down was the worst part. That sign wasn’t just a piece of decor—it was a statement. It was the first time I had put my business name out there in a physical space, where people could see it, where it was real. Pulling it down felt like erasing myself, like admitting defeat.
But I wasn’t defeated.
Not really.
Because I knew—deep down—I was walking away for the right reasons.
The Emotional Toll: How It Broke Me (and Built Me Back Up)
I wish I could say that after I packed up, I immediately felt better. That I walked out the door with my head held high, confident in my next steps.
But that’s not how it happened.
For weeks afterward, I felt gutted. I kept replaying everything in my head. The way I had tried so hard to fit into a place that never really welcomed me. The way I had let someone else make me feel small, like my ideas weren’t good enough. The way I had let my worth be tied to whether or not I was making sales in a place that was barely even open.
I was angry—at the situation, at myself for not seeing it sooner, at the wasted time and effort.
But I was also relieved.
Because for the first time in months, I didn’t have to wake up stressing about whether the shop was open, or whether my booth was good enough, or whether I was somehow going to get in trouble for bringing in something new.
I was free.
And that freedom? It opened a door I hadn’t even realized I needed to walk through.
Finding a Safe Space: Navigating new Adventures
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that sometimes things fall apart so better things can come together.
Leaving The Shop felt like the end of the world at first, but in reality, nothing had truly ended—except the illusion that I ever belonged there.
I already had a new space. I had already built something meaningful in that space, already felt the difference in how I was treated, already experienced what it was like to work with people who actually supported my vision. It wasn’t something I ran to out of desperation—it was something I had been growing alongside my other booth all along.
The only real change? Now, I could fully invest in the place that had been right for me from the start. No second-guessing, no walking on eggshells, no bending myself to fit into someone else’s version of success.
I wasn’t searching for a new home—I was finally embracing the one I already had.
There was no gatekeeping, no silent judgment, no walking on eggshells. Here, I was free to create. To sell what I loved, the way I wanted to sell it. To be myself.
And in just a few short months?
My business has never been stronger.
Lessons Learned (The Hard Way)
This experience taught me so much.
• Your worth isn’t tied to one space.
• You don’t have to shrink yourself to fit in.
• If something feels off, trust your gut.
• Walking away isn’t failure—it’s growth.
Moving Forward with Strength
So here I am, standing in my new booth, surrounded by the business I built, the passion I fought for, and the lessons I earned the hard way.
The fairy lights? They still shine.
Brighter than ever.
If this story resonates with you, share it. Because small businesses deserve to be in places that lift them up—not tear them down.
Thank you for being part of my journey. Now, let’s move forward together.
If you love vintage finds, handmade treasures, and unique gifts, visit my shop: VintageTreasures1955.com and as always follow me on social media for most up-to-date craziness in my life!
A Personal Note
This blog isn’t about looking for pity- it’s about navigating, feeling, and figuring things out as I go. Most days, I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m learning, healing, and moving forward and to me, that’s s everything.
I’m just here, sharing my journey. If it resonates with you, I’d love for you to stick around. If not, that’s okay too. This space is for those who need to be here.
Disclaimer:
This blog post reflects my personal experiences, thoughts, and opinions. It is based on my perspective and recollection of events. Any statements made are not intended to defame, misrepresent, or cause harm to any individuals or businesses. For privacy and discretion, the real name of the shop mentioned in this post has been omitted. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinions and conduct independent research. This post should not be taken as a definitive account of events but rather as my personal narrative.
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