When Integrity Is Tested: What I Learned From a Letter That Nearly Ended My Business

I wrapped up my full-time role in mid-April, parting ways with a mentor and company I had worked with for three years. We had what I believed to be a respectful, mutual ending. I was stepping into something new—something I had shared openly with them well in advance of my last day.

About a week later, I received an email from my former boss.

At first, it sounded like a warm goodbye. He spoke about our shared history, the mentorship he’d offered, and how proud he was of the work we’d done together. But as I kept reading, the tone shifted. He said seeing the press release for my new business felt like a “punch to the gut.” That my new venture looked too similar to the company I had just left—and that launching it so soon around my departure crossed a line. He claimed it violated a non-compete agreement I didn’t remember signing.

He offered to have a conversation and floated the idea of a referral partnership—something that might, in his words, allow us to move forward “with respect and integrity.”

So, I called him immediately.

We talked, and I was glad we did. I reiterated what I was building: Clear View Advantage—a business consulting firm that supports small, local businesses in Northern New Hampshire. My work is grounded in helping people show up and stand out online in a way that feels true to who they are. It’s not about crisis PR or suppressing negative content online. It’s about clarity, connection, and building trust in real, local communities.

He said he understood and appreciated the clarity. I left the conversation feeling like we were on the same page and things were going to be okay.

Then, the very next morning, a formal “Consulting and Transition Agreement” landed in my inbox. Nine pages long, dense with legal language, and packed with limitations.

The agreement demanded that I restrict my business activities for two full years—outlining where I could work, what services I could offer, and even who I could partner with. It referenced non-compete clauses and prior agreements I’d supposedly signed.

I felt my stomach drop.

I scoured every document from my time at the company. There was nothing. I reached out to HR. They said it could take up to 10 business days to pull my file. In the meantime, I went back to the CEO with a direct and respectful request: Please share copies of the agreements you say I’ve signed.

Each time I asked, I was met with vague references. He said it must’ve been something I clicked during onboarding. But he couldn’t produce the document.

Three days later, HR confirmed: no signed non-compete agreement existed.

The weight lifted instantly. I cried. I laughed. I happened to be listening to music when a song called The Stars Are On Your Side came on, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like the universe was confirming what I already knew deep down: I was free.

Weeks passed, and I moved on. I focused on the small businesses and nonprofits I’m here to serve. I thought the situation had resolved itself.

Then, out of nowhere, another email arrived: a polite follow-up, asking if I had everything I needed “so we can move forward and put this behind us.”

I already had.

Still, I replied. Kindly. Firmly. I let him know I wouldn’t be signing the new agreement, that I was not under legal obligation to do so, and that I wished him the best in both business and life.

The next message came fast—with a lawyer now cc’d.

This time, he expressed concern that I had not only violated a non-compete, but also misrepresented my role in past projects—specifically referencing a case study on my website where I shared a photo (one I own) of myself with the former team and described the operational playbook I created. The content reflected work I directly contributed to, and my intent was simply to highlight my experience in designing systems that support growth.

But I removed the photo and case study immediately. Then I responded with one clear request: If you believe I’ve violated an agreement, show me the signed document.

I haven’t heard back.

And maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will. I suspect he’s still looking for leverage—but I’ve stopped losing sleep over it.

Because here’s what I’ve realized: this isn’t really about contracts or websites or legal threats.

It’s about power. And fear.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s about what he sees in me.

Not just talent. Not just potential. But the power of someone who finally believes in her own vision. The threat isn’t my business—it’s my freedom. And that, I’ve decided, is worth protecting.

Last night, while telling a friend about the latest email, I described it all as a pebble in my shoe. Something small and irritating that distracted me from the real work I’m here to do. She paused and said, “Amanda, it’s not a pebble. It’s rocket fuel.”

And she’s right!

This whole experience has tested my integrity, my patience, and my clarity—and strengthened all three. It’s confirmed that I am exactly where I’m meant to be, building something deeply aligned and grounded in purpose. What a gift! Here I was, treating this like a problem to solve or a disruption to move past. But the truth is, it is part of my journey. An invitation to grow, not just as a business owner, but as a person. To get clearer on who I am, what I stand for, and how I show up when things get hard.

And perhaps the most surprising part? The same person who now seems uncomfortable with my growth is the same person who, not that long ago, sent me a gift in the mail. No context or occasion. Just a simple frame that now hangs on the wall of my room.

Inside it reads:

"There is a gift inside you that is bigger than your current platform."

He was right. He saw it then—and maybe, that’s why this is all happening now. It’s not really about the timing, or the type of work I’m doing. It's not about the size of my audience, or even the clients I serve.

It’s about the energy I carry. The clarity I have. The gift I’m finally using without apology.

And that kind of light tends to shake people who are used to being the brightest in the room.

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If you’re navigating something messy—especially as a new business owner—know this: your clarity, your calm, and your commitment to doing the right thing will carry you further than fear ever could.

And if someone tries to dim your light, it probably means they see it shining.

What feels like a pebble in your shoe might actually be rocket fuel. Let it remind you of your strength, not your limits. You don’t need to fight for your worth—just stay grounded, stay focused, and keep building what you know is right.

Your mission is bigger than their fear. Keep going!

-Amanda